#The duffers gave me everything I wanted

[justghostly-things]

Why Mike Wheeler should get Vecna'd

I might need to rant about Mike Wheeler (to like the surprise of no one.) because if it's gonna be anyone its gotta be him, right? I don't think he is gonna die, or it's gonna be the exact same as it was for Max. (Simply because we have seen it before.) but I don't think it would be beneficial to Vecna any of the other characters.

and assuming that the Duffer brothers aren't just bad writers we know Mike has been acting weird for two whole seasons now. (I personally think it was worse in season 3 but it was still strange in season 4.) The show established him a certain way in season 1 then nailed it into the coffin that this is who he is in season 2 but then season 3 rolls around and he is just... Different. (An ass) Of course, we have our theories and analysis (thank you, to anyone who have compiled all the hints into one place what would we do without you 😭This or This or This)

but still.

Since we are talking about Stranger Things S4 and S5 there are a lot of uncomfortable topics that are going to be mentioned, I do not go into details. I barely mention it. I do not describe anything, but I do talk about the themes. Please stay safe while reading

We should look at this in three ways.

What it brings to the story

What advantage would it give Vecna (aka why would he want to Vecna them)

And how does it help the character

Let's talk about Max first. Because we can work out the logic with her and then try and translate it to other characters.

I think its import for this section to know that what Max has delt with is a very scary real thing. Many children have a very similar life as Max, and all I am going to do is talk about them from within the show. I will say is you are not a bad person because you wish death on someone who is hurting you. But from here on I am talking about Max from both her Pov and Vecna's. None of these things are my thought or feeling on the greater topic of abuse and dysfunctional families.

From a story perspective why was Max the one who got Vecna'd and not like, Dustin or Lucas? If you answered because she watched Billy die. Yes. Anyone who understands a progression of a story can figure out why it makes sense for Max to be Vecna'd. We create this guy who shows you your trauma reflected back at you and then kills you as seen in both Fred (Nancy's friend) and Chrissy.

Which of the main cast of characters just went through a trauma event just the season before? Max.

I think if this is all you take from season 4 you have fundamentally forgotten one important thing about Max getting Vecna'd. It isn't just about the trauma of her watching her brother die. No, Vecna specifically targets the fact that Max deep-down wished-for Billy to die, she used to fantasize about it. It isn't just survival guilt. And we are shown this visually through Fred who also has survival guilt. Their trauma is different because Max's guilt isn't just about surviving. That is why it had to be Max. Because all of the characters could feel some sort of Survival guilt. They have watched so many people die and get hurt. it reveals two things. One is how Max truly feels about Billy's death, and two it tells us more about what Vacna is actually doing in the vision. Because he isn't just trying to torture a traumatized Max to the point that she willing to just give up. it is showing Max some "ugly truth" about her to herself. Because that is what Vecna is. Or thinks he is. He sees the world as horrible and should be corrected and the only way to do that is by "starting over". This is him showing max what is "wrong" with her and killing her (so he can start her over/create a new her)

I feel like I need to rewatch season 3 again because I can't remember exactly but I think Max most likely played a big part in season 3 where she kept meddling with Possessed Billy. (Mike did too but we will get to that(this thing is gonna be long btw)) She showed that she is willing and able to mess up Vecna's plans.

(It is kinda a debated if it was just the Mind Flayer or if it was Vecna himself that possessed Billy (and Will in season 2) but for the purpose of this we will say that he at least knows the role that Max (and Mike) played in the mall fight.)

All of this to say from Vecna's Perspective, he sees a group of kids who keep getting in the way, And they are all close to El? And one of these kids has extreme guilt about Billy? Yeah of course he targets her. It is so useful. It'll get to El and the rest of the party. Making them weaker and affect them emotionally so they are more likely to react irrationally. It's so perfect for him. Literally Max says so in the show.

and Max, (I can tell some people aren't gonna be happy with me for this so just know I love max so much please, but) she up until season 4 was a bit of a weird character. She is a confusing character. Especially in season 2, she has a lot of character inconsistencies. This video explains all of what I am talking about in this section this really well. but she isn't really a main character until season 4. She plays more of a supporting role. Especially in season 3 where she is helping El find part of independence. And yes, we know Max has a hard home life and how Billy is an ass to her. We know this but we don't really understand it until season 4. She just feels like an inconsistent character up until this point. (you know who else is an inconsistent character-) Her getting Vecna'd shows us a direct shot into her head and we can start to piece together the truth of her character. We really get to understand why she is inconsistent. And how it isn't a flaw of the writing, it's Max being 13 and dealing with a terrible home life.

the best part about it is that there are clues all over that are screaming at us and I can tell you right now that there were probably so many children who saw themself in Max. And people who were screaming about how this is why! It's because of her home life! while the rest of us were just calling it inconsistent writing. And yes, I am gonna bring it up because this is exactly what we see with Mike Wheelers character. Because the truth is that we haven't seen the whole story, we have barely seen anything of Mike for the last two seasons. (mentally i know he is on screen I mean mentally) we just have a theory on what is going on in his head. and I think it would be a waste not to use Vecna to do the same thing they did for Max for Mike and this is ignoring all of the parallels the two characters have. this is just from a story point of view and omg can you tell how passionate I am about this??

Now do i think it is impossible for any of the other character to get Vecna'd? No? it would probably be more similar to how Nancy got Vecna'd. Mostly because if my other theory is correct (is this shameless self-promotion?) I don't think there is time for like all the character to get Vecna'd.

But yeah, lets talk about a few of the character and why I do or don't think they could get Vecna'd. I will try to make this quick.

Steve: Steve is very interesting and I kind of wanna make like a character analysis about him at some point (probably after I rewatch the show) but I think it could go either way. Steves whole arc for the whole show is to show us how someone can change. Steve started as an ass and has slowly been evolving to become a better person. And I think there is a place for Vecna to come into that but idk if he needs it. I think Steve's can jump over the last hoop by himself (unlike some people who haven't even started jumping... (Mike)) Overall I don't think it will tell us anything we don't already know about Steve, but I can see Vecna wanting to incapacity Steve because of his physical strength. Dustin: Again, I am not sure what more Dustin getting Vecna'd will tell us about Dustin. If anyone has any thoughts, please don't be scared to let me know. I can see Vecna also wanting to take out Dustin because of his smarts. So strategically I can see this being something Vecna would want to "Take out" (but i am not sure how strategic Vecna is? I certainly don't think it would be the main reason that he targets someone.) Lucas: Idk, I think it would be great to have Lucus be more import to the plot but if he is gonna get Vecna'd it's gonna be about Max and him "teaming" up with the Basketball? guys. (I say hesitantly because I don't remember what sport it was...) Which we don't need to be told he feels bad about because he told us. So, idk. I guess we can talk about Will as well: but it's really all the same thing, I don't know what new information we can learn if we see him getting Vecna'd. Sure, its angsty and that might be reason enough for some people, but I know if I was writing Season 5, I wouldn't even consider it. We know almost everything that is plaguing Will. We see almost everything first hand. And sure, we knew about Billy for Max but like I said it was more than just "she watched Billy die" and sure maybe there is something I just don't see or don't know. I just don't see reason for this poor boy to go through more. The other thing is I don't see why Vecna would want to not just kill but make Will suffer. Make him have a pain full death? If Vecna wanted Will dead, Will would be dead. its plain and simple. the amount of times Vecna had Will in his grasps? I don't believe it was just luck. I would actually love to see if there aren't times where Will could be in danger, or it would make more sense for the danger to target will but for some reason it didn't, and he came out unscathed? (if I notice anything in my rewatch I will add it here) but yeah. also, there is all the parallels between Will and Vecna, so I think Vecna sees himself in will, maybe like how he saw himself in El and maybe will try and recite him. Idk but it seems (to me at least) that Vecna has more planed than, make him suffer and then die, in store for will. This is a really good analysis and this I agreed with on why Will was probably not gonna get Vecna'd. But it is a really good (and funny) video so go check it out if you haven't.

all of this is making me want to do an analysis on Vecna/henry. I don't think he is a partially new kind of villain, but I think it would be fun to try and dive into his head.

Hopeful this is my last point where I finally get to talk about my boy Mike wheeler. This is a Mike wheeler safe place. (I say as I am about to make my point on why he should go through pain and torture next season.)

I kind of have talked about some of this but let's dive into more detail (like we did with Max) and talk about my three main points

What it brings to the story

What advantage would it give Vecna (aka why would he want to Vecna them)

And how does it help the character

I feel like the story has been building up to this for a long time actually. Not only with the stalker shots that Mike is shot in but everything we see about his character. From how much we have seen his character change between season 2 and 3, to how little we actually know about Mikes inner workings. Mike is a puzzle right now. He is surrounded by character who are at least decently written and at most complex and compelling. And he is a main character? Like if Mike was a Minor or supporting character (like Erica and arguably robin) it would be weird sure but at least expectable. But Mike was THE main character in the opening season. We learn the most about him. And we see a lot of the story threw his eyes. And what? Were just going to throw all of that away? Like it was nothing?

But! I bring up the point I made about Max again. About what she was like in season two, what our impression of Max as a character and how that changed in season 4. The reason her character acted like that was because of things we didn't have connections for until season 4. All the parts were laid out in front of us they just needed to be connected. Mike getting Vecna'd will literally connect the dots for us. it'll show us an obvious and clear answer for what is wrong with Mike. Because how, honestly, are they going to show us all of these complex things that has been haunting Mike without a Vecna vision? It's the last season. We do not have endless time to unpack everything that is happening inside his head. Especially if the season is going to be as busy as I expect. We have like 20 other character who needs screen time, and we are getting introduced to more characters? And we have to fight the big bad? and there is gonna be a time skip (I swear to whatever higher being there is if they try to pull a "all Mikes' problems got fixed over the time skip" bs I am gonna be on the news for homicide. no-one will ever hear the end of it, omg. i don't even care if Byler becomes cannon, there will be war.) point is this matter is delicate and Mike lips on the matter are sealed so tight. If he hasn't said a word about this in 3 years he isn't gonna talk about it now. He needs a push, and Vecna is going to push him down a flight of stairs.

I do feel like I am repeating myself but it's crazy how similar Mike and Max character are. Almost like they are shining bright neon lights saying like look at this! notice this! and I know I am not the only one to point this out. But like what was stated in this video, Mike is almost the perfect person to Vecna'd , he not only has a connection with both El and Will. He, as Will would put it, is "the heart" of the party. He is connected to all the other character in some way. And if taking Max out would of killed motivation/ made the party unstable imagine what killing Mike would do to them? Which is why I do believe in the Mike was the original four victim theory (I think I saw someone go into more detail, but I can't find it. If I do, I will update with both links)

Also, remember when I mentioned that both Mike and Max have meddled with Vecna's plot in season 3, I just think I should point out how in the gym scene where they trap Billy in the sauna it is Mike taunting Him. And in season 2 he was the one who figured out that Will was possessed. All I can think of for season 1 is that he took El in and formed a kindling with her, which isn't strong evidence but idk maybe Vecna gets jealous easily idk.

And I think to understand this last point I would recommend watching or reading threw the links I linked all the way at the top of this discussion. but I would urge you to watch this at the very least: This video

if you haven't caught on yet, I do believe the Vecna visions are going to reveal to the audience that Mike is gay and has been the whole time. aemiron-main has a very good theory on how I think this is gonna go, because that falls into the same thought bubble as Max's. Where I think the theme isn't just that he is dealing with internalised Homophobia but his guilt surrounding his queerness. which we can easily explore through a vision. and it explains why he has been acting this way, especially in season 3. Like, can you even think about what this poor kid is going though mentally because, your best friend, literally your person got possessed, you watched as they lead to your friends new dad's death? like you can do nothing? and you blame yourself because if you had stop being gay for two seconds just to notice that there is something off about him you could have saved everyone? YEah I would be an asshole as well. Honestly, I think all the clues are there we just Vecna to piece them together.

And even in the very unlikely situation where I and like every other Byler are wrong about Mike being gay. Mike getting Vecna'd can only mean positive things for his character.

I feel like I had another point to make but I genuinely can't remember what it was T_T so, if I remember I will update this. But that is my point. Mike wheeler is gay and will be tormented by demonic infused visions of him being gay in the next season. so, you know. like an average Tuesday for any queer.

[williamandmichaelendgame]

Byler and The Imitation Game

My native language is not english so i hope you understand everything🥰.

So we all know the poster from Will in S4 was about Alan Turing and i found the movie ,,The Imitation Game” and i watched it, and it was very interesting for byler and mileven.

So at first Alan was gay and saved 14 Million lives and shortened the ww2 around 2 years.

Alan was also inlove with his bestfriend, Christopher.

( on the left side is Christopher and on the right Alan)

So he needed to crack the german enigma in year 1939 and he wanted to see if anyone can crack a puzzle under 6 minutes, and a lady, Joan, was late and she argued with a man. So Alan went to her and said something like ,,you can sit down”. She argued with the man, because he thought that she didn’t cracked the puzzle all by herself, because they needed to also crack a puzzle before they crack the other puzzle, and she was a woman,thats why the man thought she could not do it all by herself, it was during WW2.

I think it’s like El and Mike, Mike trusted El and let her to his house, but we all know Lucas and Dustin didn’t like her. So we can imagine like Dustin and Lucas are the men who doesnt like women and Mike like Alan liked her and let her to his house and like Alan gave her a chance to crack this puzzle even if she was a woman.

Now we go to Alan’s school time, he was bullied for being ,,different”. But he had help from his best friend, Christopher. One day they were under a tree, Christopher read a book. And Alan was interested, so Christopher thought that he would like it too. And then they shared a cute smile and i think that was the moment Alan realized his feelings for Christopher. And then they had a math class and shared letters and Christopher wrote something like ,,See you in two long weeks, my dearest friend”🥰🥰. And after that two weeks Alan wrote ,,i love you” and he waited for him, but he never came back, because he died of his illness.

I think in ST are letters romantic, like here, but i mean not every letter is romantic. But i don‘t think mike knows that he loves him, because i think he would like get distance himself from Will. Because i think we all think that mike has internalized homophobia, but i mean he will notice it in S5.

Okay so now we come back to Alan and Joan, so she cracked the puzzle under 6 minutes and i mean they liked eachother, but Joan had to leave,because her parents wanted her back and because she had no husband. So Alan had the idea to marry her, and they did.

So what do you think? I think Mike forced himself to get into a relationship like Alan for a reason, maybe because he’s gay or what i think he ,,loved” her in the moment were she wore nancys dress or just another reason idk. We don’t know what he thought or felt. He just looked at her and said ,,pretty”. Idk but the duffers will hopefully explain what he thought or felt.

And after Alan was engaged with her, they were at a party and a friend of Alan asked Joan to dance with him and they did, then Alan smiled at them but it faded away and a friend sat next to him and he said ,,what’s the matter?” Alan said ,,what if- what if i don’t fancy being with joan that way”😟 and then the friend said ,,because you’re a homosexual?” And Alan said ,,i care about her, i truly do,i just dont know if i can pretend…”😱

We all know mike said to Eleven ,,i care about you so much” and i think this scene from Alan was inspired from it.

And now a good one, they ,,broke up” because Alan said he is gay, but she said ,,i had my suspicions, but i care about you and i know you care about me” and idk i never saw a post about it but in S3 eleven said to max ,,how do i know what i like?” LIKE WHAT😭 how do you know what you love when you don’t even know what you like and it was just about clothing?

And Alan said that he was never alone, because he said to his Computer, Christopher and after he cracked enigma, he took his Computer, Christopher home with him.

,,I think it‘ll be easier if we’re a team. Friends. Best Friends.” So Mike and Will are working together. Like Alan and Christopher just that Christopher is his Computer😓.

And omg im sorry i dont have structure😭 i just saw Joan and Alan danced together but they were not inlove😭

Like El and Mike they danced together🤔

And thats a really good one omg💀 Alan said ,, what if- what if i don’t fancy being with joan that way” and Will also said ,,what if- what if they don’t like the truth?” And mike nods💀and when Alan said ,,what if- what if” he didn’t stuttered it was just a break like Will.So i think maybe what Alan said is that what mike think or is like an answer to Will’s question.

But ik it doesn’t mean that Alan Turing is like Mikes story, it’s just inspiring, from a gay icon🥰. Maybe El and Mike they were in love somehow, because i think it’s difficult to explain it,but i mean i think the duffers have also their own ideas and get inspired from other movies/shows.But that they are not inspired from this movie, i would say it’s impossible 😭 See how many things are like the same. Me personally i think that’s why it’s real because Mike is very big maybe (it’s obvious) inspired from Alan so yeah.

[pinkeoni]

Bruh. The episode name is "the vanishing of holly wheeler". Not only did they copy Will's episode name and gave it to Holly but they also are intending to give the kidnapping plotline to her character. And we know that should follow up by the other wheelers trying to save her. It is basically making the wheelers byers.

First of all, that list of episode titles come from an unofficial source. Could be real, could be fake. And the name of the title was "The Vanishing of *BLANK* Wheeler with no real confirmation as to the number of letters in the first name since the leak was given verbally, which was then relayed over the internet with "*****" making people believe that it could be Holly.

Second of all, rehashing season one with Holly instead of Will doesn't make any sense and likely improbable and here's why:

I don't see the narrative reason to have Holly go missing. Sure, it could still happen, but I wouldn't see the necessity for it.

The purpose of Will going missing in season 1 was to act as an inciting incident to get all of the other characters involved. The story was driven by Will's disappearance, thus why it was one of the first things we saw happen in the show and why it was deserving of the first episode title.

What would be the purpose of Holly going missing in season 5? Everything has already been set up at the end of season 4. The Upside Down is coming into Hawkins and Vecna has plans to basically take over the world. Max is in a coma and Will can still feel Vecna's left nut. That's reason enough to get the characters involved. We don't need Holly to go missing for the characters to want to take action. Also, if you wanted to get Karen and Ted involved, they already have their two other children involved with the supernatural, so they can get into it that way tangentially.

I think that people are overestimating the reasoning for wanting to replace Holly with an older and more experienced actress, I don't necessarily believe that this recast means that something terrible will happen to her, I just think she was replaced because there is a time skip and Holly is going to need to say more lines than "Mommy, it's snowing!" The original twins cast to play Holly were cast as toddlers, and Nell has more experience actually performing and saying lines. But I don't think that the Duffers are going to end their final season with giving irreparable trauma to a young girl without the chance for that to be resolved in later seasons.

What purpose would Vecna have with taking Holly? What would he even want with her? Vecna targeted specific characters for a specific purpose last season, he doesn't just kidnap little girls for the hell of it. That would be a waste of his time.

He doesn't need to kidnap Holly to get to Will, and personally I hate hate HATE the idea of Will going into the Upside Down in order to get to Holly. Will already has ties to Vecna. Why would he need to kidnap someone to get to him? Also, why would it be Holly? Why not Joyce or Jonathan? What significant relationship does Will have with this little girl who I'm pretty sure he doesn't have any screen time with?

I think people outside of fandom forget that the show has not given the audience a reason to really care about Holly other than the fact that she is a little girl. She has had no significant lines, no significant screen presence, and no significant story line. And all of a sudden the final season of the show hinges on finding this girl that the audience doesn't give a shit about. Okay.

And before someone tries to straw man me and say "Oh, so you're saying that the Wheeler's doesn't have ANY connection to the supernatural and isn't important?" Of course I think they are important. They are as important any character is, they all have their own roles in the story. But the Wheeler's involvement with the supernatural has always been tangential. Barb was taken so Nancy got involved. Will was taken and Mike found El so Mike got involved. Karen is likely to now get involved since her children are now involved. I am making my assertion based on what I am seeing in the show. They are involved with the supernatural because they make themselves involved. Both Will and El are tied to the supernatural in a more direct way, and based on what the show has told me as well as what official sources (The Duffer's themselves), they are more integral to the supernatural plot than any Wheeler. Point blank.

[kiirotoao]

Elmax is actually pretty wonderful the more I think about them.

El, for practically all her conscious life, has been taught to do things against her will: strengthening her powers, finding the demogorgon/Henry, staying shut in at home for secrecy (and no hate to Hopper for this. I get that he’s trying to protect her, but it’s stifling nonetheless which is why I include it to consideration). And while I really love the way that Owens treated her in season 4 and gave her the choice to rekindle her powers or let it go, the stakes were pretty insane, and above all, it still involved her powers which she was forced to obtain.

But Max. Max is the only person who’s given El a chance to be herself. “Not Hopper, not Mike, you.” She takes away all sense of authority that puppeteers her, putting the strings back in El’s own hands. And when El does occasionally use her powers, it’s to pull pranks - nothing that ever puts her or others in harm’s way - not to mention that Max doesn’t ask her to carry the world with them. Of course, when things got serious, El went back into savior mode, but for the very first time, for even a day, Max was able to give El the liberty to do what she wanted and explore what she liked. And once again, no, Max didn’t give her everything, but with the town they lived in, with the opportunities they had, going to the mall is actually such a fun place to be. It’s a marker of girlhood to go on a shopping spree if you ask me.

What makes this most apparent to me is that Max is one of the most independent characters. We don’t really see her parents, never get to see her actually interacting with them besides glimpses of her mom in season 4, and Billy very clearly didn’t provide much for her besides the occasional car ride. She’s the perfect character to support El, and the stance of independence that Max has made a perfect lead-in to show El being supported by her and having fun with her as she, too, learned what independence meant for her. I don’t know if this was intentional by the Duffers to write the climax of events to be July 4th, Independence Day to tie in this theme, but if so, it’s incredible.

I love Max and I love how quickly she took El in. Even after failing to be properly introduced last season, did she hold that against El? Nope. She saw her girl in trouble, took her in, and even dared to expand her horizons. And on the flip side, I love how El immediately turned to Max when she was broken up with. She knew where to get solid advice and Max truly didn’t hold anything good back from her. And thus, their relationship was born. It took no time at all for them to click. And that’s sweet as hell.

In short, Max is awesome, El is incredible, and they deserve to have more moments together next season or so help me.

[bluelancelion]

So, I've been re-watching Stranger Things S1 - S4 and I got things to say just to let them out of my system.

First of all, kudos to the Duffer Brothers for one of the best found family ever created. I love the gang, I love the later addition of Max, Robin and Eddie. The characters are clean.

But here's the thing, let's talk about characters and, more specifically, Steve and Nancy.

So, we pretty much got a weird vibe between Nance and Steve in S4, kinda heavy hinting that Steve is totally not over Nance and they might get back together.

Now here's why this is a bad move.

First of all, I heard somewhere that Stranger Things is supposed to end like a circle, so many things that we've seen in S1 might return by the end of S5 (aka last season).

IF that's true, quoting some fans theories, then:

- Robin is gonna become Nancy's bestie (taking Barb's place)

- Steve and Nancy are gonna get back together (?)

Look.

I know what you're cooking here.

Steve and Nancy started their relationship when they both weren't fully evolved as characters, right? We're gonna pull a "right person, wrong moment" move in S1 that's gonna come back in s5 because after their MASSIVE character development, Steve and Nancy are basically two complete new people.

THAT could've worked IF Johnathan didn't exist.

Cause let's be real here, if Johnathan didn't exist, this trope would've been perfectly fit. BUT-

You guys gave us the whole "Nancy likes Steve but she's not in love with him" and then you pull out Johnny boy and pretend like we don't pick up the fact that Nancy loves him?

Plus, if Murray says so, then it's law.

I don't make the rules here! He's basically jesus, everything he says is right and if that man says Nancy and Johnathan love each other, then they love each other. If he says Hopper and Joyce love each other, then that's true, no questions asked.

"But people change, and Murray could always say that as things are now, Nancy and Steve are perfect for each other."

Yeah, maybe, but then what was the point of giving us such good chemistry between Johnathan and Nancy? They've hit it off since season 1, carrying it all on season 2, had a difficulty overcome TOGETHER in season 3, making their relationship even stronger if you ask me-

Only for it to... to what? In season 4? (I haven't rewatched season 4 yet so I don't remember the details except they wanna go to different colleges, but I'm dead sure they don't break up yet)

But noooo, the Duffer Brothers want to give us a lesson. Every person in our life is important to us and they shape the person we are today. Nancy needed a Johnathan in her life, in that specific moment of her life, not a Steve. But as we get closer to the future, or the present in s5, we might find out that the character that is Nancy Wheeler in that season, in that period of her life, doesn't need a Johnathan anymore, but a Steve.

And I don't say "need" as if boys can be swapped like socks, I mean that maybe Nancy is building her future somewhere where Johnathan doesn't want to be, or maybe Johnathan is growing into a man who's goals are far away from Nancy's.

And this is heartbreaking, cause you know these causes might lead to a break up and it had NOTHING to do with their feelings for each other. Nancy and Johnathan love each other, no matter if they break up or not because what they want in life is different.

Which brings us back to Steve getting back with Nancy.

Look, I'm all in for people finding happiness, but it feels a bit odd to give us such a good couple, make them break up (and thus breaking our hearts, but no matter what, we'll still love them both because life led them to break up, not their feelings)... Only for Nancy to be RANDOMLY back with Steve? Like???

I don't know, it gives me a bittersweet taste.

Now. Let's not forget this is Stranger Things, and stuff might go fucking south like:

- Johnathan dies and Nancy is left grieving. We have a timeskip into the future where Nance and Steve are together again, fighting the grief in the company of each other. Maybe in the past, Steve and Johnathan fought side by side in the Upside Down and it was Steve who failed to save Johnatan. In the meanwhile Steve and Nancy got closer as well, so it's easier to digest their reunion if it's under this perspective.

But seriously? Are we gonna pull that, Duffers?

OR Steve dies (please no) and Nancy's right there to hear his last wish and maybe she kisses him? Like a goodbye forever kiss, they might've worked out if it weren't for Jonathan and how things went in the end, yadda yadda

Honestly, I can think of a bunch of theories about how this could go, but no matter HOW it goes, I still think that making Steve not over Nancy is a tiny bit of an insult to his character development.

After Robin, his character was peak. He was supposed to get with her (which let's admit it, we all low-key rooted for it) but when Robin's actress proposed her idea of making Robin a lesbian, literally everything went from perfect to THE EPITOME OF PERFECTION. King (hair) Steve Harrington, popular once douchebag, now single mom besties with a lesbian? Peak writing. PEAK. WRITING.

You know what could've been even more peak? Making Steve come out as bi and have a little thing with Eddie but y'all were cowards

BACK TO MY POINT. Steve wishes for and deserves a soulmate, never ending love and a family. And, in a way, he has that already through the kids, through Robin, his friends-

I just... I don't think, and I neither see Nancy being that person for Steve. And it sucks cause they could've made a character specifically for Steve to fall in love with (I know, that was supposed to be Robin but since she's not anymore, either give Steve someone new cough Eddie would've been a good match cough OR give us a new female character so he can have his dream love story and we'd all be happy) instead of recycling old characters who had an awesome journey just to end where it all began.

And I get it, this is supposed to be Stranger Things ending, right? To finish where it all started.

And again, the Steve and Nancy of S5 might be exactly who they need in their lives at that moment.

But after EVERYTHING we've seen so far in these 4 season? Nah man. Just... It doesn't work.

I'd be happy to hear your thoughts :)

[stranger-fanfiction-n-things]

YOU'RE SUCH AN EGG HEAD

This is an Original Character fanfiction. All Stranger Things characters and content are owned by Netflix and The Duffer Brothers.

a/n: I wrote this in 2023; it was the first one shot (?) I ever wrote and first fic related to the rewrite. I didn't have a name for Diana yet, which is why it is in first person. My writing schedule didn't go according to plan with my dwindling mental health, but I wanted to post this as a thank you for everyone who continues to read my Stranger Things Rewrite!

This takes place after the events of Season 2 after the Snow Ball but before Christmas.

Please let me know what y'all think :) Happy Holidays!

Warnings: Extra Fluff

Word Count: 4483

Masterlist

Sunday December 23, 1984 

There was an unspoken rule in our house: No Christmas music before December 1st. Although I don’t know who made the rule but part of me thinks it was Dad because he doesn’t like the holiday season. He thinks it’s too stressful with all the decorating, baking and gift wrapping. Dad hates gift wrapping. He says there’s no point when it will all be torn to shreds anyway. Christmas is my favourite holiday. I love everything about it. The Christmas music, gift wrapping, decorating, but especially baking. 

Every year for as long as I can remember I would help Mom bake Christmas cookies for the family and our neighbours. Gingerbread cookies, peanut butter blossoms, molasses cookies, sugar cookies, white chocolate and cranberry cookies, chocolate crinkle cookies and classic chocolate chip cookies. As of three years ago, Mom gave me the responsibility of doing all the Christmas baking. A responsibility I hold near and dear to my heart. This morning, I woke up bright and early to start with chocolate chip cookies for the Byers family, they are on the cooling rack. Now, I am scooping the dough of the peanut butter blossoms for Dustin and Miss Henderson onto the parchment paper. I count a total of 12 evenly divided circles. 

To me, baking is an intimate activity. A love language. A meaningful relationship between a person and food. It helps me relax; the process time consuming. I am undisturbed and in a different world. The doorbell ringing pops my domestic bubble. I frown peering down the foyer at the front door. Mom, Dad and Lucas wouldn’t ring the doorbell. Erica wasn’t expecting anyone. I wasn’t expecting anyone either. Eddie was busy running errands for his uncle Wayne. It couldn’t be him. I freeze feeling a shiver run down my spine. The past year has been filled with monsters and alternate universes. I take a deep breath and remind myself that the Hive was gone. Steve, the kids and I burned it down last month. Will was safe with my brother at Mike’s house. Billy will never come near me or Lucas ever again. It was all over. A Demogorgon cannot knock on a door and wouldn’t. Not even if it were D'Artagnan. 

I walk toward the front door, wiping my hands on my apron before slowly turning the handle opening the door a smidge so only my eyes can be seen by the stranger. To my surprise and relief, I am met with beautiful dark brown eyes and a dazzling smile. 

“Eddie?” I say, opening the door wide. A cold breeze blows past making me shiver. “What are you doing here? I thought you were running errands for Wayne?”

“I finished them early thought I’d stop by to say hi.” 

Dark brown eyes pan down my body. I look down instantly wanting the ground to swallow me up. Not expecting company, I threw on one of the sweaters my Grandma Giselle “GG” sent from Virginia. Beneath my powder blue gingham print apron with white ruffles (also from GG) I’m wearing a baby pink sweater with baby kittens all over. The collar of the sweater is embellished with white lace ruffles making me look like Queen Elizabeth I. Erica, Lucas and Dad laugh at it anytime I put it on (Dad tries to cover it with a cough, but I know he’s laughing). It’s okay if my family sees me and laughs at me, I don’t care. I think the sweater is cute and cozy. But never did I think my boyfriend would see me in it. 

Eddie’s smile widens to a grin. Displaying his deep dimples. “I love this,” he gushes pointing at my outfit, eyes twinkling. 

I quickly cross my arms over my chest feeling my cheeks grow hot. I scrunch my nose looking down at my socked feet. GG also sent me matching socks to go with my sweater. I have two more sets in baby blue and lavender. 

“No, no. Don’t hide from me. Ever,” he says, uncrossing my arms and holding my hands. “You look cute.” 

I peer up at him through my lashes. Eddie leans back observing me once again. He sniffs the air peering around the front door.  

 “Are you baking?” 

 “Yes, I am.” I reply happily. 

Eddie stares at me, his grin unwavering. I feel myself growing shyer under his intense gaze and I want to cover myself again but he’s still holding my hands. 

I tilt my head to the side, blinking up at him. “What’s so funny? 

“Nothing.” he shakes his head, chuckling softly. “I’m not laughing. I’m smiling.” 

“What are you smiling about?” 

Eddie leans forward and my heart beat picks up speed because I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead his lips graze my ear. 

“Just happy to see you,” he murmurs. “…and your sweater.” 

“Eddie!” I exclaim wiggling out of his hold, walking back inside my house. I am never wearing this sweater again. 

“What? I love it.” Eddie laughs, closing the door behind him. “What are you baking?”  

“I’m baking peanut butter blossoms for Dustin and Miss Henderson.” I answer returning back to the counter. “I was about to put them in the oven before you rang.” 

Eddie hangs his coat neatly on the coat rack in the mudroom and pads through the foyer in his socks. A smile tugs on my lips at his ease around the house. Dad’s military training and Mom’s propriety kicked Eddie into a straight line early in our relationship. 

“Have you been baking all day?” 

“Yes. I started with chocolate chip cookies which are on the cooling rack. I finished the peanut butter blossom cookies and once they are in the oven, I am going to start making white chocolate and cranberry cookies.” 

I take the pan of dough and put them in the oven, setting the timer to 10 minutes. I turn around to find Eddie sitting on the stool in front of the counter observing the organized mess of ingredients. I place the timer on the counter. 

“Where is everyone?” Eddie asks, looking around. 

“Mom and Dad are out shopping for more Christmas lights. Erica is in her room and Lucas is at Mike’s house probably playing Dungeons and Dragons with the rest of the boys, El and Max.” 

“And he didn’t invite me,” Eddie says, holding his heart. 

“He didn’t know you were coming,” I say shooting him a playful glare. 

I clean off the counter to have a fresh surface for the white chocolate and cranberry cookies. From the corner of my eyes, I see Eddie reach towards the direction of the cooling rack. I whip my head around catching him in action.  

“Hey!” I scold, running around the counter. “No touching! Those are for Miss Byers.” I block his access before he can touch the cookies. “And you didn’t wash your hands!” 

Eddie smiles, dimples deepening on his cheeks. He looks so cute I have to resist the urge to kiss each dimple and put on my best disapproval face. 

“My hands are clean, I promise,” he replies, reaching over my barrier. 

I smack his hand the way my mom does when she catches Dad trying to steal a cookie from the cookie jar before dinner. 

“Eddie!” I reprimand. His eyes widen, baffled by my seriousness. 

“I swear,” Eddie assures me, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You baked so many. I’m sure Miss Byers won’t realize one is gone.” 

I look at him for a few seconds and slowly remove my hand.  

“Okay, fine,” I admit. “But you can only have one.” 

Eddie’s smile turns to a smirk. “How about two?” He quickly picks up two shovelling one in his mouth.  

 “Eddie!” 

His loud, boisterous laugh is muffled by the cookie in his mouth. In seeing the look on my face his laughter dies down to a light chuckle.

“They’re so small. One wouldn’t be enough,” he reasons, licking the oozing chocolate off his fingers. 

I cross my arms above my chest, walking back to the counter. I wasn’t really upset with him. I did make a lot of chocolate chip cookies for the Byers Family. I just took baking very seriously. 

 “Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, walking towards me. 

I feel his arms wrap around my waist and his chin on my head. I imagine how hunched over he must be because of our height difference. He nudges by head to the side, kissing my temple. A small smile forms on my lips at the gesture. Eddie was so loving and caring. It was one of the many things I loved about him. 

 “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “…but they taste so good.” 

I look up at him and roll my eyes playfully. The rumble of his laugh makes me giggle. 

“I’m serious,” he says shovelling the last cookie in his mouth. “These are the best cookies ever!”  

I scrunch my nose looking down. “Thank you,” I murmur. 

Eddie kisses the top of my head. “You’re welcome, cutie.”  

Eddie sits on the other side of the counter watching me set up. He told me about his day and the errands he had to run for Wayne. I listen nodding my head and asking questions as I multitasked. Eddie has been over many times since we started dating, my house being a second home to him. But he’s never watched me bake before. I feel like we unlocked a new level in our relationship. Domesticity. 

“What kind of cookies are you making again?” 

“White chocolate and cranberry.” 

“Who are these for?” 

 “Me. They’re my favourite kind for the holiday season.” 

“I can’t believe I’ve never asked you this question before, but what’s your favourite kind of cookie?” 

“White chocolate and macadamia nut cookies,” I replied.  “What’s yours?”

“Chocolate chip,” he responds, grinning. I roll my eyes fighting back a smile. 

“Eddie, can you check the timer and let me know how many minutes are left?” 

“Aye, aye, captain,” he salutes, squinting at the timer, “Six minutes left.” 

“Thank you,” I answer scooping brown sugar into the measuring cup. 

“How do you know how much to put without looking at the recipe?” 

I shrug my shoulders. “I’ve made these cookies so many times it all comes naturally to me.” 

I start to pat down the brown sugar, levelling it with a spoon. Eddie leans forward on his elbows watching me work. In getting to know Eddie I notice he doesn’t like to sit still for too long. Always looking for something new to do. There were few things Eddie could sit down and pay attention to for long periods of time. I mentally compiled a list: Planning Dungeons and Dragons Campaigns, reading fantasy books, Corroded Coffin band practices and gigs, eating, cooking (a pleasant surprise), and now, watching me bake. 

“Do you want to help me?” 

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, shaking his head. “I don’t think you want me to help you. I’ll ruin it.” 

“No, you won’t. I’ll help you!” 

“Okay.”  

I squeal excitedly. “Let me get you an apron. In the meantime, wash your hands,” I say giving him a warning look. 

Eddie laughs. “Alright, Alright.” 

I go to the pantry where we kept all the kitchen stuff. On a rack at the corner of the small room I find all the aprons. Most of them had stains on them, the cleanest one was Erica’s old apron. It was blue with polka dots on it. I smile taking it off the rack. This would barely fit Eddie but I think he would look adorable in it. 

“I could only find Erica’s old apron,” I call out walking into the kitchen. “I hope it’s okay.” 

Eddie looks over his shoulder throwing a rumpled paper towel into the trash can. He throws his head back shaking with laughter. 

“Is this payback?” 

“No, the others were dirty, I have to wash them. Erica’s old apron was the cleanest out of the bunch.” 

“This is hilarious,” he chuckles, taking it out of my hands. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit though.” 

“You have such a tiny waist. I’m sure it will.” 

I giggle at the pink tinge on Eddie’s cheeks, walking behind him to tie the apron around his waist. Eddie was a little self-conscious about his waist, often commenting on how he needs to go to the gym to bulk up. I always reassure him that I love his body the way it is and he doesn’t need to change a thing. Eddie ties the string around his neck first, hoisting the fabric high on his chest. The waist string moved up to his stomach. I pull on the string tying it around his stomach instead. Peering over I look at him, snickering quietly. Eddie looks like an overgrown pre-schooler. I have to take a photo. 

“Don’t move. I’m going to get the camera!” 

“Diana.” Eddie groans. He always acts like he hates when I take photos, but I know secretly loves them. Eddie is just like Erica in that sense. Lucas and I love taking photos. Erica complains but always asks to take another one just in case the first one isn’t good. 

“These are memories, Eddie!” I say, grabbing the camera on the kitchen counter by the refrigerator. 

 “Uh, uh,” he refuses crossing his arms. 

 “No, don’t hide from me. Ever.” I uncross his arms. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and I kiss his knuckles taking a step back. 

“Now say cheese!” 

Eddie smiles wide, dimples making an appearance. 

“Aw, you look so cute like that!” I squeal, looking through the viewfinder. I snap the picture, waiting for the photo to develop. “Can I take another photo?”

Eddie grabs a whisk holding it in his hands like Julia Child. I take another picture laughing at his antics. 

 “Your turn,” he spoke, reaching for the camera. 

He takes it out of my hands peeking through the viewfinder. I close my eyes sticking my tongue out just as the light flashed out the camera. 

 “One more. Smile and point at your sweater,” he smirks. 

I gawk at him just as the camera flashes. Eddie cackles behind the camera pulling the photo out of the slot. 

“Eddie!” I shout, running to him. 

I try my best to grab the photo out of his hands but he was long and lithe for my short stature. Eddie’s laugh echoes through the kitchen as he squirms out of my reach. 

“Look at your face!” 

“I’m trying to!” 

Eddie hides the photo behind his back. “If I show you this photo, do you promise not to throw it out?” 

“Yes, I promise.” 

Eddie arches his brow skeptically. 

“I promise,” I assure, holding my hand up like a girl scout taking a pledge. 

“Okay.” 

Eddie shows me the photo in his hand not letting go when I try to pull it out of his grasp. I huff looking at the picture. I look as shocked as I felt in the moment. You can tell I was looking at him over the camera. I didn’t look as bad as I thought. 

  “See? You look so cute.” 

“C’mon,” I say handing him the rest of the photos. “You have work to do.” 

 “Yes, ma’am.”  

He sets the camera and photos on the farthest edge of the counter before joining me. I smile feeling his lips on my temple. Another thing I noticed about Eddie, he can’t go five minutes without touching me in some way. Whether it’s holding my hand, playing with my hair, touching my cheek, standing beside me, or my personal favourite, kissing me. Eddie bends forward resting his elbows on the counter. He gazes at me with warm affection, waiting patiently for instructions. I take a deep breath trying to rid the pink fog in my head. Over a year later and I’m still not used to the way Eddie looks at me. 

“O-okay,” I stutter, breathlessly. The corners of Eddie’s lips twitch but he doesn’t say anything thankfully; “we’re gonna start with the butter and white sugar first. I already finished measuring the brown sugar. Now you’re going to measure ½ cup of butter and ¼ cup of white sugar. When you’re done, put them all in this big bowl, okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Can I use the same measuring cup for both?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay.” 

I watch Eddie pour the brown sugar in the large glass bowl; He then proceeds to measure ¼ cup of white sugar and add it to the bowl. I hold back my smile as he hesitates with the butter, a line appearing between his brows as he thinks about what to do next. Eddie makes the cutest faces when he is concentrating. I adore the way he frowns, the way his eyes narrow at the task at hand, when his tongue pokes out between his lips. I busy myself with the eggs so it doesn’t feel like I’m hovering. From the corner of my eye, Eddie scoops the butter with a spoon knocking it against the measuring cup. He does this until half the measuring cup is full. 

“Sweetheart? How do you make brown sugar?” he asks, making sure there was half a cup of butter in the measuring cup. 

“By mixing molasses and white sugar together. If you want to make the brown sugar darker, just add more molasses.” 

“Hmm,” he muses, scooping the softened butter into the mixing bowl. “Okay, I’m done. What’s next?” 

“Now this part is very important, Eddie,” I voice, handing him the electric mixer. “You are going to use this to beat the ingredients together until they are creamy and smooth.”  

“Creamy and smooth. Gotcha.” 

I leave Eddie to mix just as the timer set went off. Quickly shoving on the oven mittens, I open the oven pulling the steaming hot cookies out. The smell of warm peanut butter and sugar floats around the kitchen mixing in with the scent of chocolate. I set the tray on the top the stove and take off my mittens before taking the small bowl full of Hershey kisses on the counter. I begin to carefully place one kiss in the centre of the cookie having already unwrapped each chocolate prior. 

“Baby, is this creamy and smooth enough?” 

I walk over to him peering into the bowl. “It looks great, Eddie,” I respond with a smile. “I’m going to add egg and vanilla quickly and then you can continue to mix. Use this,” I hand him a spatula, “to scrape the sides of the bowl.”

After I add the egg and vanilla, Eddie mixes the ingredients as I work on the flour. We work in comfortable silence and I feel happy and light thinking about all the pastries Eddie can help me make. He was already a great cook; baking was natural to him although he didn’t know it yet. 

“Baby, can you check this again?” I peer from my spot.

“It’s perfect. Change the speed to low. I’m gonna add flour.” 

“Is it only flour?”

“I put cornstarch, salt and baking soda.”

“Hmm,” he hums. 

“Keep mixing. We want soft and thick.” 

“Soft and thick,” Eddie nods. “Coming right up.”

Eddie mixes the dough together and smile at him.  

“You’re a natural, Eddie.” 

Eddie blushes, turning off the mixer. “I have a good teacher.” 

I scrunch my nose, adding white chocolate and cranberries into the bowl and set it aside too distracted to continue.  

“You’re so cute when you blush.” 

“How do you know I’m blushing?” 

“You scrunch your nose and look down,” he answers, mimicking me. 

You could fry an egg on my face the way it felt so hot. 

“I do that when I’m embarrassed,” I point out. 

“But you add a giggle like,” he imitates my giggle. 

I hit him softly fighting back a smile. Eddie was right about everything. He knows me so well, better than I probably know myself.  

“You’re such an egg head,” I comment.  

Eddie leans close. I can smell the chocolate chip cookies on his breath. 

“I’m not,” he replies, shaking his head.   

I open my mouth but couldn’t find the words to say. The corners of Eddie’s lips turn up to the familiar confident smirk he wears when he knows I’m flustered. I can’t give him the satisfaction. Not this time. I turn my head peering at the open carton of eggs on the counter. I pick up an egg, biting my lip to conceal my laugh and quickly jump up breaking it over his head. Thick, sticky globs of egg yolk and tiny egg shells slide down his dark brown curls, seeping through the strands. Eddie opens his eyes as I wipe what was left on my hands on his white t-shirt, smearing the dark yellow residue against the cotton fabric. 

“Smooth,” Eddie mumbles, nodding his head. 

My body shakes with silent laughter. Eddie reaches over to the pile of leftover flour on the counter, flicking it onto my face before I could turn around and dodge the attack. I gasp, eyes widening in disbelief, yet I am unable to contain my growing laughter. I flick flour on him as well challenging him. Eddie scoops a handful with both hands and drops it all on top my head. 

“Eddie!” I scream. 

I grab whatever I could find on the counter throwing it on him. Salt, sugar, flour, baking soda, brown sugar. Eddie wraps his arms around my body to hold me still, smearing what smelled like egg yolk all over my face. 

“Who’s the egg head now?” Eddie shouts. My scream turns into loud cackling. 

“It’s—It’s still—you!” I shout back through uncontrollable laughter. 

I try to escape from his hold but Eddie’s much too strong easily overpowering me. He spins me around laughing at my face. I must have looked as crazy as him. Flour and egg yolk with sprinkles of brown sugar on my face and in my hair. Eddie picks me up placing me on the counter, both our laughter dying down to hushed giggles. He brushes my hair out of my face gazing at me. I scrunch my nose, bumping mine softly against his before looking down. 

“That’s a new one. What does that mean?” 

“I don’t know,” I shrug looking back at him. “You tell me.” 

Eddie grins scrunching his nose, bumping it softly against mine. 

“It means,” he pauses, thinking. His eyes convey vulnerability that I only saw when he was with me. “I love you.” 

The butterflies in my stomach flutter around uncontrollably. It’s been one week since Eddie and I confessed our love for each other and we’ve said it to each other every day since. Each time either of us said it, which was plenty, my heart skipped a beat. 

“And this,” he rubs his nose against mine making me giggle and hold his face still. “Means, I love you too.” 

“In that case,” I scrunch my nose again, bumping it against his. 

Eddie rubs his nose against mine before closing the distance between us. His lips are soft and powdery. My heart feels like a jack hammer in my chest adrenaline coursing through my veins. Ever since the Snow Ball, I craved the feeling of his body close to mine in the most intimate of ways. I open my mouth deepening the kiss wrapping my arms around his neck pulling him closer.

 “Um?” 

I flinch startled by Erica’s voice, quickly grabbing onto Eddie’s shoulders to jump off the counter. The remaining flour, sugar, and baking soda fell onto the floor onto Eddie’s socks. 

“H-hey monster,” I stutter, putting my hands behind my back.

Eddie snickers from behind me and I elbow him softly in the gut. My face feels like it’s on fire and I hope Erica didn’t see anything. She was my little sister after all. Based on the bewildered expression on her face, she was more concerned about the mess in the kitchen than the fact Eddie and I were making out. 

“What are you guys doing?” 

Eddie and I look at each other grinning like Cheshire cats from ear to ear. 

“We’re baking,” I say, cheerfully. 

Erica arches her brow eying our appearance. “I can see that,” she said, observing the state of the kitchen. “You better clean up before Mom and Dad get back.”

“Yes, Erica,” I sigh. Sometimes it felt like she was the older sister. 

“Do you wanna help—” Eddie began. 

“Nope,” Erica cuts him off swiftly, taking a peanut butter blossom from the cooling rack on the adjacent counter. 

“Erica! Those are for Dustin and Miss Henderson!” 

“I’m just testing the product,” she explains, with her mouth full breathing heavily. The cookies were still hot. “Hmm, too much flour.” 

I gasp rushing beside her to inspect the blossoms. There couldn’t be too much flour. I know the recipe like the back of my hand and always put just the right amount of flour. 

“That’s impossible!” I exclaim snatching the piece of cookie in her hand to check the consistency.  

“She’s only joking, babe,” Eddie chuckles. I frown at Erica who was laughing hysterically at me. 

“That’s not funny Erica!” 

Erica takes the rest of the cookie out of my hand with a mischievous smile. I gently push her out of the kitchen so she doesn’t add to the mess. I turn to Eddie with a sigh looking at the mess we made in the kitchen. We really needed to clean it up before my parents got home. 

“I’m going to mix the rest of the cookie dough together. In the meantime, you can clear the counter and then we can tackle the rest together before my parents come home.” 

Eddie grabs the polaroid camera on his way to me. I catch a whiff of the raw eggs and flour on him and laugh scrunching my nose faking disgust. 

“You smell like egg!” 

Eddie tilts my chin up with his finger. “Well, who’s fault is that?”

I grin reaching up on the tips of my toes to close the distance between us. The kiss was intended to be chaste but the feeling of Eddie’s arm snaking around my waist pulling me against him won’t allow it. I try to pull away but that only makes him tighten his hold on me. I giggle against his lips holding his cheeks, our noses press together. A flash of light and the shutter snapping sounded in the background. Eddie pulls away taking the photo out of the camera. 

“This is amazing!” 

 “We look insane!”  

“We look like…” his eyes crinkle despite the softness in his smile. “…We’re in love.”  

I smile, even with tears running down my cheeks. I go up on the tips of my toes scrunching my nose bumping it against his. Eddie smiles rubbing his nose against mine, closing the distance between us. In love we were. 

[emitowrites]

Everywhere, Everything

I just wanted to save Eddie from the fate that Duffer bros gave him at the end of S4, but somehow over the weekend and into the beginning of this week I've written 25k for the world in total??? So, that's a thing that's happened I guess...

It's 24k words, you can read it here.

Featuring Audhd Eddie (who has powers!), HOH Steve, synesthesia, and (eventually) the party learning ASL through DnD.

Here's the summary:

The first time it happens, Eddie doesn’t really even realise it. He’s dying in Dustin’s arms, he’s in pain, and then suddenly he’s under the tarp, in the boathouse, jumping out with a broken bottle in his hand, shaking as he holds Steve Fucking Harrington up against the wall. It has to be a dream. It can’t have happened. It wasn’t real. But it was real, and the next go around unravels in exactly the same way. This time, he remembers the vents, they patch them up before he plays guitar, but it doesn’t help. He dies in Dustin’s arms, wakes up and he’s got Steve pushed to the wall before he can even blink.

If you read it, please let me know what you think 😆

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: Medusapelagia! They have 131 fics written for the Stranger Things fandom and 92 of those fics are in the Steddie tag!

The nominator recommends the following works by @medusapelagia:

I'm so good at telling lies (That came from my mother's side)

You're the home my heart searched for so long

The Party

It can't rain all the time

"They are such a bright light within the Steddie Event side of the fandom! Always encouraging others and offering support. They're so creative and have a fic for everyone!!" - anonymous

Below the cut, @medusapelagia answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Because I’m obsessed with them! It’s the first time I write fics in years and the first time I do that in English, but it was so clear that Steve and Eddie were meant to be together that I got back into reading, and then writing, Steddie fics as soon as Season 4 ended! Have you seen how they look at each other? The love story is already there! The Duffer Brothers did us a big favor and gave us the possibility to give them thousands of different stories in different timelines and different universes: how could I not join when there is so much to write?

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I love pain: you can put my heart through a meat grinder and I'll say "Thank you!" IF you promise me a happy ending. I'm ready to cry with the characters but in the end it must be worth it, that's why Angst and Hurt/comfort are my favorite tropes (always with a happy ending).

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

I love writing about feelings and I need A LOT of time to get the characters where I want them, that's why almost everything I write is Slow Burn… and Angst with a happy ending, but that's another story!

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

This is SO hard so… I’m going to cheat a little and give you three. The first fic I was obsessed with in 2022: wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name by DotyTakeThisDown a modern AU where Eddie is the owner of BDSM Club; My guilty pleasure: I Made Loving You A Blood Sport by Eddywow I love everything they write but this omegaverse fic it's absolutely my favorite; And my latest obsession: a man after midnight (professional dom eddie fic) a series by lydiah135 with a Transmasculine Dom Eddie.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Oh yes!!! I’m working on a new troupe for my Reverse Big Bang fic (can’t spoil it, sorry) and I’m so excited about it! It’s absolutely the first time that I’m working with this troupe and I’m so eager to share it with everyone! Another new troupe I’m working on is... Supernatural. I have two fics I’m working on right now but I have many events with a deadline (I’m addicted to ST events!) so I don’t know when I will actually start to post them.

What is your writing process like?

A complete chaos! I have an idea about the beginning of my story and how I would like to end it and I try to follow a particular vibe: what happens in the middle it’s just me trying to convince my characters to get where I want them (and I must admit that we aren’t always on the same page!). A few times I tried to plot ahead and it was a peculiar feeling: on one side when I finally got the time to write (usually after dinner and before bed) I had an outline so I didn't get blank page panic, but on the other side I got bored because I already knew the story.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I’m a fast writer and I want to get to the end of the story as soon as I can (both as a reader and as a writer) which means that sometimes I have to edit and slow down the pace a bit, and… I write a lot of dialogues.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

They are two completely different ways of writing: posting on schedule assures you some interactions (which helps you get motivated to continue the story), on the other side right now I’m working on a some projects for some events and writing a complete story gives you the opportunity to fix something you might have missed or not written because in your mind it was implied (spoiler alert: probably it wasn’t!) but not having interactions can be hard, and I'm so happy I meet some friends online that can give me some pieces of advice when in doubt!

Which fic are you most proud of?

There are two (yeah… I’m cheating again! Sorry!). The first one is Guilty, because it’s the first fic I ever wrote in English, the second one is Never Again, because it’s a double timeline and a double POV and I managed to get to. the end without plotting or getting lost somewhere!

How did you get the idea for I'm so good at telling lies (That came from my mother's side)?

I saw Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake (it's a male version of the famous ballet) and, in my mind, it was perfect with Steve’s story (my headcanon Steve obviously) so I was trying to find the right plot and I had this image in my mind of the ballerina carillon and I couldn't find a way to mix those two things. Then someone on Twitter suggested an Omegaverse Ballet AU fic and it immediately clicked with me: the connection between the carillon and the Swan Lake was Omega Steve! I asked the idea owner if they were fine with me writing the story they suggested, they said yes, and I started writing it… but I didn’t post it until I was at chapter 6 or 7 because it was my first Omegaverse fic and I was scared that everyone would have hated it or that I would have written something wrong or whatever. Then two of my favorite writers wrote a post on Tumblr about the fact that everyone should write what they like and it feels obvious, right? But sometimes facing external opinions can be scary. So I gathered my courage and took it as a sign: the next day I woke up at 4 am and I posted the first chapter because I was having so much fun writing it that I decided it deserved to be shared and I’m glad I did.

When writing It can't rain all the time, what was something you didn’t expect?

That someone else would have liked it! It’s a Crow AU and the Crow is a very, very, very dark story (both the movie and the comics) but it’s one of my favorite movies ever and I saw so many similarities between Eric Draven and Eddie Munson that when the idea came to my mind I wonder how was it possible that no one else thought about it! It's peculiar that after I started to post it I saw some artists draw Eddie as Eric (maybe it was a happy coincidence, maybe it was just the algorithm, anyway I'm glad someone else saw the similarities too!).

What inspired You're the home my heart searched for so long?

That story comes from a prompt that I saw during the Steddie Holiday Exchange and I immediately fell in love with it and I was SO happy when it was assigned to me! Still… I had some difficulties at the beginning. The first version of the story wasn’t good: I was writing it from Steve’s POV and it was super sad and I started to panic a little bit because I knew I had a deadline and I didn’t want to disappoint my giftee. Thankfully I brainstormed with some friends (brainstorming is my favorite thing ever!) and finally got the idea of Famous Influencer Steve, which led me to change the POV of the story to Eddie’s POV and from that moment on everything fell in place like magic! I also had to add a few Shrek references to my story and it was a little bit tricky but in the end, I think I’m satisfied with my story.

What was your favorite part to write from I'm so good at telling lies (That came from my mother's side)?

I loved writing the OCs that perform (and sometimes live) at the Crooked Moon. The idea of the Crooked Moon is vaguely inspired by Land of the Dead in Tim Burton's The Corpse Bride: they are the strangest kind of pack ever but everything at the Crooked Moon is bright and colorful, and they give Steve the support he needs to be finally himself.

How do/did you feel writing The party?

Oh… the party is… a sad story (with a happy ending). Is anyone surprised? It's a fic I wrote for the Steddie Week, the first event I joined and at the time I wasn't even on Tumblr. I love to torture Steve (that's why no character is eager to be my favorite I think…) and I felt like his birthday should have been on a date that everyone could have forgotten easily, so I decided that his birthday was on the 25th of December: a day when everyone is busy spending time with their family while Steve would be left home alone. And just to add trauma to trauma I added my personal experience as a gift giver! I'm a pretty good one: I listen a lot, I take notes and I buy presents months before. On the other side, no one does the same for me and I usually get money which, don't get me wrong, is great, but what I like the most about gifts (and so does Steve because I'm absolutely projecting on him!) is taking the time to search for something that the other person might like. It's not about the object, per se, but it's about the time and the care you put into it, it's a way of saying "I care about you." instead of "I didn't know what to get you so buy yourself what you want." If there is any other gift giver who lives the same trauma as me we can go to therapy together!

What was the most difficult part of writing You're the home my heart searched for so long?

The smut. It was my first smut fic ever and it wasn't super easy, but luckily I had a friend who read a couple of parts of it and gave me a few pieces of advice (thank you!!!). It was a fic with a masseur Eddie: I needed to write some smut no matter what!

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I love bratty Steve and I don’t write it enough, so this is a little banter between him and Eddie from My lucky charm, an omegaverse fic. <<Steve stiffens for a moment, then comes back to his sweet attitude and sits near Eddie, playing with his hair. “I didn’t think you were the kind of owner who plays. What do they say? Oh, yes, the house always wins, right?” “Sometimes I like some action too.” Eddie replies and takes the dice, “Why don’t you blow on my dice? For good luck.” Steve bends and blows gently on Eddie’s hand, then the owner of the casino turns toward the guard and makes a little gesture: they grab the old alpha and drag him away “You know what? I don’t think I’ll play. I don’t like these dice.” Eddie states. “Why not?” Steve asks with a little wrinkle on his perfect skin. “Because they are loaded dice.” Eddie replies and lets the dice fall on the green table with a seven. “Maybe you are just lucky.” Steve replies, still smiling. The omega has removed his patches and the sweet scent of lemon and lavender is filling the room. “I see what you are doing, sugar, but I’ll not get feral over your incredible smell. As you said, I’m the young owner of a casino, I’m trained to detect who is cheating and I will not fall for you.”>>

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

At the moment I’m working really hard on my Reverse Big Bang fic and My Steddie VDay Exchange and I can’t wait to share them.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

I’m absolutely astonished, flattered and honored that someone thought about me for Writer’s Spotlight Day so I would like to thank the person who nominated me and the mods for giving space to all the beautiful stories that we might have missed in such a big fandom. Thank you for having me and I look forward to the next fics rec! Medusa

Thank you to our author, @medusapelagia! See more of @medusapelagia works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[yesstaffnurse1]

Altering the Will

“Do you recognise these papers, Mr Sawyer?” the grinning staff nurse asked my half-senile uncle as she crouched down next to the old duffer’s chair. “It looks like your will to me. I think your nephew over there was going to get you to change it - in his favour!” I glared over at the two of them as Uncle Pete started taking some notice of the document that interfering little witch was waving under his nose. “She’s lying, uncle!” I called over. “I just wanted to check with you it was the correct version!” My uncle gave me a withering look. “You always were a crook, boy.” he said to me, his expression cold and angry. “I definitely did not will you my entire estate! I’ve not seen this will before and I’ll definitely be altering now it to cut you out!”

“You can’t do that, you old fool!” I raged, pulling impotently on the strips of material that the nurse had used to tie my hands behind my back after she had caught me trying to browbeat the old man. Meanwhile smiling happily, the little minx said to him: “Shall I destroy this version, Mr Sawyer? And would you like me to call the police so you can press charges against your nephew?” The geriatric idiot smiled indulgently at the fair-headed tart who had ruined everything. “Yes to both questions, my dear.” he purred. “You dirty old man!” I yelled pointlessly. Uncle Pete looked over at me with an irritated expression. “And please gag my nephew on your way out, Staff Nurse.” he said to her. “He really is very irritating.”

Source: Nurses Uniforms and Ladies Workwear on Flickr

[risisthis]

Why were California and Russia plots so important

I’ve seen a lot of people complaining last summer about how the Russia and California plots were unnecessary and just a waste of time. I’m here to dive in into the brain of the duffers and tell you exactly why they did this and why it was the exact opposite.

I have 3 main points to make:

1. Developing Vecna’s background

The duffers are smart and probably already had the idea about what s4 and 5 are gonna be about while writing s3 and maybe even earlier. So put yourself in their shoes, they want to introduce this big bad that will end up being the mastermind behind everything and they need time to introduce him properly.

Now imagine this: Will, El, Joyce and Hopper are in Hawkins and the planned story for s5 would have to immediately get into motion. What’s the story? Due to the play, we can guess that Joyce and Hopper knew Henry. The dots would be connected much sooner, leaving no time for us to have a question mark over our heads trying to figure out how the Creels play into all of this.

Another thing is our dear William Byers. We know he’ll be very important in s5 and there is no way Joyce knowing Henry wasn’t connected to his s1 disappearance. Will is connected to Henry, if he were in Hawkins, this plot would start immediately. We’d have to find out more about the connection sooner, Will would again be put through supernatural hell and we’d most likely be introduced to him struggling with his sexuality through vecna which i would hate. Like this we at least got a glimpse into Will already figuring it out on his own and even accepting it.

If El hadn't lost her powers and stayed in Hawkins, she would immediately locate vecna and he would probably remind her of everything that happened… and there goes all of your time to introduce Vecna slowly with a mysterious effect to him, we’d have the same characters in supernatural mess as always and no time for sadie sink to shine. Which brings me to my second point

2. Focus on other characters

What does this mean? For example, Will is an important character who was sidelined for a while, but we know he will return to the center stage next season. In season 4, we saw that he had grown more confident, likely due to a more open-minded environment. The smaller plot that he had will become more significant in season 5.

Mike usually leads the party, but in season 4 he didn’t which led him to voice some of his insecurities. However, when was the last time something significant happened to him? I believe it will in season 5.

But, what about other characters? If we assume that Will, El, Mike, Joyce, Hopper (and probably Nancy and Jonathan) will be the main focus in the next season, when will there be time for the rest? That's why season 4 was important - it gave the Hawkins crew more focus and developed their final stories, so they only need to be finished and given proper closure. If our Cali and Russia crew were in Hawkins, there wouldn't be enough time for other characters because they would be the ones in the middle of a supernatural mess.

3. The relationships

Russia and Cali had a common theme going on when it comes to relationships. Both jopper and byler (no matter if platonic or romantic) experienced having to spend time without the other person to realize how important the relationship is to them.

Mileven struggled with issues that they didn’t even know they had before. It doesn’t matter whether mileven or byler will be endgame, we know that Mike deeply cares about both of them, and the distance definitely made him realize a lot of new things about his relationships with those two.

Jopper was on the verge of getting together last season, but his “death” made them realize there is definitely no time to waste and made their feelings for each other perfectly clear.

Conclusion

Relocating characters was important to make space for forming a background for a probably packed plot that is coming next season. If they hadn't done that, season 4 would most likely be the last season, and it would feel incredibly rushed (they even originally planned to have only 4 seasons). This gave them an opportunity to focus more on the characters and their relationships, and paved a path they're about to follow to their final closure.

Although there's still a lot of stuff left open, particularly with relationships, I feel like most of their problems can be solved with one big and important conversation. Season 5 was definitely tricky to write because there's so much going on, but if you think about it, we already know the big bad and quite a lot behind his motives, giving us 7-10 hours to give the show a proper ending without spending at least 2 hours introducing a new villain or characters. That's precisely why the way season 4 was written was extremely important.

[sterlingarcher23]

An "eye-opener"

This quite literally opened her eyes... Oh, foreshadowing. Nachtigall ick hör dir trappsen.

"Let me see" (If "I hear you" while listening to the radio forshadows blind Max, the "Let me see" forshadows the opposite.)

Why? Because both Lucas & Erica are connected to the 8.

You know... Kali. The dice could have shown any other number in slow motion but it's the 8 before it's a 20 (the ElMax & Lumax patterns both equate separately to a specific number once the final verse happened: 20)

Lucas speaks directly to her inability to see and feel and he says "We're gonna get you some help". Not for the resurrection, he speaks to her condition, her loss of sight and unable to feel/been paralyzed (the dying/resurrection is addressed after this) - Some don't see her paralyzed forever but blind definitely? That is inconsequential. (Seriously, you can't just flat out say one part is probably not the case but the other is. - It's both or nothing. That's why it's in this scene.)

A supernatural genre show and you truly believe everything is going to be normal?

Blind girl...

...um, psych.

Blind girl connected to her friend - when she grabs Els hand, she pulls off her glasses.

"Rhymes that keep their secrets will unfold behind the clouds", Neverending Story

So behind Max's clouded eyes "rhymes that keep their secrets will unfold". We still have to see this, don't we? S4 didn't gave us this.

Angel by Madonna, in its final line, says "Clouds just disappear". One shouldn't overlook this line of the song when everything else IS in the show.

And how? You know how. Brenner explained it even to us. We just misunderstood who was actually meant.

You know "taking abilities & memories".

Well she IS alive, ergo she will see another day even though it won't be her "eyes" that she'll use. It doesn't get more obvious than in this line - not only for this episode but in whole since this scene is a forshadowing of both her death and resurrection (I think there's the clock sound at the 20 minute mark?):

IF Max lives (Yes & Yes), she will SEE another day (Yes and logically Yes again! + "In your hand/s the birth of a new day"). And Lucas & Erica will get her some help as Max demanded "Let me see" via the 8. (which is btw the shape of the binoculars too)

El will be Max's eyes. Yes, I agree. Literally. This scene here is meant literal. You remember Phineas Gage? No? Go watch the scene. 😉

I'll talk about Gage in another post but there's a case of a woman that was blind after an accident. She was diagnosed with brain damage ; you know the thing Max doesn't believe is a thing...and she's right in her case. That woman wasn't blind, it was a misdiagnosis as it turned out many years later. The woman had something else... similar to Gage's symptoms but the correct diagnosis wasn't brain damage.

Max is blind...but she isn't at all. Because she'll consume. The silver cat feeds. Abilities. Memories.

The Talisman which Lucas reads from passage refers directly to Speedy. Speedy Parker whose alternate version, Parkus is a gunslinger, a knight. There's a third character with the name of Snowball (Seriously!) a blind musician who, although never directly confirmed, the protagonist of The Talisman, Jack, identifies as Speedy Parker. Snowball is extremely good in identifying other people himself even though he "can't see" - but if he is indeed Speedy, how can he be blind and be able to see at the same time? The Talisman - a healing object like the Grail - doesn't answer this oddity, it can be interpreted as a case of multiple identities/versions. However it is obvious why the Duffers chose this reference: Max is "Speedy" and therefore Snowball. That's why the "Snowball" happened. Blind yet not blind at all.

Plus: El literally removes blindness where he blinds the kids.

Oh, and about that brain thing...wait for a space walk that's been foreshadowed too when Max is introduced to the class.

[sheisjoeschateau]

“You’re there. You were always there.”

A MULTI-PART FANFICTION SERIES, INSPIRED BY STRANGER THINGS, WRITTEN BY MISHA ST. JAMES.

Steve Harrington x fem!character. Childhood friends to lovers.

Slow burn. Angst. Romance. Smut with plot. Spin-off of pre-existing character.

A note from the writer:

—

Hello there darlings. What started off as a rough one-shot concept inspired by my rewatching Stranger Things season one for the billionth time evolved into my new favorite fan fiction series that I have written and created. This truly has become my baby. I said it in my original post when leaving a sneak preview of this work of mine…but I’ll say it again. This piece really has become my baby.

I overthink everything. I like to dive deep beneath the surface of things and overthink things into magnificent new realities. A seemingly random (almost forgettable) character in this show ended up making my mind spiral. As a writer, I believe that all characters in books and cinema have purpose. So naturally, my mind wanted to make something of a character that only appears at random yet crucial parts of the show’s story.

Nicole only appeared in season one and she was assumed to be a friend of Steve’s. To us, she was no one. Yet the Duffers introduced us to her as if she was an already established character in the series. Steve seemed almost too comfortable with her, like there was history between them. But we never explored that past the first season. That really started to bug me during this last binge-watch I had. So being the over dramatic writer that I am, I decided to make something of it myself. And damn, did it just…flow. I had no plans of making this such a big series but yeah, here we fucking are.

I gave her my last name because, well, *hair flip* I’m a narcissistic bitch like that when it comes to writing. ;) So in this series of mine, she is written Nicole St. James. I took some inspiration from The Breakfast Club because, ya know, Claire Standish? Molly Ringwald was an iconic redhead in the 80s film world, and that role in particular really seemed to fit how I wrote Nicole while fitting how she was presented in the show. I also did not want to give her a predictable personality either (because, again, as a writer I’m complex like that). So I did not take the typical “mean girl” route with her character because that honestly would just hit a wall. I wanted there to be a reason for her her in this show. I think the actress who played her did a good job with it, given there wasn’t much for her to work with.

I actually researched the actress a bit (Glenellen Anderson) and she’s actually very talented. She said something in one of her interviews about her role being small in ST but serving a crucial part in the first season of the series, given her being the reason that Steve finds out about Jonathan taking the pictures in his yard that night. Idk tbh I lowkey feel like a stalker who’s obsessing over an actor before they make it big so that one day I can be like YEAH I KNEW SHE WAS COOL WHEN SHE WAS STILL UNDERRATED. Lol ok moving on —

So I guess that’s it then. Time for me to shut up and just let the story I’ve created speak for itself. Thank you to some of my favorite writers on here and fellow Steve Harrington fanatics for inspiring me to release my own work into this universe. I’ve been very hesitant but I am glad to finally be doing it. I want to hear your thoughts and honest opinion while also asking kindly that you keep my emo heart in consideration when doing so 👉🏻👈🏻 If I forgot to tag you, I sincerely apologize. Please remind me in comments so that I can remember next time!

*disclaimer: this is based on pre-existing characters. in the show, nicole is portrayed by a redheaded white female actress so I based my writing around that. I do not discriminate against ANY race or preferred gender roles who choose to read and engage with my stories.

Enjoy and please leave feedback :)

x, MISHA

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY PLATFORMS WITHOUT PROPERLY CREDITING ME AS THE WRITER. I DO NOT GRANT PERMISSION FOR YOU TO CLAIM MY WRITING AND WORK AS YOUR OWN. YES, THIS IS A FAN FICTION BASED ON A PRE-EXISTING SHOW. HOWEVER THERE IS BASIC COURTESY TO BE EXPECTED IN THE WRITING COMMUNITY SO PLEASE RESPECT THAT. 🖤

Warnings: This is very much an 18+ written fan fiction series. Please read at your own risk. There is language, eventual mentions of blood and violence, drinking, sex, etc. There is also going to be mention of homophobia because the 80s were full of misogynistic men and women who were so unforgivingly dense (like fucking Tommy H. and Carol Perkins), so I want to address that as we eventually introduce Robin and Will into the series so that we can have our outstanding LGBTQ darlings welcomed and given the representation that they deserve.

—————

VOLUME I

“You’re there. You were always there.”

——————

Steve Harrington is six years old when he meets you: the girl who carries the other half of him with her. 

He first spotted her playing outside alone, in the yard right across from his. She has a big treehouse, and no one but herself to share it with. And even though you seem content — he doesn’t know why, but it makes him sad. Watching you alone, in your own great big world, and no one begging to share it with you. 

So after a week, he walks across the street to do something about it. He had watched you climb the little red ladder up to the top, making round trips with your backpack and various items. 

The door to your treehouse is made of wood, painted pastel yellow with tiny butterfly stickers adorning it in random places. He hears you, talking to yourself the way you would talk if you had company. Maybe it’s to an imaginary friend. Or maybe, you just like to talk to yourself. Regardless, he knocks, and your gibberish ceases. Eventually, he hears your feet padding closer and closer.  The door creaked open, revealing your curious grey eyes. Your red hair framed your small, heart shaped face, and the cream knit sweater that you wore looked almost as warm as you were.

“Hi,” Steve said. “I’m Steve. I live in that house over there.”

He pointed to the big house that loomed just across the street from you, and you briefly peeked out to look at it before looking back at him. Your full pink lips pressed into a shy smile.

“I’m Nicole,” you told him. “I’m six.”

“Me, too,” Steve tells you, proudly and with a dashing smile. But then he furrows his brow. “Why are you having a tea party by yourself?”

You look back into your little safe haven, following his gaze that stares at the eclectic assortment of tea cups and teapots set for multiple people when it was just you. 

“Oh, well I just like to be ready,” you tell him. “In case I make any friends.” 

Suddenly, you beam at him. Your usually shy demeanor dissolves as the gleam in your eye shines through. 

“Do you wanna be my friend?” you ask Steve, who raises his eyebrows in response.

“Umm, yeah,” he finally responds, nodding his head. He stuffs one hand into the pockets of his little Levi jeans, fastened with a belt and all, already a charmer with his polo sweater. His other hand goes to push back some of his floppy chestnut hair. “Yeah, let’s be friends.”

You smile brightly.  “Okay.”

And so you are, just like that.  Friends.  As you pour Steve a cup of chocolate milk, which you both confidently call hot tea without remark, you quietly hum to yourself.

Steve watches you, thinking you’re really pretty.  Whenever you go to pass him a teacup, he takes it and quickly looks around, pretending he wasn’t just staring at you.  He was in awe, really.  Fairy lights were strewn about, with potted flowers in the windowsills.  There was a table with lots of crayons, markers and gel pens, unfinished drawings scattered underneath them.  A few completed drawings were hung up on the walls.  

“Doesn’t it get scary up here all by yourself?” he asks you, genuinely curious.

As you set the little teapot back down, you shrugged your shoulders and shook your head. “Mm-mm,” you tell him. “I’m safe up here.”

You raise your teacup to your little pout to sip.  You seemed so content all by yourself, as if the word ‘lonely’ was completely foreign to you.

Steve is six years old when he sees the reflection of his better self in you.

_______

Steve is 7 years old when he calls you his best friend.

You’re both playing at recess, roped into a game of duck-duck-goose. A little girl named Carol is sitting next to you, and Steve watches her roll her eyes and huff throughout most of the game. You’ve been smiling and laughing this whole time, except when she gets mad that you don’t pick her when you’re circling the group of kids and selecting someone to chase you.

“Nicoooole,” she whines. 

You look at her as if you’re terribly afraid of what you could have done wrong. Carol crosses her arms, pouting.

“You’re supposed to pick me,” she complains.

“Oh,” you said, eyes wide.  “I-I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

You shuffled your feet, your loafers twisting in the grass.  Your ponytail blew in the breeze, along with the little flyaway baby hairs, and you looked a little embarrassed – almost ashamed – as the kid you had picked goes to sit in the assigned mush pot, since she couldn’t catch you.

“Well I do,” Carol said, matter of fact. 

Steve grimaces. He hated seeing you so uncomfortable, and he really hated the way this girl was talking to you.

“Those aren’t the rules,” Steve argued, defending you. 

You looked at Steve, a little relief becoming evident in your timid eyes.

“It’s not not in the rules,” Carol snarks back. Alright, now Steve is just plain bothered. This girl is annoying. And shamelessly entitled. 

Carol looks back at you, glaring. “Pick me next time.”

You slowly sit back down next to her, sinking into the grass with a frown. You look so timid, sad even. Steve wanted to drag you across the circle to sit next to him, but he didn’t because you were suddenly standing again, stuttering a little “Oh,” realizing it was still your turn. 

You cautiously made your way around the kids, placing your hand on top of everyone’s heads while saying “duck.”  You started to sweetly grin as you approached Steve, who grinned back. You plopped your hand on top of his head, definitely messing up his hair, but he didn’t mind. It was you, and that was okay. Anyone else, no. 

You fearfully dubbed Carol duck as you passed her, and her jaw clenched. She kept her arms tightly folded, watching you like a hawk. Steve narrowed his eyes at the snarky girl, already hating her. You patted his head again, “duck,” and Steve watched you curiously. Surely, you weren’t gonna pick her. Then again, he was afraid of what would happen if you didn’t. 

But sure enough, you did pick Carol. 

Goose. 

Carol smirked so fast before bolting upright to chase you around the playground. 

Steve was wildly chanting your name, along with the others.

“Go, Nicole!” he shouted, rooting you on. The others echoed his cheers. Your red hair flipped in the wind, ponytail bouncing behind you as you dashed back towards him in your school dress and loafers. 

Carol looked so convinced that she was gonna take you down, but you were faster. She chased you with a devilish smile, which began to quickly dissolve once she saw you getting closer to homebase.

Suddenly, you plopped down beside Steve, out of breath. He and the others hurrayed, and you smiled as you panted.

But Carol scoffed, finally making it over to you all in the circle. She buckled over her knees, trying to catch her breath.

“Ha-ha, Carol,” some boy sneered jokingly. 

“Yeah Carol, mush pot time,” Steve chimed in, a little too happily.

She scoffed again, louder this time. “No way, that’s not fair.”

Steve twitched incredulously. “W’you mean it’s not fair? She beat you.”

Carol’s jaw clenched again, and she stared daggers in your direction as she put her hands on her hips with a sour attitude. Steve cringed at the sight of just how nasty she looked, hating that it was being directed towards you. You shrunk back in your seated position on the grass, looking afraid. As Carol stalked over to sit in the middle of everyone, she kept staring at you with a look that could kill. You looked to the ground, and Steve kept his place next to you with a newfound wave of protection washing over him.

“Fine, well,” Carol sneered.  “I’m not your friend anymore.”

Carol’s words were nothing but laughable. To any mature adult — hell, any human not in kindergarten — her remark would have meant nothing. But to you? A seven year old with a heart of gold, and the desire to just make everyone feel included? Her words were detrimental. They meant you were a horrible person. You were to blame.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t —“ you stumble, voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to, Carol, I-I…”

Carol whipped her head around to not face you. Your eyes were really sad now, and Steve’s heart sank.  You brought your knees to your chest, and your grey eyes went a little glassy.

“I can switch w-with you,” you kept trying. “I’ll sit—”

“Shut up,” she barked. “I said you’re not my friend.”

“Yeah, well she’s my best friend.”

Steve’s words landed hard. 

Carol whipped her head around again, now facing him. Everyone in the circle stared at the perfect-haired boy, including you. Sweet, innocent you. Your grey eyes peered over at him nervously. But there was a glint of hope in them, too, and if you weren’t so shaken up and close to crying you would have smiled. 

Steve shot one last disgusted look in Carol’s direction, then rose to his feet.  He reached out a hand, taking one of yours from your knees.

“C’mon,” he told you.  “Let’s go play somewhere else.”

You blinked, but didn’t hesitate to follow his lead.  You looked at him, giving him a small smile before looking downwards again.  Steve wrapped his fingers around your hand so tightly, and your little heart fluttered.  He was so warm, and you felt so safe.

Carol huffed, appalled.  “Since when are you best friends with ugly redheads, Harrington?!”

Your heart sank even lower as you saw Steve’s eyes go fierce, his jaw clenched.  He whipped around to look at Carol.

“The only ugly redhead here is you,” he shot back at her, and her jaw dropped.  All the kids reacted, some laughing and some making amused remarks.  But Steve didn’t pay them any mind as he stalked off with you, hand in hand.

You kept up with him as best you could with your little legs, feeling his grip on your hand tighten.  He looked so mad, and you gulped.

“Steve?” you asked, voice quiet.

“Don’t listen to them,” he mumbled, shaking his head.  He was staring straight ahead, mind racing.  You could tell he was really upset, and it made you feel bad.  “Or her.  She’s a bitch.”

You gasped, eyes wide.  “Steve!”

“What?  She is.”

You were shocked to hear him curse.  A few moments passed as you kept walking beside him, completely taken aback.  But then, you felt a grin tucking your lips upwards.  You stifled a giggle, and Steve turned to look at you in surprise.  You glanced up at him shyly, really giggling now.  His hard expression turned soft, a smile of his own creeping on his lips.  Eventually, he laughed too.

The two of you made it over to the swingset, and Steve let go of your hand.  You already missed his touch, the warmth of it.  He walked to stand in front of the tire swing, nodding his head at you to join.  You walked in front of the tire, reaching up to grip the chains from which it hung.  Steve crossed over to stand behind you.

“Here,” he said, placing his hands on your small hips.  You felt yourself flush, heart fluttering again.  A whole flock of butterflies swarmed your stomach.  Steve was happy you couldn’t see his face, because he felt himself flush too.  He wasn’t sure why a surge of electricity shot through him as he lifted you up into the tire swing, but as you swung your legs into its open middle he could smell your lavender shampoo.  It made him melt, and his hands lingered just a little longer than needed on the hips of your jeans.  You were safely seated now – had been for a moment.  Maybe two or three moments.  

Steve cleared his throat, rounding the wheel to climb onto it and sit across from you.  He tossed his feet into the hole, hands wrapped around the chains.  You looked at him with that signature warm, slightly shy smile of yours, and he returned it.  His smile was definitely more confident, though.  Charming, even for a first grader.

Your feet dangled in the air, so Steve used his to touch the ground and help you both begin to swing.  For a little while, you both just listened to the breeze.  The leaves were beginning to turn brown, a sign that autumn was approaching.  Kids laughed in the distance, buzzing with energy.  You figured you both only had a little time left, before you would have to return to classes.  But spending the last bit of playtime alone together was more fun than with the bratty kids you’d been spending time with earlier.

“Am I ugly?”

Steve had been watching a butterfly swarming nearby when you spoke.  He almost hadn’t heard you, with the way you spoke so quietly.  You sounded so small, fragile.  You were staring at the ground, your loafers criss-crossed as the two of you swayed on the swing, looking so vulnerable.  It made his heart split in two, the fire inside him burning again.  

“No,” he said, a little too harshly.  Your eyes shot up at him, a little surprised at his tone.  But he continued with no filter, cause what 7-year-old boy has one of those?  “Carol’s a liar.  You’re not ugly.  At all.  You’re beautiful.  Way more than her.”

Your eyes shone, and Steve watched your cheeks go rosy pink.  A small but real smile found its way onto your little lips, and you looked at him so sweetly before you glanced back down at the ground.  You kicked at the air, thinking to yourself.  While you weren’t looking, Steve memorized each eyelash concealing your grey eyes and the curve of your eyebrows.  He noticed that you only had a small sprinkle of freckles on your nose, but nowhere else on your porcelain skin.  He felt his heart skip a beat, losing himself in you.  God, you were perfect.  How could anyone ever call you ugly?  

“Wanna come over for dinner?” Steve asked.

You looked up at him, snapped out of your own thoughts.  “Yeah.  I’ll have to ask my mom and dad if that’s okay.”

“I think my mom is ordering pizza,” Steve continued, mouth watering.  “Do you like pizza?”

“Yeah, but I like mushroom pizza.”

Steve scrunched his nose.  “Eww, why?”

You giggled, shrugging.  “They’re really good!”

“Bleck.”

“You should try them,” you insisted.  

Steve would normally say something along the lines of hell no, but to you?  That was impossible.  He pursed his lips, nose still scrunched and shivering at the thought of eating fungus on pizza.  But he relented, sighing.

“Alright, I guess,” he said, kicking to swing you both again.  “But if I don’t like it, you have to help me with the dishes.”

You smirked.  “Deal.”

You both swayed, listening to the trees rustle.  Steve watched the teacher approaching everyone from her perch, knowing she was about to whistle for everyone to make their way back for school.

“Hey Steve?”

He turned back to look at you.  ‘Hmm?”

You paused, contemplating your words.  But then you gave him the kindest smile in the world, and it rendered Steve speechless as you spoke with more certainty than you had all day.

“You’re my best friend, too.”

__________

As the next few years went by, you and Steve continued to become a permanent part of them for each other.  

Your parents had easily become friends with his parents, making it a regular thing to have each other over for holiday parties and gatherings, or even just casual dinners.  Both your parents and his were too wealthy for their own good, too caught up in their own worlds to really pay either of you any mind.  Sure, they knew that the two of you were friends.  Close even.  But they didn’t really know much beyond that.  Steve’s parents were just glad to know that their kid had something to do other than bother them every day after school and on weekends, and your parents were so used to you playing by yourself that they didn’t really notice much difference.  Your families both lived in a swanky neighborhood, so becoming acquainted with one another hadn’t been something that required much consideration on their part.  They ran in the same circles.  Timeshare mutuals, and plastic veneer smiles who shared travel itineraries for whatever bougie seminar was happening that month, or the next.

Until you came along, Steve had been a lonely kid destined for a life of abandonment.  Once Chet Harrington had been given a son by Paula, he stopped the bloodline there.  “Good,” he’d remarked.  “Someone to carry on the family name.”  As far as he was concerned, that’s all his kid’s purpose served.  Take over the family business, get a trophy wife and repeat the cycle.  Siblings?  Why bother?  One kid was enough to handle.  They cost money and time, and the Harringtons didn’t just hand those out like charity.  If it weren’t so heavily frowned upon, or a threat to their reputation, they wouldn’t have even bothered with hiring a babysitter.  It was mainly Paula Harrington who insisted on it.  After all, she did love her son.  She just wasn’t a nurturing mother, giving her care to her pearls and pristine walk-in closet maintenance far more than her little boy, so her love was never felt by her son.  As far as Chet was concerned, once Steve turned 10 years old, a babysitter was no longer a needed expense.  Because that’s all it was to him: an expense.  So come the double digits, and Steve would just be a kid left to fend for himself, all alone in his great big house with no parents.

But so were you.  You, Nicole St. James, were just as doomed as he was.  Your parents were more aloof than anything.  They weren’t quite as cold as the Harrington’s.  But they weren’t all that warm either.  Ken had impregnated his wife, Alison, on a spontaneous trip overseas.  You’d been the result of a heavy night of gin, blue curacao and dirty talk.  Filthy sex and silky sheets in a Five Seasons were the blissful combination the night that you were conceived.  It had been a surprise for both of them, when that little strip read positive with a pink stripe.  They’d made a fuss of it, planning a frivolous baby shower with tons of guests and a plethora of gifts for their baby girl on the way.  They had found out the gender as soon as they could, not wanting any more surprises.  Your arrival had been a very anticipated event, so when you had been actually brought into the world the excitement fizzled away.  It seemed more exciting to celebrate having you, rather than actually having you.  Granted, your parents loved you.  You were spoiled with toys, new clothes every week, and social outings.  Not that you ever asked for any of those things.  The only thing you ever sought out from them were hugs, which they half-heartedly returned with barely a fraction of the love that radiated through your tiny arms.  

You had your mother’s hair, though hers was more auburn while yours was pure fire.  And you had your father’s grey eyes.  But what you had that they didn’t, was your spirit.  They were boisterous, loud and shallow.  You were quiet, shy and soft.  You radiated only genuine kindness, oftentimes just observing your surroundings and being in your own little world.  Your parents were party animals, constantly busying themselves with events and planning vacations.  It’s why they busied you with the same types of things by default, assuming you to be just like them.  Constantly wanting company, people to distract you and noise to drown out the silence.  But you weren’t like them.  You loved the silence, the chirping of the birds and the whoosh of the breeze.  You loved books instead of toys, and gardening tools instead of dolls.  Not that they paid attention to that, though.  Instead, they just bought you whatever the flashiest new item was.  Or, if you just so happened to take a liking to something, the St. James’ bought it to appease you quickly and not bat an eye.  Screw sentimentality, if it made you happy then by all means you could have it.

The only reason they had a treehouse built for you, was because Ken St. James had discovered his daughter’s makeshift fort outside.  It consisted of amateruly constructed cardboard boxes, with random blankets propped up on sticks.  He and Alison had just gotten home from a business trip, and your aunt had shrugged her shoulders when they asked how her stay had been.  She told them you had spent the whole time outside, playing in your disastrously built utopia.  Your parents didn’t give much thought to it, hiring a few carpenters to come and build you a proper treehouse for your sixth birthday.  You had beamed, telling them thank you a thousand and one times.  They’d thought it was cute, at first.  Until one night, as they got ready for a gala, you had gone to hug your mother as she coated her lips with a red rouge.  She’d yelped, surprised at your sudden touch.   

“I love you, mommy,” you whispered to her.  

“Nicole, darling, what are you–” she stammered, one hand holding her lipstick and the other swatting at you.

“For my treehouse,” you continued.  “I love it.”

“Oh, psh, honey,” she scoffed wryly, slowly peeling your little arms off of her shoulders.  “Enough now, you’ve thanked us too many times to count.  It’s a little exhausting.”

She had chuckled humorlessly, resuming her pampering.  You had watched her reflection, and if she’d cared to look at yours instead of her own she would have seen the look of longing and saddened wonder that filled your eyes.  She would have seen the way your full lips parted, no more words being spoken.  And she would have seen you quietly pad your way back out her bedroom door, where you made your way back to your room.  

Instead of finding love through your parents, you found it in your treehouse.  You found it in the swaying of the trees, and the butterflies that swarmed your front yard.  You found it in yellow crayons, and glitter gel pens, and the weeds you insisted were flowers as you pulled them and placed them into little pots.  You found love in the changing of seasons, and the twinkle lights that glowed at night in your safe haven.  You found love within yourself, and you found love in Steve Harrington.

The bike rides down the neighborhood streets, and down to the convenient store to buy snacks with your little weekly allowances.  The swapping of ice cream cones on hot summer days — when Steve noticed the way you eyed his chocolate waffle cone, as he secretly wanted your strawberry sugar cone instead.  The afternoons into nights spent in your treehouse together, playing make believe and coloring.  The fairy wands and pirate swords, and the battle of neverland that you fought side by side in your tulle dress while Steve wore a green polo and birthday hat with a red feather crudely taped to the side of it.  The field trips and summer camps with your classmates, always sitting beside each other on the bus and whenever you all had to eat in between activities.  Lord knows, if you two were sat apart, one of you would complain until it was made right.  The innocent secrets you told each other, and the way you both laughed at the silliest of things until your sides split.  The countless hours that you spent at his house, no parents or nanny in sight, playing hide and seek.  One time, it took him so long to find you that he panicked.  He was pretty sure you had actually disappeared for good, and his breathing quickened.  It took him calling out your name several times, until eventually it sounded like he was blubbering.  You had made your way out of his closet, where you’d proudly buried yourself underneath all of his clothes.  Steve saw you crawling out with a worried look on your little face, saying his name in such an assuring tone.  He had run over to you and hugged you tight, sniffling.  But when he pulled back, he’d already roughly rubbed his eyes so that no tears spilled.  The two of you resumed playing like nothing had happened.  

Most days were spent in your treehouse, except when a thunderstorm was coming.  That’s when the two of you would throw a bunch of blankets and pillows together in his or your room, making a fort.  A shelter, if you will.  The thunder rolled as the lightning streaked across the sky.  One night, you had both curled up with a big bowl of popcorn, boxes of cereal, pop tarts, sodas and candy, no trace of actual substance in sight.  You had flashlights and cards, playing Go Fish and War.  At some point, Steve had asked if you believed in ghosts.  You shuddered, nodding your head yes.  His eyes had gone wide, clutching the blanket tighter around his shoulders.  You pulled the pillow in your arms closer to your chest, your grey eyes just as wide as his.

“Do you think…” Steve had started, his voice soft.  He gulped, a thought crossing his mind.  “D’you think we’ll ever have to fight monsters?  You know, like aliens or something?”

You gulped, too.  “I dunno,” you started, voice soft like his.  “I think that monsters in books and movies are really scary.  I don’t wanna fight them in real life.”

Steve nodded, thinking.  “Well, if we ever do… I’ll protect you.  Promise.”

You hugged your pillow tighter, your worried eyes shining and a shy smile meeting your lips.  “You will?”

“Yeah,” Steve assured you, with absolute certainty.  Because he meant it with all of his heart.  No monster would ever hurt you.  No ghost would haunt you.  And nothing would ever take you away.  “I always will.”

CRACK.  That’s when lightning struck the electricity box, and all the power in Steve’s house went out.  You screamed, and Steve gasped.  He grabbed one of the flashlights, shuffling his way over to you.  He wrapped the blanket around both of you, as the two of you huddled closer together underneath the pillow fort you both built together.

“S’okay, I’m right here,” he soothed you, feeling you shiver against him.  Your little arms were wound around his torso, your grip fierce.  He clung to him with so much trust, melting into him, even though you were scared.  He melted right back into you, holding you close.  “I got you.”

The winds howled outside, thunder still rolling and lightning flashing around you both in the quiet, still room outside of the walls of blankets enveloping you both.  

“Do you think there’s a monster out there?” you asked him, your frightened voice the cutest whisper in the world.

“Nah,” Steve said, but even he wasn’t so sure.  He couldn’t be scared, though.  He had to make you feel safe.  “But if there is, it won’t get you.  I won’t let it.”  He rested his chin on top of your head.  “Not ever.”

Even at nine years old, Steve knew he would never break a promise that he made you.  You did, too.

And right now, as you turned ten years old, you were surrounded by a bunch of faces.  Most of them, you didn’t really know.  Some were kids from school, and others were their parents.  Lots of random adults, buzzed with champagne and spirits.  But as you sat in a chair behind your pink birthday cake, all aglow with ten gold candles, there was one face you recognized and loved.  Steve’s.

He grinned at you, his smile growing more charming each day.  His hair was still iconic, always styled just right.  He wore a preppy polo with a collar, and khaki slacks with nice shoes.  His brown doe eyes shone in the candlelight – and even though the others spoke loudly over each other, he spoke so that only you could hear him.

“Make a wish, Nic,” he said, seated right next to you.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY GIRL!” your mom squealed, the inebriation evident in her voice.

“Wait, honey, wait,” your father chuckled, gripping his whisky.  “We gotta sing first.”

“Damn,” Mr. Harrington remarked, also laughing.  “These women just don’t have any patience, do they?”

The two men snickered, and Mrs. Harrington playfully scoffed and swatted at them before wrapping an arm around your mother.  She, too, was a bit tipsy.  

“Alright,” she purred, a smirk on her lips as she raised her glass.  “All together now.”

And so the song began.  Happy Birthday rang all throughout the house, echoing off the dining room walls of your childhood home.  Kids sang with enthusiasm, while adults sang in a million different pitches.  Some voices were happy, others were bored, and a few were drunk.  But the only voice you listened to was your best friend’s, who sat by your side with one arm resting on the table and the other perched on the back of your chair.  You beamed at him, and he beamed at you.

Steve swore in that very moment, that you were perfect.  The way your little baby hairs still escaped your hair that was pulled into a little half-up do.  You were wearing the simplest, most feminine pastel yellow dress.  The sleeves had tiny ruffles on it, your shoulders peeking out and arms bare.  Your face was clean of any makeup, aside from the white face painted butterfly wings around your grey eyes.  It was so whimsical, making you look even more like a princess than you already were.  Steve watched you look around the room, enchanted by your enchantment.  And as your gaze circled back to meet his own, he smiled bigger.  Your smile grew, too, and the crowd of people in the room ceased to exist.  You’d both forgotten them, until they started to cheer wildly as your birthday song ended.

“Nicky!” your mother squealed.  

God, you hated when she called you that.  You broke your gaze from Steve, looking at her.

“Come on, baby, make a wish!”

You looked back down at your candles, scrunching your eyes shut and thinking.  Steve’s eyes never left you, entranced with the way you looked in the orange glow of the birthday candles.  Selfishly, he made a wish too.  It wasn't his birthday, but it didn’t have to be.  Steve wished for all your wishes and dreams to come true.  He wished for this to be the best year yet, for you and for him.  He wished for you to never move away, to always be his best friend across the road.  He wished for you to never outgrow him, or want to be better friends with somebody else.  He wished it would always be like this, that no matter what changes came he would always have you.  He wished that he knew what you were wishing for, and he wished for you to be wishing for him.

Little did he know, he was your only wish.  It was already true, and as you blew out the candles, you wished for it to always be true.

________________

Steve was twelve when you saw him cry for the first time.

His parents had gotten his report card, appalled at the C and D despite all other A’s.  Paula Harrington was disappointed and embarrassed, but Chet Harrington?  Well, he was furious.  

“I didn’t raise someone stupid,” he spat at Steve, who leaned against the kitchen counter with his head down, shoulders slumped and arms crossed.  They had been arguing over this for at least thirty minutes.

Steve swallowed.  “I’m not stupid, dad,” he murmered, voice defeated.

“Sorry, what was that?” his father egged him on, voice bitter.  There was zero trace of kindness or understanding, and Steve’s mother could only watch them from the dining table with a pathetic pout.

Chet stepped closer to his son, sneering.  “Speak up, son.  Couldn’t hear you.”

“...said I’m not stupid,” Steve tried again, hating the way his voice still shook despite talking a little louder.

“Stop being a little bitch and look at me,” his dad spat, the air escaping his lips and onto Steve’s face.

“Chet, please –” his mother tried, pathetically. 

Steve felt the hurt inside of him bubbling into anger, unable to control himself.  

“I said I’m not stupid!”  He shouted back, having taken enough of his father’s bullying for the past thirty minutes.  The past month.  Several months.  Years.

But he was only rewarded with a slap to the face, so sharp it felt like a knife.  If it weren’t for the ringing in his ears, he would have heard his mother gasp.  The impact had made him turn a full 180 degrees, and he was stunned into silence as tears sprang to his eyes from the harsh blow.  Slowly, he turned back towards them.  He first made eye contact with his mother, whose hands were clasped over her mouth.  Eventually, he made eye contact with his father, who seethed and showed no sign of remorse.

“Your report card says otherwise,” he slithered.  He slowly backed up towards the kitchen table, taking his seat again.  He took a sip of his brandy, clicking his tongue at the taste.  “Raise your voice at me again, and you’ll see stars next time.”

Steve could hear his own breathing, could feel the anguish that spread throughout his mind, body and soul.  His heart ached, and he longed for comfort.  But the two people who sat in front of him wouldn’t offer him that.  Nobody would.

Except you.

So he bolted his stairs, seeking privacy so that the unshed tears threatening to spill over wouldn’t show his weakness any further.  He held them at bay, biting his lip so hard he was pretty sure it would bleed soon.  He ran into his room, throwing open his drawers as he breathed hard.  Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his only thoughts consisting of getting a change of clothes and heading over to you.  He threw a backpack over his shoulder, locking his bedroom door and sneaking out his window.

He knew the route all too well by now, having done it since he was six.  He crawled down the side of the house, walking towards the house next to his and the one after that.  Then, he made his way across the street, where he walked behind one house, then two, and then made it to yours.  This way, his parents wouldn’t see him heading to your house out their window.  

Once he was there, he climbed up the side of your home where your window was dimly lit by the glow of your bedside lamp.  Good, he thought.  You were home.  His heavy heart swelled with relief, and he mounted the side of the house and up onto the roof the way he always did when sneaking into your room at night.

Your window was cracked open, always ready for him.  The curtains were drawn, and he saw you sitting on your bed, reading a book.  Your brows were closely knitted together, your eyes intensely focused on whatever you were reading.  One leg was crossed over the other, glasses perched on your nose and hair tucked back into a messy topknot.  

Steve swallowed back the large lump in his throat and tapped the windowpane, just enough for you to hear him.  Your head snapped up, pulled out of your bookworm trance.  Grey eyes met brown, and you went to smile until you saw the distress in his features.  You set your book down and removed your glasses, padding over to him, quietly but quickly.  A large t-shirt hung to your thighs, landing just above your knees and accentuating your slim legs.  You pulled the window all the way open, looking at him with the most concerned expression.

“Steve?” you asked, voice gentle.

The dam broke.  Steve couldn’t hold it in any longer, any plans of trying to do so completely demolished as a choked sob left his lips.  His shoulders heaved forward, and you felt your heart break at the sight.  This was new.  This was very new.  You’d never seen him like this.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him tightly.  He gripped you back like a lifeline, crying into your shoulder.  You stayed there for a moment, before pulling back to bring him inside.  He clung to you, not wanting to let go, but when he realized that he was still in the window frame he allowed you to move away from him and followed you inside to stand behind you.  You quickly closed the window, turning to face him again.  

He was a good several inches taller than you, so you looked up at him.  Your expression was so soft, so full of empathy it only made him break down more.  You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his chest.  He buried his face into your shoulder again, weeping until the sleeve of your shirt was soaked through.  He shook in your embrace, the sound of his cries the saddest sound you had ever heard.  You stroked the nape of his neck, fingers playing with his hair.  His arms around you were so tightly wound, you thought he might never let go.  And you didn’t want him to, so neither of you made a move to do so.  You just stood there, holding one another, letting Steve cry until he couldn’t any more.

After a while, you slowly pulled back to look up at him.  Steve’s brown eyes were bloodshot, his stylish hair ruffled and messy – yet somehow, still perfect.  Even when he was sad, he was still so pretty.  

He rubbed at his snot sodden nose with his elbow, fruitlessly trying to wipe it away.  He sniffed roughly, not used to being the one who needed comforting.  But as you reached up to thumb away a few of his tears, he didn’t pull away.  Anyone else, he wouldn’t have let seen him like this, let alone touch him.  But you were the exception to every rule, and he wouldn’t dare pull away from you.  Not when you were so understanding, not casting any judgment towards him.  Any walls he had built around himself in front of others, he let come down in front of you.  Because when he was with you, he didn’t have to be strong, or brave, or cool.  He could just be Steve, a boy with big hair and an even bigger heart.

You smiled at him gently, waiting for him to speak.  He sighed.

“My dad said I was stupid,” he started, voice shaky.  “He said I – he said…”

Your small smile faded, your eyes boring into his.  He looked shown, shuddering a breath.  You took his hands in yours, guiding him to the bed.  You both sat down, your hands still intertwined.  You sat facing him, your legs crossed in Indian-style.  He mirrored you, matching your position and staring down at your dainty fingers in his.  You wore a few rings, minimal sterling silver bands.  Steve always loved how they made your piano fingers look even longer, delicate.  He twiddled in thumbs around yours, absentmindedly tracing shapes as he spoke.

“They saw my report card,” he continued, sniffling.  “I got a C in math.  And a D, i-in science.”

You furrowed your brows, still listening.  You wanted to say so much already, but you will yourself to stay quiet and let him finish.  He needed to let it out.

“It didn’t matter about the other grades.  Dad, h-he just cared about the bad ones.  Like no matter what, I’m j-just a failure.”

You shook your head, not having any of it.  “Steve,” you started, voice firm but kind.  “You’re not stupid.  And you’re not a failure.  You’re smart, and you study just as hard as anyone else does.”

He sniffled again, eyes still downcast.  “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled.  “S’not enough.”

“You’re enough.”

That made him look up at you, his sad glassy eyes meeting your fierce ones.  The love that poured from your grey irises shot straight into his brown ones, and he knew you were being as honest as they come.

“He hit me, Nic,” he murmured, tasting bile as he admitted it. 

You felt a wave of emotions hit you all at once.  Anger.  Heartbreak.  Anguish.  Rage.  Pain.  And love.  So, so much love for this beautiful boy, who you got to call your best friend.  The thought of his dad hitting him – anyone hitting him – made you see red.  He didn’t deserve this.  Any of this.  And as you noted a slightly red mark on his cheek, you felt your soul split open.  Tears of your own sprang to your eyes, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching a hand up to cup his cheek.

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” you whispered.  

His face crumpled, and you pulled him in close as he started to cry again.  You silently cried too, grateful that he couldn’t see you.  He kept one hand in yours still, resting on your laps.  The other wound around your waist, the hand you had placed on his cheek now draped around his neck.  You lightly swayed, allowing the silence and Steve’s breathy cries to wash over you both.  

Eventually, Steve’s tense shoulders sagged and his cries subdued.  He relaxed into you, and you could tell that sleep was finding him.

“Hey,” you murmured into his neck.  “Let’s get some sleep.”

Steve slowly pulled back, watching you pull the covers down.  Normally, it would be weird.  A boy, watching his female friend offer to sleep in the same bed without their parents knowing.  But you’d both fallen asleep together so many times over the years.  In your treehouse, on his bedroom floor, on the couch while watching a movie.  Even in the same bed, when studying or doing homework. Now was no different, as far as you both were concerned.

So as you nestled yourself underneath the covers, gesturing for him to follow, Steve didn’t hesitate to crawl in next to you.  He pulled the covers over the two of you as you turned out your light, only the moonlight illuminating your face in the dark room.  You both laid on your sides, facing each other.  You placed a hand on the mattress, in the small space between you both, palm up. He placed his hand on top of yours, wrapping his fingers around yours.  He sighed deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

“You can stay here anytime you want,” you whispered beside him, your eyelids drooping but still watching him.  

Steve squeezed your hand tightly.  He felt an overwhelming sense of relief, his heart swelling with love for you.  He peeled his eyes back open, taking in your beautiful face.  If there was an angel watching over him, it had to be you.  God couldn’t have possibly given him a better one, because you were it.

“I don’t wanna go back,” he whispered back, timid.  “Unless you’re there.”

You sighed, nuzzling into your pillow with a little nod.  “Okay, then you won’t.”

Both your voices were tired, but the words you shared with one another held so much truth and conviction. Because you meant what you had said. Steve never had to spend a single night alone in his great big house, whether or not his parents were there.  You stayed there, or he’d stay with you.  It became an unspoken routine, refuge.

No matter what pain life threw his way, or yours, you both knew that so long as you had each other, it would be okay.

____________

But one morning, several months later, Steve’s mom found you in his bed.  

The two of you were sound asleep, her son starfished across the mattress and you curled up into a little ball.  At first, Mrs. Harrington just froze.  How long had this been happening?  That’s the question that sprang her into action.  Her motherly instincts decided to actually make an appearance, storming over to the bed to jostle you awake.  

“Nicole St. James, what in blazes are you doing here?!”

Your eyes shot open, finding Mrs. Harrington’s frantic eyes.  She had a firm grip on your arm, and you shrunk deeper into the mattress.  

“Steven,” she said through gritted teeth.  “Wake up.”

Steve stirred, not really waking up.  Such a boy.  A tornado can’t wake boys when they’re not even thirteen yet.

You, on the other hand, were wide awake.  Groggy, but alert.  You felt your cheeks flush crimson, knowing this looked bad.  Sure, at twelve years old you’re not fully aware of just how bad this actually looked.  But a boy and a girl, sharing a bed, behind their parents’ backs?  That had trouble written all over it.  As far as any adult was concerned, that screamed bad news.  And nine times out of ten, it was often a result of youthful scandal.  

But for you and Steve?  It was simply comfort.  Safety.  Codependency.

That’s not how his mother saw it, though.

“Steven!”

He bolted awake, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.  When he looked over to find you staring at him, your grey eyes terrified and lean arm in his mother’s manicured grip, he began to come to.  The reality set in, and Steve felt his chest clench.  You both had been caught.

His mother’s eyes held a fire that he had never seen before.  Even in all her beauty – loosely curled blonde hair, wispy bangs and silky white blouse to match her high waist trousers – she looked intimidating.  Steve realized at that moment, he had never truly felt intimidated by his mother until right now.  She looked absolutely furious, appalled even.  Her lips were pursed together into a tight, thin line, and by the looks of her clenched jaw he could tell she had gritted her teeth.

Steve swallowed, feeling the panic seep in.  “Wait, mom –”

“Not a word,” she cut him off.  “I didn’t raise you like this.”

You didn’t raise him at all, you thought to yourself.  If it weren’t for the fear you held, you would have had to really fight to stay quiet.  But as Mrs. Harrington kept going, you couldn’t have found your own voice if you tried.

“Bringing girls up to your room to sleep with them?  What filthy movies have you been watching?  Did you… Oh my god, did you find one of your father’s?!”

Steve’s eyes went wide with horror.  “What?!  No!  Mom, please –”

“I don’t know what vile things you’ve had put in your head, Steven.  By your friends, your father, porn or whatever the hell you kids are doing these days.  But this.  Ends.  Now.”

Your terror-stricken eyes expression became all the more terrified, and as Steve’s mother wrenched you off the bed you let out the most heartbreaking little yelp.  Steve felt his heart jump into his throat.

“MOM, PLEASE, DON’T –”

“And you,” she turned to face you, dragging you beside her out of his bedroom.  “You’re a young lady.  You should know better.”

You felt absolutely sick to your stomach.  Hearing Steve’s mom accuse you of being capable of doing something so grimey – of being a slut – made you feel so small.  And Steve’s panicked shouts weren’t helping.

“But I–I,” you stuttered, your voice so shaky and low it was almost inaudible.  How could she think you and Steve would do such a thing together?  It wasn’t like that.  He was your best friend.  Your safe haven.  Your favorite person in existence.

Mrs. Harrington slammed Steve’s bedroom door shut, trapping his shouts.  She was dragging you down the stairs as you heard him fling the door back open and barrel after you.  She whipped around, waving a finger up at him.

“You stay right there,” she ordered him, voice fierce and booming.  Then, as she kept going, she told you, “I’m taking you straight home to talk to your parents.  This friendship is over.”

The way that Steve wailed ‘no,’ had to have been the most excruciatingly painful sound you had ever heard.  Tears sprang to your own eyes, and you didn’t even try to conceal the whimpers that fell from your lips.  Mrs. Harrington couldn’t have cared less, ripping her car keys off the wall next to the front door.

“Mom, wait, just wait!” Steve’s voice was strained, but desperate.  

You tried to look back at him, only catching glimpses as you were being hauled away by his mother.  You could see the petrified anguish etching Steve’s features, his tired eyes practically popping out of their sockets.  His hair in complete disarray, his sweatpants hung low and his t-shirt all twisted.  He was the most beautiful mess, and you were being taken away from him.

“Not another step, Steven Harrington!” his mother barked, voice shrill.  

Steve came to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk, and even though he was a good distance away now you could see his shoulders shaking and bottom lip trembling.  Your heart thudded in your chest, and you felt like throwing up.  

Paula Harrington was now standing next to her car, opening the passenger side door.  No way in hell was she going to march you over to your house, directly across the street, just so that all of your neighbors could watch and stare from inside their respective homes.  She ushered you in quickly, giving you no choice but to obey.  You crawled into the front seat, pulling your knees to your chest, crying into them.  You felt so ashamed and embarrassed – and for what?  Falling asleep next to your best friend?  Yeah, that’s exactly what you had done that caused this twisted guilt to stir up inside you.  

“I’m taking you straight home,” she told you, cold and fierce.  “And you’re not to step foot over here again.  Do you understand?”

You bit into your knees, clenching your eyes shut in shame.    Mrs. Harrington slammed the door shut, making you jump.  The sound, along with her words, rang in your ears.

This friendship is over.

Your mind was reeling, stomach churning.  You clutched your legs, tugging them impossibly closer to your chest and you rocked in the front seat of Paula’s car.  You looked out the window, watching Steve run towards you.  His mom held out a hand, and you could hear their entire conversation through the thin glass window as you sniffled.

“Mom, nothing happened,” Steven insisted, voice broken.

“You expect me to believe that?!” Mrs. Harrington shot back at him with zero sympathy.  “How many times has this happened, Steven?”

Steve raked his fingers through his chestnut hair, distressed and breathing hard.  “You don’t understand, we just fell asleep –”

“How many?”

“Whenever I can’t sleep!” Steve screamed at her, and his mother visibly pulled back.  “Because y-you –”  Steve gasped for air.  “D-dad, it’s just –”  Steve pressed his lips together, words failing him, so painfully frustrated with himself and this entire situation.  “God, it’s nothing, Mom.  Nic comes over here, and s-sometimes I go there –”

“You sleep at her house?” his mother interrupted, shocked.

“It doesn’t matter!” Steve cries.  His mother is now frozen, taken aback by the hysteria in his voice.  As her son stares back at her, tears threatening to spill over and lips parted, she finally shakes her head.

“You’re almost thirteen years old, Steven,” she says, voice low and bitter.  “You’re too damn old to be having little sleepovers with girls.  You know how this looks.  I know what you were doing.”

“No, you don’t,” Steve shook his head, violently.

“Yes.  I do.”

“NO, YOU DON’T.”  Steve wailed, completely falling apart.  “You don’t know anything.  And I don't care that you don’t, because Nicole knows and that’s all I care about.”

His mother gawked at him, and Nicole could tell that his words stung her a bit.  Still, Paula stood her ground.

“Well whatever you two are doing, it’s over,” she said, coolly.  

Steve’s face crumpled.  “No, please –”

“You’ve got plenty of guys you can hang out with, Steven,” Mrs. Harrington said, tongue sharp.  “They can sleep over whenever you want.  Go call them.”

Steve flung his arms up in the air, running his hands through his hair again as he whirled around in a full 360 before facing her again.

“I don’t care about them –”

“Start caring,” she said simply, turning to walk towards the car again.  She was approaching the driver’s side to open her door.

“Mom, no, NO!”  Steve lurched forward, trying to grab her car keys.  His mother jumped back, reacting just in time.  Her reflexes served her justice as she whipped the keys out of his reach.  

“What is the matter with you?!”  Paula looked absolutely stunned now.  

But Steve wouldn't listen, still trying to wrench the keys from her hands.  They rustled, arms and limbs tangled as they both struggled to overpower the other.  Paula stuttered verbal protests, while Steve whimpered and grunted.  You couldn’t help but feel your heart swell, despite how utterly broken you felt.  Because Steve wasn’t letting you slip away that easily – and while you were too timid to speak up for yourself, he wasn’t.  He was always the brave one.  At school.  Whenever you fell off your bike, or slipped on the playground.  Nobody could pick on you, so long as Steve was there.  Not even his parents could, apparently.  

Eventually, Mrs. Harrington got the upper hand.  No doubt due to the fact that Steve wouldn’t actually be physically aggressive towards his own mother.  She tugged hard, causing Steve to lose his footing and stumble back onto the ground.  He collapsed, landing on his side and barely catching himself.  Paula gasped, watching him make a harsh impact with the concrete sidewalk.

“Steve, baby –” she breathed, noting the bad scrape on his arm.

Steve began to convulse with ugly sobs, curling in on himself.  He gritted his teeth, lips stretched thin.  Mrs. Harrington stared in horror for only a moment before kneeling beside him to assess the damage.  She might not have been a warm person, but she wasn’t a violent one either.  That was all his father.  She didn’t believe in putting a hand on her kid.  She just didn’t do anything to stop it when Mr. Harrington did.

“Give me your arm,” she said, her voice shaking now.

“Please, mom, please,” Steve bawled, pulling away from her and cowering back.  Paula noted the way her son wouldn’t look at her now, and she hated it.  It reminded her of the way he was around his father.  And she was not his father.  She was hardly a mother, but more importantly she was not his father.  She swallowed hard, pride overcoming any deeply buried traces of warmth and love within her.

“Listen to me,” she tried again, voice still shaking.  “Give me your arm.”

But Steve just unabashedly wailed, now feebly sitting up.  Tears streamed down his cheeks, drops of blood forming on his freshly scraped arm.  The guttural cries escaping his lips were so agnonized, Paula couldn’t understand it.  She had never seen him like this.  He just kept murmuring unintelligible things that sounded like don’t, don’t, don’t, and please, no, and pathetically trying to get the keys from her.  His efforts were futile, but he wouldn’t back down.

“Steven,” she said, incredulously.  “Stop.”

“Mom, she’s the only friend I have.”  

Steve’s tortured words landed hard, on both you and Paula.  They hit you like a freight train, piercing your heart.  

Steve cried and cried, finally looking at his mother again as he admitted this treacherously painful confession in a wrecked voice.  Paula couldn’t believe it.  There was no way that Steve didn’t have friends.  She had seen him.  At his games, and social gatherings.  He got along with everybody.  She didn’t have to be at school with him to know he was popular.  All the girls had a crush on him, and all the guys wanted to be around him.  No way were you the only friend he had. No way was he as lonely as he was saying that he was.  He wasn’t, he just wasn’t… Was he?

But then Paula realized it wasn’t a matter of him not having friends.  It was only a matter of you.  You, his other limb since he was the age of six.  You, who spent every birthday and holiday with him.  You, who sat with him on the bus, and at lunch, and any party you both went to together or with your families.  You, who somehow seemed to be everywhere, in every memory.  She’d never really thought much of it, assuming it was just some childhood crush or next door neighbor that you would both eventually outgrow.  And when she had found you in his bed, naturally, she assumed the worst.  You and Steve were both in middle school.  This was prime time for puberty, and exploring sexuality.  It was the pre-high school danger zone.  No way around it.  But come to think of it, she’d never seen you act as anything other than friends.  Not that that mattered.  Friends liked each other, too.  It all had to start somewhere.

Paula glanced up at the passenger window of her car, spotting you.  You still had your knees to your chest, fresh tears of your own spilling down your cheeks.  She would never admit it, but the sight of you looking so hurt – thanks to her – made her heart ache.  She knew you were a good girl.  If anything, you were obnoxiously good.  Sometimes she wondered if you had a single mean bone in your body.  It was infuriating, really.

She turned back to her son, who was still weeping uncontrollably and waiting for her to respond.  That really drove the knife deeper into her heart, and she could feel herself cracking.  The brutal truth of it all was landing, the realization dawning on her.

You were Steve’s home.

Mr. and Mrs. Harrington would never be that for their son.  Nor would their great big house.  No social status, or money, or upper class school would give him refuge.  But you?  You did that.  Have been doing that for the past six years.  

Steve didn’t lack friends.  He lacked family.  And you were far closer to family than his actual family was.

Mrs. Harrington took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose, keeping her emotions at bay.  She pushed her bangs out of her face, slowly rising to stand.  She closed her eyes briefly, mustering up whatever strength was left in her.  Then, she made her way towards you with a collected yet somber expression etching her feminine features.

All you could do was watch her, unable to breathe as you anxiously waited to see what she was about to do.  To your surprise, she reached for the handle…and opened your door.  You sat there, frozen in place.  Mrs. Harrington didn’t hurry you back out of her car, seeing how visibly afraid you were.  Instead, she just tilted her head slightly, and you knew that was your cue.  Newfound relief surged through you, and you felt the ice pick that was lodged in your chest finally melt.  Cautiously, you made your way out of the passenger’s seat, your bare feet touching the grass.  You looked up at her timidly, finding her expression to be blank.  

Then you turned to Steve.  Beautiful, sweet Steve.  He was still on the ground, his cries steadying.  When he saw you step out of the car, he stumbled to his feet, hiccuping.  You kept your head low, shoulders slumped as you made your way towards him.  You crashed into his chest, feeling the weight of the world lifted off your shoulders as Steve’s arms wrapped around you.

Steve’s entire world had ended just a few minutes ago, and now it had begun again.  The second you were back in his arms, everything was alright.  He still hiccupped and whimpered, but you did too.  You just held each other, crying softly.  

All Paula could do was watch.  Something about the way her son held you – so protectively and so full of love – made something inside her stir.  A sour taste filled her mouth, wanting to feel touched by it but too bitter at her own miserable reality to let it do so.  Because her son resonated more love than her husband ever could.  The way that Steve clung to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he swayed you both side to side, was the truest form of love that Paula had ever seen.  Her friends had never held her like that, when she was a little girl.  Even all grown up, Chet had never held her like that.  Not even close.  Not even at their happiest, years ago.  Maybe she had assumed that their son would naturally be the same way.  

God, was she wrong.  Because as you fiddled your fingers in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, whispering how sorry you were, causing Steve to just shake his head against your shoulder and tell you not to be, Paula Harrington saw the epitome of true love shine through her son.  And, by extension, you. 

She hung her head, unable to look any more.  It upset her too much.  So she quietly made her way back inside, refusing to speak of this ever again.  Not with Steve, or with you.  Your parents would never know, and Chet Harrington would never know either.  

As Steve held you close to him, refusing to let you go, somehow you both knew that you would never have to worry about this again.  You weren’t going to be pulled apart, or stop being there for each other.  Because even if you had been driven away from him today, Steve would have persisted.  You would have done the same.  Tethered souls cannot be untethered.

Steve was twelve years old when he found that out.

___________

It was Steve’s fifteenth birthday when he kissed you for the very first time.

His parents were out at some party that night, having brought yours along too.  So the house was his for the night, until they drunkenly stumbled home.  All of his friends were elated.  Big house, no parents.  That’s the way Carol Perkins always puts it.  Steve Harrington’s house was the coolest on the block.  Huge pool with a deck.  Two stories, plus a man cave basement with a fully stocked mini bar that felt like an underground speakeasy.  And best of all, no parental supervision.  

Steve had become quite the hit, come freshman year.  He was captain on the swim team, and his body showed it.  His charm was as enticing as ever, winning every heart of every girl at school.  His boyishly handsome features blossomed day by day, growing cuter by the second.  His hair had become his statement piece, coining his nickname, Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.  He had it goin’ on, and everyone knew it.  Including you.

You, too, were a catch.  Your hair was longer, and you’d trimmed layers into your long red locks so that you had little side swept curtain bangs that all the girls wanted.  You were a cheerleader, but you really loved photography.  So you took that up, too.  You also had a great house for parties, which your mom was always too willing to host for you and your cheer squad girlfriends.  You never really planned those, so much as she did. And sure, you shared the same circle of friends as Steve.  But you still had that introverted loner streak in you, liking to do your own thing.  Steve was the social butterfly, his posse of admirers increasing more and more.  You were popular, given that you were the freshman heartthrob’s best friend.  ‘Steve’s girl.’  

Except you weren’t his girl, though.  Not really.  Yeah, you two were inseparable as ever.  That hasn’t changed.  But you weren’t technically his.  At least, not romantically…

“C’mon, big boy!  Chug the rest’a that beer so we can play some spin the bottle!”

Tommy H.  Somehow, that rowdy kid had gotten into your circle.  You weren’t really sure how.  He played basketball, but he was mostly on the bench.  His daddy was rich, too, but he was a drunk and a slob.  His step-mom was somewhere in her twenties, probably leaning more towards the younger end.  No one really knew much about his actual mom, but the mommy issues definitely showed.  Not that this had stopped Carol from being all over him.  Those two had their tongues down each other’s throats all the time, ever since she hit on him at one of the games.  They had snuck behind the bleachers to make out.  Probably more.  They bickered, sometimes being downright cruel to each other.  But it seemed to be their thing.

Oh yeah, and about Carol.  She was pretty much the same as she was in kindergarten.  Bratty.  Obnoxious.  Loud.  But when she had noticed you and Steve were still friends, and Tommy H. had made it clear to her that that wasn’t changing anytime soon, she’d retired her days of picking on you.  She pretty much had since that day at recess, but especially after seeing you were this untouchable princess in Steve’s world.  She didn’t get it, but she didn’t care to try.  She merely accepted it, and so you let it be.  You were stronger than you had been back then, having more of a voice.  But you were still a good girl at heart, soft spoken and a little too forgiving. 

“Oh Jesus,” Steve muttered, chuckling as he swiped at his perfect hair.  

Tommy H. has an arm slung around him, getting everyone to cheer him on.  You sat on the couch next to Stacy and Liz, your Paps Blue Ribbon in hand, grinning.  Chug, chug, chug, everyone chanted.  Soon enough, Steve’s bottle was empty and a circle was forming on the floor.  You settled on the ground across from him, shooting him a cute smirk.  He winked — and it didn’t matter how long you’d known him, it always made you blush.

“This seat taken?”

You looked up to find Christopher Cazaway standing above you, a soft smile on his lips.  You returned it, patting the empty space beside you.

“Be my guest.”

He obliged, not hesitating to take you up on the offer.  Christopher was a sophomore.  Blonde, handsome, 6’5” and a basketball superstar.  He was bound to get a scholarship somewhere great, no doubt in anyone's mind.  He was every coach’s dream, along with every girl at the school.  But as far as his personality goes, he wasn’t the jock type.  He was sort of a gentle giant, with a heartwarming smile and hearty laugh.  He could dribble and shoot hoops like no other, and he was drop dead handsome, but there wasn’t a vain bone in his body.  Christopher was surprisingly soft spoken, almost shy.  He was mature, sometimes seeming a little wise beyond his years.  He seemed to talk better with adults than teens in ways.  Still, everyone adored him.  He got invited to every party, hosting a few of his own but rarely.  

Secretly introverted kids like you noticed other like minded souls when you spotted them.  But little did you know, it was Christopher who had noticed you first.  Sure, he liked your vibrant red hair and ocean grey eyes.  Yeah, he noticed the lean build of your legs and slim curve of your neck and jawline.  Absolutely, he thought you were beautiful.  He liked the thin little rings you wore on your fingers, and he thought your laugh was adorable.  More than anything though, Christopher liked the way you carried and presented yourself.  He liked that you were so aware, observant.  You weren’t aloof, or like all the other girls that flung themselves at him.  You were real.  And he liked that.  A lot.  He kept liking more things about you, the more you both sat together in chemistry class or saw each other at basketball practice, since that’s where you had cheer meets.

“Man,” he said, crossing his legs.  “Haven’t played spin the bottle since middle school.”

You hummed a light chuckle, setting down your drink.  “Well if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never played period.”

He cocked an eyebrow, grinning at you.  “Is that right?”

You smiled sheepishly.  “I don’t get out much.”

He had to chuckle at that, knowing you were half kidding.  But he didn’t doubt that you’d never played before.  Not because you seemed awkward or uncomfortable, but because you weren’t like the other girls.  Or anyone here, for that matter.  You weren’t the typical snobby rich girl, from her snobby rich family.  You were different.

From across the room, Steve watched you two talk.  He found it interesting that Christopher and you talked with such ease, never having realized you two might be friends.  But Stacy and Liz chimed into your conversation eventually, and Tommy H. was back to hollering again.

“Everybody, shut up!” he shouted, silencing people for the most part.  He clapped his hands together, grinning like an idiot.  “Let’s fuck some lips.”

Girls made faces and sounds of disgust, while most of the dudes snickered in agreement.   You kept a straight face, not really phased by his antics.  Christopher found the kid gross, but knew he was just an ignorant freshman who thought he was hot shit.  So he didn’t really let it irk him much.  

“Wait,” Carol interjected, cracking open a peach schnapp.  “What if, like, a guy lands on a guy?”

Tommy H. snorted.  “Then you roll again.  No one’s gay up in here.  This isn’t a faggot party.”

Steve’s nose scrunched at that.  “Tommy, c’mon, man.  Don’t say that.”

You squirmed, adding softly, “that’s really not nice.”

“What?!  It’s true.”  Tommy H. took a swig of his beer, shrugging.

“Okay, then what about girls?” Carol pressed.  Her boyfriend smiled devilishly.

“Nah, that shit’s hot,” he sneered.  

“Ugh, that’s not fair!” Carol whined, but her grin contradicted her complaint.  You internally rolled your eyes.  Oh sweet misogyny, you thought to yourself.  The selective homophobia of an insecure male asshole was enough to make you wanna puke.

“Okay, can we just — play?” Someone interjected.

“Alright, alright,” Steve said, waving his hands.  He placed his empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle, looking up to wriggle his eyebrows at everyone.  “Who’s first?”

“You are, big guy,” Tommy H. said, clapping him in the back.  “Birthday boy always kicks us off.”

Some of the teens oooh’d and giggled, dramatically.  All the girls were just itching for it to be them that the bottle landed on, so that they could smooch the hot new heartthrob of Hawkins High.  Their very own small town Prince Charming.

Steve shrugged, reaching to give the bottle a spin.  

As you watched the bottle turn and turn, you couldn’t help but feel the anxious butterflies dance in your stomach.  You weren’t sure why you hoped it landed on you.  Then again, you were.  In fact, you totally were.  You’d loved Steve for as long as you could remember.  It was inevitable, given your history.  You knew he loved you, too.  It just probably wasn’t like that.  Still, you wondered if maybe he wanted the bottle to land on you too.

But it didn’t land on you.  It landed on Becky, who couldn’t help but gasp.  She looked absolutely ecstatic, giggling like a school girl.  Steve look at her with a grin and raised an eyebrow, somehow looking both shy and confident.

Oh shit.  Were you about to watch him kiss another girl?  You hadn’t had to see that before.  Sure, you knew he’d kissed another girl before.  A few, actually.  Steve’s first kiss had been Elsie Fitzgerald.  8th grade, behind the P.E. building.  You knew that, because Steve had told you first thing.  He’d nudged you in line at the cafeteria, telling you in a low voice as he plopped a milk carton on his tray.  And you’d listened, pretending that it didn’t make your heart break.  He was pretty happy about it, more so for himself than he was actually lit up about having kissed Elsie specifically.  She had passed him a note in class, asking to be his Valentine.  Your heart really sank after hearing that, wishing it had been you.  After that, Steve had a few kisses with girls under his belt — none of which were with you.

You were still waiting on your first kiss.  

And as that reminder floated around in your head, you watched Becky crawl across the floor to lean in and kiss your best friend on the lips.  He sat still, kissing her with ease.  You wondered what it felt like.  The touch of his lips, which you always thought looked so soft.  Becky lingered a little while, and eventually Steve pulled away with a charming smile.  She squealed, flitting back to her seat and flipping her hair.  The butterflies in your stomach felt blue, but you kept a light smile on your face to mask it. 

Now, Tommy spun the bottle. One by one, teens kissed.  Some girls even kissed, making you flush.  You watched Steve kiss a couple other girls, all of them doing a horrible job at concealing their giggling fits.  At some point, it was your turn to spin — and it landed right between Steve and Tommy H. 

Now you really felt butterflies in your stomach. Their dance was a little angry this time, though.  Your anxiety spiked, dreading the thought of kissing Tommy but nerves wrecked as you thought about getting to kiss Steve.

Your eyes glanced up at your best friend by default, finding that he was already looking back at you shyly.  Tommy barked a laugh, clapping his hands.

“Look, I don’t wanna make any calls here,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender.  “But uhhh, I’ll let the birthday boy take this one.  As much as I’d love to rock your world, princess.”

Your eyes narrowed at him.  “That’s one way to put it.”

“C’mon, birthday boy,” Carol snickered.  “Kiss your best friend.”

Steve felt himself blush, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.  God, he had wondered what it felt like to kiss you for so long without even realizing that he had until this very moment.  The way you were looking at him right now, looking so calm and content, he never would have known that you were so completely in love with him.  He was pretty sure that he was a party of one, in that department.  

Tommy kept making gross kissy noises.  Steve cleared his throat, feigning lighthearted cockiness as he looked wryly at Tommy.  

“Knock it off, man,” he mumbled, turning back to face you.  

You watched him eye you with curiosity, as if he was silently asking you if this was okay.  But you just smiled warmly, welcoming the contact.  So Steve got on his knees and crawled over to you, meeting you halfway.  As he got closer to you, he could see those tiny sun kissed freckles that lightly dusted your nose, and the smooth surface of your porcelain cheek.  He could see the light whisk of mascara on your eyelashes, and the very neutral shade of lipstick on your full lips.  He felt himself swallow, his usual bravado failing him.  You looked so gentle, sweet as ever.  He wondered if your tongue tasted as sweet as you were…

You sat back on your knees and heels, hands placed in your lap as you looked at him, patient and a little sheepish.  Steve was so close to you now, basking in the scent of your soft perfume.  It smelled like the ocean, with faint traces of coconut and vanilla.  He wanted to kiss you.  He really did.  

“Oh my god, kiss already!” Carol screeched.  

But neither of you flinched, even as the others echoed their sentiments.  You breathed a tiny laugh, making Steve grin.  Without thinking, he found himself placing a hand to the curve of your jaw.  Oh.  He hasn’t done that with the other girls.  His breath lightly hitched at the contact, realizing he’d never actually been this close to you.  Which made no sense, given you’d fallen asleep in the same bed for how many years now?  But this was different.  This type of intimacy wasn’t the same.

You subtly leaned into his touch, eyes never leaving his.  His thumb stroked your cheek, the corner of his lip tugging upwards.  Your noses touched, the sharp tip of his against the little perky end of yours.  His breath was warm against your skin, feeling like a blanket wrapping itself around your face.  You both kept leaning in, slowly.  Ever so slowly.

Finally, his bottom lip grazed yours.  And those butterflies in your stomach were doing a full blown ballet now.  Steve felt his heart skip a beat.  Maybe several beats.  

Damn, he thought.  Since when did kissing feel like this?

It was the way your lips moved against his, so graceful and supple.  The way your fair skin felt like satin beneath his finger tips.  Steve felt a rush of euphoria overcome him, reveling in the feeling of your mouth against his.  Becky didn’t kiss like that.  Elsie didn’t, or any of the other girls.  People always said that kissing is an art.  Steve did have a reputation for being a good kisser, even at just fifteen years old.  He just didn’t really think much of it until he was enchanted by your kiss.  

Part of him thought that there was no way you hadn’t kissed somebody before.  Not with how incredible you felt brushing your lips with his.  Then again — maybe it was because you had never been kissed before that it was so magical.  That innocent bliss of being ‘untouched,’ not yet tainted by anyone or anything.

Meanwhile, you reveled in the rhapsody of Steve’s kiss.  It was everything you ever could have dreamed it would be, and more.  His lips were soft, cloud-like to the touch.  He was gentle in the ways you thought he might be rough, and tame in the ways you thought might be wild.  He didn’t rush anything, taking his time with even the most microscopic of movements.  The light yet firm grasp of his hand on your jaw was slightly edging down towards your neck, and it was all you could do not to hum with lovesick satisfaction.

Yeah, no, everyone thought.  He definitely hadn’t been this tender when kissing the other girls here.

It made those other girls watch you with envy, guys cocking an eyebrow and making immature, snide remarks under their breath.  It was so obvious, the magnetic pull between the two of you.  Anyone could see it.  Even the two of you did, but neither of you would ever admit that.  At least not anytime soon.

And as the kiss ended all too soon — well, too soon for you guys, not necessarily the others — Steve’s pillow soft lips parted from yours as he ever so slightly pulled back to look at you.  Your angelic face was still just an inch or so away from his, your eyelashes fluttering open to reveal your grey irises, exposing a new tint of lovesick blue.  They sparkled, dancing as you looked into his brown eyes that now looked more like the color honey.  You bit your lip, a timid smile finding your freshly kissed pout.  

God, Steve thought.  He would've kissed you again, right then and there.

But as Tommy H. hooted and hollered, snapping your two out of your gaze, reality sunk in again.  This was a party, and it was just a game.  It wasn’t a real kiss.  It was prompted by a bottle and reckless youth.  Nothing more.

Right?

“Well alrighty then, lovebirds,” some guy chided with a dark laugh.

You blushed, casting your eyes downwards.  You composed yourself, watching Steve do the same.  Yep, it was just a dream.

“Yeah, since when did this become a love making session?” Tommy H. jested.

Steve shot Tommy a scowl, before watching you scooch back to where you’d been sitting.  You gave him a shy smile, twiddling your thumbs in your lap.  Steve quickly scooted back to his place too, across from you in the circle.  He smiled back at you softly, before Tommy gave him a macho shove.  Steve shoved him back, but with half the strength.  He was still snapping out of it.  Soon, he cleared his throat, forcing his mental fantasies to the back of his brain again.

“Alright, next up,” Steve said, straightening his hair.  Fuck, did anyone else see how nervous he felt?  Apparently not, because everyone seemed to resume the game like nothing had ever happened.

Christopher clicked his tongue and slapped his hands on his knees.  “Welp,” he said, leaning forward.  “Guess it’s me.”

He gave the bottle a good spin.  

Lo and behold, it landed on you.

“Oh shit!” Tommy H. exclaimed, rolling over into a ridiculously unnecessary fit of laughter.  

Carol made obnoxiously loud remarks, too, along with lots of people in the circle.

Yeah.  Oh shit, indeed.

“Aww, little princess is getting all the kisses tonight,” she cooed condescendingly, her high pitched voice so fake and sugary sweet.

You felt your cheeks flush again, allowing yourself to tinker a laugh.  You turned to face Christopher, finding him rubbing his neck with a bashful smile on his face.  He looked at you with slightly timid eyes, chuckling nervously.  He was nervous?  Why would he be nervous, you wondered?

Oddly, you felt very at ease about the situation.  It was just Christopher.  He was always kind to you, and a good friend since you started high school.  If you’d had to kiss anybody else in the circle, you would prefer it be him than some guy you hardly knew.  And you certainly hoped it wouldn’t land on Tommy. 

You shrugged your shoulders, giving him a little grin.  He grinned back, brightly.  The corners of his eyes crinkled, and it was adorable really.  

Given that he was seated right next to you, no awkward crawling towards each other had to take place.  You just pivoted to face him, comfortably.  This kiss didn’t make you nervous.  You’d just gotten your first one out of the way, with the one guy you had been in love with your whole life.  So a second one with someone who was just a friend?  It seemed pretty easy.

Christopher had his eyes intently on you, which dropped down to look at your lips then back up to your eyes.  He leaned back on one hand, which he placed slightly behind you firmly into the carpet.  It gently brushed against your hip, his tone arm ghosting over the fabric of your dress.  He leaned in closer, slow and calculated, so that he was slightly looking up at you.  You still weren’t nervous, though, even as you looked into his dark blue eyes.  You just smiled, waiting.  His loods became hooded as he tilted his head just right, so that yours could tilt the opposite way whenever your lips made contact.  Sure enough, his lips found yours, and it was the most grounding kiss.  It was sweet, a little firmer than Steve’s.  He was soft, just a little more assertive.  Suddenly you felt his other hand cup the back of your neck, his touch tender and caring but secure.  It surprised you, but you didn’t pull away.  In fact, you instinctively placed a hand on his knee. 

If you hadn’t been busy locking lips with Christopher, you would have seen the melancholy expression on Steve’s face.  But you didn’t.  

Steve hopelessly watched you kiss the handsome sophomore, overcome with a sense of dread.  He hadn’t taken this into account when playing the game.  You know, that he’d actually have to watch you kiss another guy.  Maybe that wasn’t really the problem, though.  No, the problem was the way that Christopher kissed you.  Was still kissing you.  Steve could have sworn that he saw the blonde athlete move his lips against yours a second time, and envy creeped up his spine.  Christopher definitely hadn’t kissed Linda or Molly like that earlier in the game, when the bottle had landed on him during their turn.  Nah, this was just with you.  Why the hell was he kissing you like that?

…why the hell was he still kissing you like that?

Steve squirmed.  He felt as though he might laugh, or shout, or blurt something without being able to control himself, and he probably would have had it not been for you finally breaking contact with Christopher.  Oh thank Christ, Steve thought, as he let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding this whole time.

You simply gave Christopher a warm smile, but your eyes looked slightly dazed and confused.  Because you were.  It had caught you a little off guard, the way that he’d just kissed you.  It definitely lasted a little longer than needed.  Not that you minded it.  You didn’t really know what to think of it, actually.  One thing was for sure, his gaze on you was not one he’d given any of the other girls that night.  You knew that much.  You might’ve been uncharacteristically oblivious to Steve’s feelings for you, but you weren’t blind to someone else’s.  Before now, though, you never really thought that Christopher felt anything for you aside from friendship.  But now, it seemed that he did.  It seemed he very much did.

Huh, you thought.  Interesting.

You still hadn’t looked over to see Steve’s disheartened expression in the midst of all the immature teenagers in a circle, making a series of noises and comments following the kiss.  He hoped that no one was watching him.  Then again, would he even care if they did?  That didn’t matter, not when he cared way more about the fact that some other guy was looking at you like that.  It didn’t sit right.  It really didn’t sit right.  

But what was he gonna do about it?  Say, “Hey Christopher, it’s my birthday, so maybe back off my girl?”  No, because you weren’t technically his.  You were your own.

…but your heart was his.

…and his heart was yours.

Steve doesn’t really remember much after that.  He knew they hadn’t been playing for much longer, and that eventually everyone wanted to shotgun some more beers.  He knew that Linda and Becky had been saying something to him in the lavish living room, as they twirled their hair and batted their lashes.  He knew that Tommy H. had been daring everyone to jump in the pool, dragging Carol in with him.  Teens screeched and hollered, splashing and laughing while the Eagles blasted in the background from the Harrington’s flashy stereo inside the house.

Steve does remember when “Sweet Emotion” by Aerosmith had started to play.  He was leaning against his kitchen island, making small talk with some of the guys.  You were out by the pool, red solo cup in hand, and you had started to sway to yourself.  The skirt of your dress flicked at the corners, your toned legs sashaying you from side to side.  You turned a little, so that he could see your profile.  You were grinning ear to ear, in your own little world.  He loved when you did that.  You were so damn adorable when you did that.  You lifted a hand into the air – the one not holding your cup of booze – closing your eyes, and singing the words.

Sweet emotion…

Sweet emotion…

You talk about things that nobody cares

Wearing out things that nobody wears

You turn so that you’re now facing the open sliding glass door, opening your eyes as you fix your gaze on Steve.  Your eyes are a little hazy, but still glow.  You point your finger at Steve, serenading him in your buzzed stupor.  Your grin deepens as you sing the next words along with Steven Tyler.

You’re calling my name, but I gotta make clear

I can’t say, baby, where I’ll be in a year

Steve can feel himself smiling like an idiot, shaking his head as he lets out a throaty chuckle that’s drowned out by the music.  He bites his lip absentmindedly, watching you just exist.  You throw your head back, smiling at the sky, hips still swaying.  

Stacy makes her way over to you from the other side of the pool, definitely more drunk than you were.  She sings loudly, catching your attention.  You look down from the black night sky to look at her, and you laugh when you see her wanting to join you.  She grabs your hand, twirling you around and singing everything off key.

Some sweat hog mama with a face like a gent

Said my get up and go, must've got up and went

Well I got good news, she's a real good liar

'Cause the backstage boogie sets your pants on fire

As the guitar solo rips through the stereo speakers, your dancing intensifies.  Everyone in the pool seem to be getting rowdier, also singing Aerosmith at the top of their lungs.

Stacy’s footing betrays her and she stumbles, laughing drunkenly.  You catch her, making sure that she’s okay and stifling a laugh.  But once you see that she’s clearly fine, you laugh too.  Liz makes her way out of the pool to check on her, squatting down and clutching her hands and still singing while Stacy just keeps laughing.

Steve takes the opportunity to approach you as you stand alone again, sneaking up quickly to grab you and spin you around.  You squeal, feeling his chest pressed to your back as your legs dangle off the ground.  You hold onto his toned arms tightly, giggling uncontrollably.  When he sets you back down, you turn so that you’re looking directly at him.  

Sweet emotion…

Sweet emotion…

Your stomach does flip-flops, seeing his signature Steve Harrington smiled directed only at you.  His brown eyes hold a certain mischief in them, and you can’t help but feel a rush of love for this boy you’d known since you were just barely in kindergarten.  He lifts your hand to twirl you, and suddenly you’re six years old again, dancing in your treehouse with Steve.  The real world ceases to exist, and it’s just the two of you in your own fantasy world.  No matter what ups and downs, highs and lows, good days and bad days, heartache and joy, that reality throws both of your way – the one constant you both have had is each other.  Somehow, that’s never changed. 

You both sing to each other, hand in hand and hips in time with the music.

I pulled into town in a police car

Your daddy said I took it just a little too far

You're telling her things but your girlfriend lied

You can't catch me 'cause the rabbit done died

Yes it did

Now everyone around you is losing their mind, screaming the words and partying like animals as the song continues to blare.  It’s an 80’s rock-n-roll kind of vibe, full of teen angst, booze and sexual tension.  Guys shotgun more beer by the pool, couples make out in the deep end.  Girls hold each other with limp limbs and sloppy smiles, slurring the words and proclaiming their girl power love for each other.  They won’t remember it tomorrow, but for tonight it’s the glorious eternal truth.

As for you – Nicole St. James, the freshman mystery girl and princess in the making – you’ve only got eyes and moves for your best friend in the world.  Steve Harrington, Hawkins High’s soon-to-be very own King Steve.  Two best friends and lovers in denial, hopelessly devoted to one another, just without the title.  You both dance around the truth together on his posh pool deck.  The confident shake of his hips and thrusts of yours fool you blind from seeing that you are just as equally afraid as he is to make the wrong move.

Stand in the front just a shakin' your ass

I'll take you backstage, you can drink from my glass

I'll talk about something you can sure understand

'Cause a month on the road and I'll be eating from your hand

Steve knows that something’s gotta give.  He knows that it can’t go on like this forever.  But for him, this is safe.  This is forever.  What you two have guarantees that you’ll both make it.  That you’ll never go away.  You won’t abandon him, or lose interest in him.  If he keeps his distance, even tangled up in your arms when dancing in his backyard or falling asleep next to you, then he’ll always keep you close.  All the money in the world, but he could never afford to lose that.  Not ever.

And you don’t say anything to make him change his mind.  To make him ask you to be his.  To make a move beyond a kiss shared in a public game of spin-the-bottle.  To tell you that he doesn’t just love you – but that he is in love with you.  You don’t confess it either, no matter how fiercely you want to do exactly that.  Because as selfish as it was, you were content too.  You never minded being on your own, but a world without Steve stopped being fathomable in 1972 on that brisk afternoon in your treehouse.  The second he had knocked on your pastel yellow door, in his little sage green sweater, jeans and converse, your solitude had made room for a second person.  He was your other half, so it really wasn’t even surrendering solitude.  It was simply completing it.  Steve completed it.  Completed you.

_________________

To be continued…

VOLUME II next month 🖤

TAG LIST: @loveshotzz @creelhousesteve @t-lostinworlds @freezaz123 @zbeez-outlet @cutiecusp @unhealthyobservationsloves @sunioli

[wordynerdygurl]

Someone to Watch Over Me

Part 1:  “Love is Blind”

Author’s Note:  Do you think the Duffer’s realized what they were doing when they brought Eddie Munson to life on paper?  I don’t think so.  Because it’s been, what, nine or so months now, and I’m still all in on my favorite ne’er do well metal head.

This is my first time with an Original Character standing in for “reader”.  Just like with my reader insert fics, our OC is female and plus size. Pairing:  Eddie Munson x Plus Size OC Amanda Patterson Summary:  It’s love at first sound, pitch perfect and fated, everything in harmony.  If only life were a love song.  

Amanda and Eddie meet by chance but their connection is real.  Some night music and milkshakes maybe all it takes to show that Hawkins’ resident bad boy is worthy of love.  The kind of love a misfit like Amanda is ready to give to the right guy.  Have they each found the right someone to watch out for them? Warnings:  This is a slower burn than my usual, but I think it’ll be worth it.  There will be SMUT in additional chapters, but for now, there’s making out, eating a lot of junk food, some size shaming and self doubt.  Oh, and a character gets slapped.

“There’s a saying old, says that love is blind”

1990

“So, Eddie, how’s the tour been going?”

Pulling a long strand of dark hair over his cheek, a nervous habit he couldn’t seem to break, Eddie raised his dark eyes to the reporter asking the questions, ignoring the video camera and boom mic hovering overhead.  It took everything in him to keep the sarcastic edge in his tone to a minimum, “Well, Chuck, it’s been a helluva time.  Me and the boys, we’re just taking what comes.  It’s been fuckin’ amazing to see so many cities and of course, our fans.” “Oopsie!  Can’t curse like that, Eddie.  Can we cut around that?”  Chuck was asking some producer, talking over Eddie’s head, ignoring him all in the name of being appropriate for television.  Already he was over this whole experience.  What Eddie really wanted was to get back to the green room, have a beer or a smoke- scratch that.  And a smoke, before having to play tonight’s show.

The conversation around editing was still happening, Eddie’s interview on pause.  It gave him a minute to evaluate the man asking the questions.  Smarmy, yea, that’s the word Eddie would use for a guy like Chuck.  Hair slicked back and suit a little too colorful to be classy, the guy was cheesy as hell, but he was going to film a piece about the band.  Something for MTV to use in promos or some shit.  Eddie didn’t really care to know.  There were people for that now.  The same people who kept assuring him that there was no such thing as bad publicity.  Not when there was a nationwide tour that needed to sell tickets and t-shirts and records, so he bit his tongue and smiled sheepishly, waiting for the next question. “We rolling?  Great.  Ok, ready Eddie?” Nodding in answer, Eddie gave him the green light.  The interviewer tapped his finger against the skinny microphone in his hand, picking up seamlessly from where they had stopped earlier, “That’s good to hear.  Now, Corroded Coffin plays specifically metal but who has influenced your musical journey?  Which artists do you listen to?” Blowing out an exhale, his lips parting, Eddie thought for a minute.  “Ya know, all the greats Chuck.  I mean, I cut my teeth on Led Zeppelin.  Heart, Black Sabbath, obviously-” he rolled his eyes for emphasis, “-Iron Maiden and Metallica.  You play metal music and I’m there, man.” Chuck nodded along, agreeing with everything coming out of Eddie’s mouth, trying way too hard to seem interested.  He seemed more like a Madonna kinda guy, too caught up in the look of something to worry about its substance.  It grated on Eddie’s nerves, set his teeth on edge. “Gotcha.  So, the people want to know-” Chuck drug out the question, clearly enjoying the way he baited his interviewee, “-What is Eddie Munson’s favorite song?” Toffee colored eyes widened.  Despite the movement around him, the roadies hauling in speakers and gear, the conversations between stage crew and security guards, the clicking of boot heels on parquet flooring, Eddie could hear it.  His favorite song.  Clear and distinct, the memory a perfectly preserved bubble of sight and sound.  From over his shoulder someone coughed, bringing Eddie back to the here and now.  “Uh, sorry.  Didn’t mean to zone out there.” “Don’t worry, we’ll edit it out.”  Chuck’s hand made a motion urging him to continue. Eddie’s ring laden right hand rubbed across the skin on the back of his neck, internally debating just how real to be with his response.  In the end, Eddie told the whole truth.  He spilled one of his deeply held secrets to a douche bag with gelled back hair and a smile that was too much teeth. Looking directly into the bubbled lens of the video camera, Eddie offered up a reluctant, almost embarrassed smile, “My favorite song?  That’s a great question, man.  And, uh, ya know, I wanna say something hard rocking and fast.  But honestly?  Someone to Watch Over Me by the Gershwin brothers.” Eddie’s voice was practically a whisper at his admission.  He was ready for a ribbing.  A hard rocker like him, known for bad boy behavior and leaving a lady behind in every city?  No way Eddie Munson could possibly be a romantic at heart, right? Fully expecting a laugh from smarmy Chuck, some jab about the softness of his choice, or a comment on it being a standard, something old fashioned or behind the times.  But Eddie only heard the insipid agreement of the interviewer, “Great song.  A classic.” “Yea.  It is.”

—

1987

It had always come naturally to Amanda.  She opened her mouth and the sound just came out, warm and round, with the right amount of inflection and sweetness of tone.  Singing was what she did.  From the time she could talk, Amanda was making music, using her body as the instrument. Church choir taught her how to sight read sheet music, her voice moving up and down the scale in time with the half and quarter notes.  Learning how to let her high Soprano melt in with the other members of the chorus so that no individual could be heard over another.  Discovering the power of dynamics; an effective hushed line that built into a climaxing crescendo, the rush of belting out a powerful note with all of the choir members doing the same.  Amanda continued to discover the best ways to utilize her voice, really only ever happy when she was humming or whistling or belting out a tune. One Christmas there was a tawny wooden guitar under the tree.  She carried it with her everywhere she could.  Teaching herself the chords from a beginner’s guide until she could play “Frosty the Snowman” without stopping.  And her unquestionable love of music grew with every new song she memorized until the entire book had faded from overuse. There were high school musicals, of course.  Grease, Annie, Guys and Dolls, Anything Goes.  And even if she was always the sidekick with no solo, hanging around in the back of the chorus lines, she loved performing.  Being on a stage, with the lights and excitement, the tension of anxiety turning into the power needed to propel her through the show.  Amanda lived for the thrill of it.  Something could go wrong or things could go incredibly right.  In either case, you could never truly know which way it would play out until it was happening.  Then, the curtain would fall and there would be bows and applause. Amanda loved the spotlight, absolutely and unequivocally.  Only, the spotlight didn’t love her back. Her round, full cheeks wouldn’t do to play Sandy.  The curvy, womanly figure she’d grown into wouldn’t work for Annie or Pepper or even Mrs. Hannigan.  Despite the lovely, lyrical quality to her voice, it wasn’t enough to outweigh her looks. So Amanda sang out loud and long from the back row of the chorus, her robe tight across her ample chest.  She learned the simple choreography for musical numbers and was told, “you’re so light on your feet” as if it was shocking to see.  Every year was a new chance to gain that place in the middle of the stage, singing for all she was worth for everyone to hear, but never making it due to a healthy appetite which made her soft in the places where people would rather she be firm. It was the bitterest of pills, but she swallowed it, happy just to be involved.  Pleased to have her name printed in the program as a participant even if she was living off of the scraps of lesser performers who just so happened to look prettier under the hot stage lamps.  She accepted hugs from the pretty boys who tried on singing and dancing as a way to meet girls, but wouldn’t give her a second glance.  The boys who saw her as the funny, talented friend of the group.  Always happy to drive everyone home, listen to everyone’s troubles, offering sage advice and asking for nothing in return.  That was Amanda.

All too soon, school was ending.  Over.  And college loomed in front of her, full of promise and secret worries.

She knew what she wanted, what she had always wanted.  It had never changed despite the wacky directors who hid her behind scaffolding or pushed her to the dim corners of the stage.  Amanda was on the earth to do one thing only: make beautiful music. It was, after all, her favorite thing to do. Unfortunately, it was also incredibly difficult to make a career out of, something her parents constantly felt the need to remind her about.  They only wanted what was best for her, that’s what they said anyways.  And what was best, in the opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Patterson, was a steady job as a hairdresser or nurse or preschool teacher.  Anything really to fill the gap until she met “the one”, got married and started having their grandchildren. Too bad Amanda loved the music so much more.  It had taken a lot of work, hours and hours of debating and shouting but somehow she had convinced them to let her go to school for music.  The catch?  She’d also study education.  It was a compromise Amanda was willing to make, just to get her foot in the door.  Worst case?  She’d wind up a music department chair at some high school or another, a great back up plan to her real dream: musical super stardom like Linda Rondstadt or Carol King. Only, school was expensive, especially when you were trying to make music your career.  And her parents did as much as they could, which she was incredibly grateful for, but everything cost so damn much.  So, almost broke and entirely desperate, Amanda searched around until finding a part time position at The Music Shop.  She started selling sheet music and drum sticks, auto tuners and guitar straps from a squat building painted an obnoxious shade of ocean blue that could be seen for miles in any direction. Occasionally there’d be a student in need of some musical mentoring and she’d drag out her acoustic guitar, the tawny one she kept in its cardboard case after all these years.  Showing them where to hold their fingers and how to press against the tough strings in order to get a pretty sound out of the instrument brought her a lot of joy.  It was still making music and that was enough for her between class work and socializing and generally trying to be a good person. The college classes related to music and music theory were fascinating.  Her collection of records and tapes had grown significantly.  It seemed as though every new person she talked to had a list of bands she “just had to listen to” and Amanda did. How could she ever thank her roommate’s boyfriend for turning her on to Lou Reed?  Did she live before knowing all the words to Pirates of Penzance?  How did Whitney Houston sound so incredible all of the time?

Writing a paper on the importance of Tom Petty’s ability to pen pretty lyrics, Amanda found herself surrounded by like minded musical folks.  She was invited to parties where everyone sang along to the radio, getting rowdy in the tame way theater kids everywhere are prone to do.  Drinking beers was fun.  Smoking cigarettes killed her throat through and Amanda refused to damage her instrument with nicotine like that.  Besides, she couldn’t afford them anyway. When she wasn’t studying or singing or stocking, Amanda did gig out.  Sometime during her first semester she had been approached by Jim, a cellist, Mark, a drummer and Carly, a pianist.  Having met the threesome at someone or other’s pre-Thanksgiving break bash, Amanda hadn’t realized it right away but she was casually auditioning for their band.  Not once did her size come up.  All the three seemed to care about was how quickly they could get her into a rehearsal.  They had a jazz trio and wanted someone to vocalize for them, someone with a soft tone, an easy timber that could get them playing in front of bigger crowds.  That she blended in with their group dynamic made it an easy fit and soon, the four of them were playing shows together all over the area and regularly too. Now, well into her third year at school, Amanda had a good idea of what her life was going to look like.  She would work the store, teaching a couple of private students the ways of the guitar, and sing out with the band on the weekends.  If they happened to get a wee bit drunk after a show, who could blame them?  After all, they were barely twenty and the world still had so much left to show them. At the music shop, one late September Saturday, Amanda took a minute to hang up the flier for Hawkins’ Autumn Concert Series.  Their quartet had been asked to entertain, practicing for weeks now getting the set list perfect for their biggest concert yet.  Smiling happily to herself, she gently forced the pushpin into the cork board where the typical announcements of used instruments for sale, lessons for keyboard or piano, and imploring alerts for new band members all co-existed in a colorful, clashing collage. Stepping backwards, Amanda wasn’t entirely paying attention, her mind already drifting to the highlight of the performance.  What she was going to wear, how she’d do her hair, all the little details that she liked to get right in an effort to make sure that the show went off without a hitch.  That’s how she missed the fellow who was crouched down behind her, ringed hands reaching for the Iron Maiden song book that was propped up on the bottom shelf. Her booted foot hit something solid, something that shouldn’t be in the aisle, and she turned quickly.  A blur of black leather and curls flew upwards fast.  The joint of her ankle rolled and Amanda reached out blindly, connecting with a solid wall of a person, holding on with a death grip to keep on her feet. Holy shit, did this chick have pretty eyes.  It was his first thought and boy, was it a doozy.  Eddie could see the shock clearing as worry crept in, crowding around the wide irises, her lips parted in a panicked “o”.  Clipped nails clawed into the denim vest he always wore, holding herself upright against the unfair tug of gravity, her forearms pressed tightly to his chest.  Bringing a steadying hand to her wrist, he shook his head, shyly smiling, “You alright there?  Took a bit of a tumble, didn’t ya?” Inhaling shakily, Amanda nodded dumbly, her heart still thrumming.  Still standing much too close to a stranger.  She had been certain of falling but having this, this guy break that fall, was disconcerting in an entirely different way.  “Oh, I am so sorry!  I didn’t see you, and-” “Hey, it’s ok.  No harm done, so long as you’re ok.  You are ok, right?”  There was a brief flash of concern that crossed his face, but it faded when Amanda bobbed her head at his question. She hadn’t moved.  Eddie was still looking down at her upturned face, the way her hair fell softly against her cheeks and the sweet sweep of her nose making her look about as precious as he had ever had the pleasure to see.  Eddie didn’t want to look away. For another beat they stood there, together, surrounded by score books and tutorial materials while an instrumental version of “Don’t Stop Believing” played through the store speakers.  Shifting in his Reeboks, Eddie swayed to the melody and Amanda let herself be carried along with him.  In another second, Amanda was certain that she would wrap his arms around her waist and call it a day.  Already, Eddie’s free hand was sliding towards her shoulder, another point of contact with this unknown, but very cute, man. “Yo!  Amanda?  Are you-”  Kyle’s voice cut through the force field around the pair.  At the sound of her manager’s shout she panic jumped back far enough to thud against the very cork board which held her proudly hung announcement, knocking the air out of her lungs with a grunted, “Oof!” “Jesus!  What are you doing?”  

Amanda’s eyes went wide at Kyle’s intrusion, and she pressed a hand to her chest to stop her startled heart from bursting free from the unused adrenaline, “Me?  Kyle, you scared the crap out of me!” Eddie’s head had snapped towards the interruption before pivoting back to the pretty lady he now knew was called Amanda.  His hand reached for hers reflexively, to help steady her, the same shy grin tugging at his lips.  That she took it and held it like a lifeline sent a zig-zag of energy from his fingertips straight to the muscles of his tummy which tightened at the contact. One of Kyle’s eyebrows shot skyward, his face skeptical, “What’s going on over here, anyway?”  He asked as if he already knew the answer, questioning eyes full of judgment. Amanda’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly.  What was going on back here?  She didn’t know, really. Luckily, Eddie did.  “Uh, your beautiful sales associate was just helping me find this-” holding up the song book with Iron Maiden’s logo splashed across the cover, he continued, “-and uh, then you came around the corner and, ya know, scared her half to death.” “Were you dancing?” Sneaking a quick glance her way, Eddie chuckled, “Dancing?  While she’s supposed to be working?  Naw man.  Like I said, she was helping me out.” His arms crossed over his chest, Kyle stared directly at Amanda, all but demanding her side of the story.  Running a palm up her neck, leaning into her hand, she exhaled loudly, “He’s- he’s right, Kyle.  I was just giving him, ya know, a hand.” Narrowing his eyes, not believing either of them, Kyle groaned in frustration, “Fine.  Whatever.  Just, I had a question for you.  Ya know, when you’re free?” Nodding, “Sure.  Yea, of course.  Just um-” she gestured towards Eddie, “-Give me a minute, ok?” “Yea.  Ok.”  Snorting, Kyle moved back towards the register, leaving Eddie and Amanda alone once more. Blinking those amazing eyes his way, Amanda locked her hands together to keep from touching the broad boy in front of her anymore, “So, thank you.  I’m not entirely sure what was going on, but I’m glad I don’t have to explain it to my boss.” “Right.  Well, I’m sorry for tripping you up.  Covering for you seemed like the least I could do.” Amanda heard the store’s music shift, something by Annie Lennox filling the space, and she took a tentative step away from Eddie causing him to lean forward, “Wait-” “Yea?”  Her hair swung over her shoulder, that’s how fast she spun around to face him, her stare open and curious. Nervously, Eddie bit his bottom lip as he rocked on the worn down heels of his sneakers.  For the first time in as long as he could remember he was almost unsure of what to say, “Uh, can I see you again?” Amanda didn’t laugh in his face and she didn’t shy away, both reactions he fully expected if he was honest about it.  Instead, and to his utter amazement, she reached behind her, yanking down the flier she’d only just hung up, “Absolutely.”  And she pushed the paper into his hand before scurrying toward Kyle. Shit.  He was in trouble already. Waiting just another couple of minutes, Eddie made his way to the cashier, patiently standing behind a flustered mom and her teenage son.  That the kid kept trying to get her to look at the cherry red electric guitar and amp set, already staged for Christmas, wasn’t lost on Eddie.  It’s exactly the type of gear he’d lusted after when he was young and eager, before he’d gotten his Sweetheart, and never looked back. Mind wandering, he didn’t hear her at first, “I can help you over here, sir.” Tilting his head towards her voice, Eddie took a shuffling step toward her register, “Ah, thank you, miss.” “No problem.”  But it most definitely was a problem, because Amanda couldn’t lift her gaze his way.  Not when her body rolled over hot at the memory of his chest under her fingers, his brown eyes peering down at her with sweet desire in their burnt caramel depths. Amanda punched in the code numbers, reading the price sticker and busying herself with recording the sale correctly.  “Amanda?  What’s the price for the Fender capo?” “Twelve fifty!”  It’s automatic and Eddie was astonished at how she kept focused on his sale while answering her colleague from memory. Finally, she raised her face to find Eddie’s smiling one already looking in her direction, and struggling to keep the flush of her embarrassment in control managed to ask, “Is uh, is there anything else today?” “Naw, Amanda.  I think this’ll do it.”  Giggling, a bit more timid now that she was safe behind the counter, Amanda bagged up the book and relayed the total.  Eddie pulled the bills out of his wallet, his chains clinking together musically, as Amanda made change for him quickly and precisely.  When he grabbed for the package, his fingers rested over her own for just a heartbeat, “I’ll see you soon then.  And uh, thanks for the dance, Amanda.” Stunned, all she could do was stand there, confused at the Dio patched metal head who pushed through the doorway and onto the street.  Under her breath, Amanda swore, “Fuck.  He knows my name.” —

Eddie didn’t know what he was supposed to wear to an outdoor concert in Hawkins Memorial Park at the beginning of October.  Was it a jacket and tie sort of situation?  Were jeans enough?  Was he going to stick out like a sore thumb if he was wearing a Metallica t-shirt? All of these questions and more burned through the bong ripped brain of Eddie Munson.  Pacing in front of his mirror, he fluffed his hair with his fingers, fidgety and fussing.  “Dude.  You’re fine.  What’s the big deal anyway?” Fixing Dustin with a stare that would wither lesser beings, Eddie folded down the collar of his red checkered flannel shirt, “The big deal?  I’ll tell you, Henderson.  The big deal is-” grabbing for his well used bottle of Aqua Velva and splashing a few shakes into his hands, “-I don’t wanna look like a jerk.  I want to blend in.  Just uh, enjoy some new music, and a nice night.” “Psst.  Bullshit.  Who’s the chick?” His eyes widened.  How could the little butthead know?  Eddie hadn’t said a word about the music store beauty and still, somehow, the pipsqueak was calling him out. “What chick?  Who said chick?  There’s no chick.” “Me thinks thou doth protest too much.” Pausing while he fiddled with the buttons on the sleeves of his shirt, confusion filling his face, Eddie blinked, “Wha?” “It’s Shakespeare.  You protest too much ‘cause, ya know, you’re covering up.”  Frustrated, Dustin shook his head, closing his eyes as he exhaled heavily, “Nevermind.  You’re clearly lying.  Tell me about her.  Who is she?” Looking over at his youthful friend, Eddie thought about it for a long second.  Tell Dustin about Amanda?  What was there to tell?  Shrugging safely into his shirt, Eddie bought himself some time fiddling with the buttons.  “Uh, well.  I don’t really know her all that well.  We, literally, bumped into each other at the music shop when I was picking up my new bible.”  He was now entirely focused on his hair which had decided to go fluffy.  Disgusted at what he saw, looking more pampered poodle than suave rocker, Eddie continued to run his hands through the curls as he chatted with his sidekick, “She’s uh-” “Pretty?” Dropping his gaze to the top of his dresser, Eddie’s cheeks colored at the word, “Yea.  So cute.  And, she seems smart.  Funny, ya know?” Nodding, Dustin came up behind his friend, plucking a stray hair from his shoulder, “Sounds pretty damn perfect, man.” “I’m sure there’s a catch.  There always is when it comes to women.”  Eddie couldn’t help trying to keep his excitement in check.  It was better to set his expectations low.  Less likely to hurt so bad when someone disappointed him and people always seemed to be disappointing Eddie Munson. Catching his older friend’s eye in the mirror, Dustin offered up a toothless smile, “I don’t know, man.  Maybe she’ll surprise you?” —

People were scattered around the park.  Some hovered near benches, others sat on blankets and a lucky few used their lawn chairs, dragged from home, all to get a good view of the small stage where the quartet would be performing tonight.  It was exciting. Amanda had unpacked her mic and cord, scatting a bit so that the guys could get a level on her voice and ensure a balanced sound through their mixing board.  She didn’t really understand all the technicalities, but in the end it helped make sure that they all sounded as good as possible, so Amanda played along.  “Testing one, two, three- testing one, two, three.  Can y’all hear us out there?” A smattering of claps and one enthusiastic “Woo hoo!” met her question.  Carly’s electric piano came next, banging out a couple of chords, before Jim slid his bow across the strings of his bass.  Not to be excluded, Mark took a couple of rim shots, making them all laugh. Now all that was left was waiting for the start of the show.  Seven o’clock and one of the town’s cultural council staff members used her microphone to blab about why they were hosting this event and to welcome Amanda and the band.  The lawn had filled in a bit, more people milling around which was always a good sign, so Amanda took a deep breath before greeting everyone, “Good evening everyone!  We’re the Indiana Four and we’re going to play for you tonight.  If you like what you hear, there’s a tambourine-” jingling the instrument to get everyone's attention, Amanda added, “-and I’ll leave it right here, in case you wanna put a little something in it!”

It was still too early for a full on sun set, but the sky didn’t know it.  Painted in bold streaks of orange that melted into petal pink due to the rays of the sinking sun, it created a warm glow which outlined everything around them with a gilded golden edge.  The moon was already a ghostly crescent barely visible in the rainbow tinted ether when Amanda let her voice rise into the oncoming night.  Mark counted them in with a broad smile in her direction and Carly’s piano joined the swell of music.  The deeper bass notes of Jim’s cello grounded the opening strains of their first song.  Amanda gently shut her eyes, letting her body feel every word of the song she was singing, just like she would do at home in her shower or behind the wheel of her tiny car.  Unaware of herself and completely at ease, letting her instrument, her voice, blend into the melody the four of them created together. Eddie was never going to get over the sound of her voice.  Sweet and soaring, she seemed to change the quality of its tone depending on the song, always leaving him guessing.  Which version of this lady was going to sing next?  A sultry vixen, heart broken and mournful?  The shy ingenue, new to love?  A plaintive bard, looking for answers?  Or some new character created to enchant him with only the power of her voice? In between songs, Amanda smiled brightly, joking with the people gathered and teasing her band mates playfully.  It made the entire concert feel comfortable- easy.  Like the folks who came down to see them were in on the funniest joke.  All one big, happy family who simply wanted to share music on a random October evening in the middle of Indiana. “Ok everyone, you’ve heard us sing a little of this and a little of that-” wrapping her hands around the microphone, Amanda pulled the silver stick closer, “-but now we’re going to do a favorite of mine, if that’s alright.” At the opening strains from the piano, a couple, older with matching graying hair, stood in front of their chairs and started swaying together, wrapped in each other’s arms.  Amanda’s lips spread in a wide smile pointed in their direction as she started, “There’s a saying old, says that love is blind. Still we’re often told, seek and ye will find. So, I’m gonna seek a certain lad I’ve had in mind.” Moving from the lamp post he had been leaning against, no longer content to watch from the shadows, Eddie stepped directly into Amanda’s line of sight.  She saw him.  How could she miss the leather wrapped, long haired guy who was peering straight into her soul?  And she wanted to look away, give someone, anyone else in the assembled listeners, her attention, but Amanda found that she couldn’t.

Had she expected him to be there?  Shaking her head for the crowd to see answered her own thoughts.  No, Amanda had no idea that the metal loving smooth talker would actually come to seek her out.  But, she had thought about it in the small moments between guitar lessons or while driving to her classes in the morning.

So, no.  Seeing Eddie stand there, bold as brass with his wide eyed stare and his hands in his pockets was not what Amanda had been expecting.  Hoped for, maybe.  Wished for, absolutely.  Reality though was better than anything her mind might have considered. “Looking everywhere, haven’t found him yet He’s the big affair I cannot forget, Only man I ever think of with regret.” Eddie swallowed hard.  The words she was singing wrapped around him on the night’s breeze and held on tight.  It was as if they were having a conversation that no one else could decipher, a conversation for only two. “I’d like to add his initials to my monogram, Tell me, where’s the shepherd for this lost lamb?” And she sounded lost.  Abandoned.  Alone.  Exactly like the type of person that Eddie was collecting for Hellfire or the band.  A person who needed someone like him to shield them from the big bads in life.  A guy who could protect her from the sort of wolves that a shepherd like him knew about all too well. “There’s a somebody I’m longing to see, I hope that he turns out to be Someone to watch over me.”

She was singing just to him.  Only Eddie.  There was no one else to look at, no one else who could understand or appreciate what the lyrics demanded.  “I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood, I know I could always be good To one who'll watch over me”

Eddie felt his smile slide into place.  It wasn’t the wide, dimpled, open grin that showed off his teeth and let you know he was happiest.  No, this smile was small, secret.  It drew his pretty pink tongue over the plush swell of his lips, something Amanda could see from a distance.  Then, just to be coy, his pearly top teeth bit into the pillow cushion of his bottom lip, teasing her from her position on the small stage. Even from this far away, Amanda could see that he had made an effort.  A shirt with a collar was buttoned across his chest, all red and black squares that looked soft and broken in.  Sure, it was still under his leather jacket, but the denim vest must have been left somewhere safe, because he wasn’t sporting the pins and patches that she remembered from their first encounter.  Jeans, dark blue or was it black?  She couldn’t really tell, but it didn’t entirely matter.  Either way, they fit snugly around his thighs and only sported a single torn knee.  The threads stretched across his joint, frayed and begging to be played with. His hair was wild.  It fell in waves of dark tendrils, looking to all the world like no care had been taken in its shaping and styling.  Amanda stretched the fingers of her right hand, the one not holding her mic, imagining how Eddie’s curls would feel wrapped around her fingers. He saw it all.  The way her hand fisted at her side before trailing up the chord of her microphone, tangling the slack in her fingers.  How Amanda let every note have its own moment before the next one rose to join it. “Although he may not be the man some girls think of as handsome, To my heart, he carries the key”

Eyes fluttering shut, Amanda took a breathy inhalation as the melody shifted, daring to break the spell by denying herself the sight of Eddie in the crowd.  Her heart thumped in time with Mark’s gentle drumming, thick hips swaying without her conscious approval, the crowd around her all but forgotten.  Sliding back to the original cadence, the song swelled up and out of Amanda, nearing the end. “Won't you tell him please, to put on some speed, Follow my lead, oh, how I need, Someone to watch over me”

Eddie was transfixed.  There was only him and Amanda and her voice and the falling sun burnishing everything rose golden in the fading light.  He caught the way her skirt curled happily at her ankles with every shift of her feet.  The way her mouth formed around the lyrics.  How her chest rose and fell with each expressive stanza. The words repeated: “Won't you tell him please, to put on some speed Follow my lead, oh, how I need Someone to watch over me”

Amanda let her eyes flutter open.  Closer now, unavoidable and un-ignorable, Eddie was standing directly in front of her.  The final note, held until her lungs burned from want of air, faded into the ether and she winked at him.  She couldn’t help it, really. Not when she had somehow managed to carry on as if the most handsome guy Amanda had ever bumped into wasn’t staring straight into her soul as she sang.  Not when every note was rich and ripe and reverberated across the people packed plaza even if, presently, she sang solely for an audience of one. Applause.  Clapping and whistling came from every corner of the park, jostling Eddie’s attention.  From the stage, Amanda giggled at his reaction, but smoothly covered her response, “We are just so grateful that you all came to see us tonight.  So-” tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a shy smile pointed in Eddie’s direction, she continued, “-we’re going to do one more song before we say goodnight.” She didn’t look at Eddie at all this time.  Amanda wasn’t even sure she could, not after the intensity of singing, to him, for him.  But she could tell he was there all the same, with his elbows bending outward like leather wrapped wings, nervous energy causing him to bounce on his toes in time with the music.

The new melody started and Amanda let it take her away too.  This number is lively, the rhythm more rock than jazz, and she gave herself permission to have a little fun, show off a little bit.  Still, she actively ignored the one set of eyes that didn’t seem to stray from her own through their final song. Soon enough, it was all over and the Indiana Four began breaking down.  A few friendly folks from the audience came up and said kind words.  Luckily there were a few dollars in the tambourine and Amanda happily handed the take to Carly, “Not so bad.” “Not bad at all-” But her friend stopped mid sentence, a voice familiar and still foreign cutting through the conversation, “Um, excuse me?  Amanda?” Turning around, Amanda was surprised to find Eddie so close that the toes of her boots brushed against his Reeboks.  She looked up at him through the curtain of her mascara, “How can I help you?” Now her voice was breathy.  Husky.  And it made Eddie’s skin prickle hotly.  “Uh, I just wanted to tell you- all, tell you all just how much I enjoyed your set.” Only, Eddie never looked past Amanda’s face.  Couldn’t really.  Not when her wide eyes were staring into his own, their long lashes accentuating her curious gaze, her head tilted in a way that showed sincerity.

His calloused palm rubbed against the back of his neck, nerves getting the better of him the longer that Eddie stood there.  It felt like hours.  Long, silence filled hours where no one spoke and he dangled from a weak branch of his own social awkwardness. In reality it was only seconds before Amanda giggled like a crushing school girl, dropping her gaze to break the spell she had unwittingly cast, “Well, that’s awfully kind of you…?” Clearly she was prompting him.  It was unfair that she was at the disadvantage of not knowing his name when he had learned hers through the forced politeness of the customer service industry.  Behind her, Carly snorted as they watched Eddie extend a heavy ringed hand, taking Amanda’s in his own.  Raising it high enough to press a chaste kiss to the back, adding a saucy wink for good measure as he answered, “Eddie.  I’m Eddie.” “Eddie.”  Amanda wasn’t aware that she’d whispered it out loud until her friend was reaching past her, extending her own hand Eddie’s way for a greeting, using her flirty voice to try and charm the very handsome, very out of place guy, “Carly.  That’s me.  And-” dropping her hand when Eddie failed to take it, Carly laughed ruefully, “-you don’t care.” Carly was absolutely right.  Neither one of them paid her any attention because the world as Amanda knew it no longer existed.  Not anymore. There was a new sun, a new sky.  One with raven curls and plump, pink lips.  A center of the galaxy that smelled like Aqua Velva and cinnamon gum and something mossy green.  The world had shifted off its axis, tipping her right into the arms of Eddie Munson. For Eddie, well, he had been gone from the second Amanda had tangled herself around him so tightly that she’d almost fallen.  But it was amazing to recognize that these feelings he was having were mutual.  He got shy then, toeing at the patch of grass in front of her, hands in his pockets while he played at casual, “Wanna get outta here?” Nodding wordlessly, Amanda agreed, only to realize her unspoken intention.  “Yea!  Uh, yes.  Yes.  That would be nice.” When Eddie cocked his chin up, the smile on his face was dazzling, “Excellent.”

— She was sure that she told the band where she was going and who she was leaving with, but Amanda couldn’t be certain.  It felt like so long ago.  An age had passed since she had been standing on the simple stage, singing for all of Hawkins to hear.  Since then, the long ago days of the early evening, so much had happened. Eddie had held her hand as he walked her to his van, holding open the door and ensuring that Amanda was tucked safely inside.  Boys didn’t do that- not for Amanda Patterson.  Not for the chubby girl who still had her baby weight to lose. When he caught her nibbling worriedly at her bottom lip, Eddie asked pointedly, “Everything alright?” “Uh, yea, I just-” “Afraid I’m trying to kidnap you, huh?  I get it.  Vans do have a-” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively while pressing the tip of his tongue to the center of his top lip, “-certain reputation.  But I promise you, Amanda.  No funny business.”  With one hand over his heart, Eddie extended the other, holding his pinky finger out. She recognized the gesture.  Every school aged kid would.  “Is that- are you making a pinky promise?”

His cheeks split into a solar powered smile as he nodded, “Oh, yes.  Absolutely.  And it’s ironclad, since, ya know, we link our little fingers.” Chuckling with her whole body, her shoulders lifted as Amanda agreed by reaching out her own pinky, “Ok, ok.  No funny business.”

They wrapped their littlest fingers around the other, huffing out laughs like naughty children.  And it did comfort any nagging fears that might have flooded Amanda’s mind because it was so silly.  So unexpected.  It was also entirely sincere. Roaring to life like a beast roused from slumber, the van started and Eddie shifted into gear, “Are you, by any chance, hungry?”

He was hoping against hope that she was because Eddie wasn’t ready to say goodnight.  Not now when he finally had this beautiful songbird buckled into the passenger’s seat, looking at him with those electric eyes.  Eyes that kept pulling him in anytime he dared glance Amanda’s way, now fully focused on him and beaming. Normally a question like that would be fully loaded for a young woman very aware of her size and stature, but for the first time and without any hesitation, Amanda answered without reservation, “Starved.”

Exhaling through a grin, Eddie shook his hair off his shoulders, “Then let’s go!” The drive to the diner was filled with chatter.  He offered kind words about the band, the concert and her vocals.  “You, you’re just incredible.  Never heard someone sing like that before.” “Thanks, but truthfully, Carly and Mark and Jim, they make me sound better.”  Amanda did that thing where she deflected the words, the attention, to anyone else in order to minimize herself.  What she didn’t count on?  Eddie’s ability to see right through her. Blowing his bangs off his face, Eddie swiveled to face Amanda, his tone finally serious, “Uh uh.  Nope.  No way.  You’re gonna have to accept that you’re the star of the show, sweetheart.”  Then, he leaned over the center console, right into Amanda’s personal space to bump her shoulder with his own, “Please, take the compliment.” Her jaw snapped shut, hands in her lap where Amanda fooled around her with fingernails, fidgeting.  She swallowed thickly and bobbed her head, her voice gaining strength.  “You’re right.  I, uh, I appreciate you saying that.” “No problem at all, hun.  I’m only telling the truth.”  That’s when she noticed his little finger wiggling her way, “Pinky promise.” — Normally Amanda would frown at the idea of a booth.  They tended to be a tight squeeze, embarrassingly so when she’d have to slide across the bench, her supple thighs sticking to the tacky pleather. She desperately did not want to be embarrassed in front of the forthright dude in front of her. But Amanda didn’t need to worry.  Eddie, lacing her hand in his, tugged her to the back table, “My usual spot- out of the way and the most comfortable one in the place.” Deep and roomy, the color of jellied cranberry sauce from a can, the cushion was accommodating because of its indeterminate age.  She plopped onto the seat with room to spare, more than a little relieved, “Oh yea?” “Yea.  I’ve been breaking it in for years.” Cocking her head in a way that made Eddie’s breath hitch, a clever half teasing smile curling one corner of her mouth higher than the other, Amanda joked, “So you bring all your women here, then?” The deep barking laugh that came straight from Eddie’s chest made an elderly gentleman sitting at the countertop turn around with a scowl.  “All my women?  You make me sound like a lothario.” “Mr. Goodbar?  Is that you?”  She squinted her eyes, leaning into the bit. “Oh, Mandy, honey.  I am nowhere near that good with the ladies.” “I don’t know.  You’re doing pretty good with me, so far.”  And it was out of her mouth like a runaway rocket.  There was no way to pull it back, no way to reign it in.  It was there- out in the ether, like a comet bound to crash through the atmosphere. Amanda froze because now she’d done it.  She had pointed out her interest, revealed herself as wanting, knowing that any other time she had dared to give voice to her attraction it had always been met with let down and heart ache.  The embarrassment boiled through her. God, she had wanted so badly to play it cool.  To ensure that Eddie was really into her before making any kind of declaration that couldn’t be passed off as a joke.  Stewing, Amanda waited for the inevitable rejection from the man far prettier and sexier than she should ever hope to have for her own. But instead of a dismissive shrug or, worse, a comment about liking her as a ‘just friend’, Amanda got to watch as Eddie’s eyes lit up joyfully.  He couldn’t hide it either, apparently, since his smile widened enough to show off a pair of precious dimples, “Yea?  Ya think so?  That’s- uh, that’s good to hear.” Something about his own reckless enthusiasm caused the flood of worry to ebb away, leaving Amanda filled with a warm, gooey sensation that was not as familiar.  Could it be?  Was this what mutual attraction felt like?  Was this what love songs had been selling for generations and greeting card companies were always trying to find new ways to describe?  Was this… love? “Hey lovebirds, what can I get ya?”  It is a universal law that wait staff appear at the table when it is least convenient and this interruption by Cheryl ensured that all was right with the cosmos, her tiny pencil poised and ready to write. They had spent no time reading the menu, but Eddie had it memorized cover to cover.  Looking at Amanda, he nodded, “So, uh, do you trust me?” Again, her head tilted, appraising this nearly perfect stranger with the gorgeous grin and shaggy hair.  “Uh huh, yea.  I trust you.  Why do you ask?” Licking over his lips, he turned all of his unfiltered attention to their waitress, dialing the charm up to eleven, “Hiya Cheryl!” “Hi yourself, Eddie.  What’s it gonna be?”  There was a familiarity there that spoke of too many late night coffee cups and slices of pie.  It wasn’t friendly, really, but it was warm enough and Eddie’s puppy dog eyes moved the conversation into safer waters. “Hmm… patty melts.  Two please, with the curly fries, ok?” A curt nod answered his request, “Yea, and to drink?” He looked at Amanda, that impish twinkle shining bright in his cinnamon dark eyes, “Milkshakes?” “Oh!  Yes!  Vanilla for me, please.”  She beamed at Eddie, excitement at the consideration evident in Amanda’s face. “And I suppose you want chocolate, right Eddie?” Cheryl lifted her gaze from the scribble filled notepad to stare down at Amanda’s dinner companion. Placing his ring covered hand over his chest, Eddie batted his eyes, “You know the way to my heart, Cheryl.” Snorting approvingly at his antics, she jotted down Eddie’s preferred flavor, “All right kids, be right up.” And she wasn’t kidding because before either of them could let the silence grow, two tall and frosty milkshake glasses were being slid across the glittering formica, each topped with a mound of whipped cream and a luscious, over sweet cherry as a crown.  A pair of straws were tossed down without much thought and Amanda greedily grabbed one, eager to taste the delectable treat in front of her. “So, tell me about you.  What do you- like, what do you do for fun?”  Eddie was toying with his straw’s paper wrapper, making small talk and working hard at looking effortless.  He hadn’t been out like this, with a girl he was so into, in ages.  Maybe ever, really, and he was rusty, more than a little out of practice. Amanda swirled her own straw through the thick vanilla shake in front of her, biting into her bottom lip before replying, “Well, I work.  A lot.”  “At the Music Shop?” She shrugged, “Yup.  But it’s not all restocking sheet music and replacing guitar strings.  I teach-” “Like guitar?”  Something about the prospect was so exciting.  A fellow musician to noodle around with and she just happened to have the voice of an angel?  Was this paradise found, or what? Amanda nodded at his eager response, “Yea.  Also some keyboard, like, really beginner piano, ya know?” Eddie slurped at his chocolate shake, brain going a mile a minute.  Shaking his long hair off his shoulders, nearly gawking, he clicked his tongue before sighing deeply, “It’s not really fair.” Worry filled Amanda’s features.  Had she done something wrong?  It had all been going so well, maybe too well?  “What’s not fair?” Rapping his ringed knuckles against the tabletop before pointing her way, “You.  You’re like, too good to be true.” Shy now, Amanda turned away from his kindness, his honeyed praises, and fiddled nervously with the pendant of her necklace.  It wasn’t something she had a ton of experience with; flirting and compliments and genuine appreciation.  If she was on a stage, under a white hot spotlight, Amanda would know exactly what to say, what to do, but here on the worn out bench seat of a small town diner, Amanda found herself unmoored by all the attention Eddie was sending her way. “Oh, that’s like- I mean, I’m not-” she let her voice trail off, suddenly transfixed by something outside of the plate window. “Hey-” Eddie laid his hand, palm up, on the worn down table, his voice dropping to a whisper.  He’d said something to upset Amanda because she had taken those brilliant peepers away and that felt wrong on a primal level. “-Amanda?  Did I- uh, shit.  Did I do something, ya know, wrong?  Shit.” There was something in the defeated sound of Eddie’s expletive that brought her around.  She saw his open hand, still laying on the table and cautiously linked her fingers with his.  But she still could not meet his questioning look.  Twirling one of those big, heavy rings around his large and frankly, distracting fingers, Amanda finally huffed out a lungful of air. “I guess I should like, be honest here and tell you that I’ve never really done this.”  She motioned between the pair of them with her unoccupied hand as if that alone would explain her behavior. Eddie squeezed her fingers for a second, a trace of teasing in his tone when he asked, “Had dinner in a shitty diner?” Rolling her eyes skyward, she snorted out a small laugh, “No.  Well, kinda?  I mean, I haven’t really had a-” she let her eyes lock onto Eddie’s maple brown ones, holding him still, “-a date.  I, uh, never really had anyone, ya know, wanna take me out.  So, this is new.  For me, anyway.” Eddie could see what the admission cost her.  The once pleased smile now turned just a little pouty as her bottom lip puckered from the effort of opening herself up.  Her chest rose and fell rapidly as if she couldn’t keep the air inside her for too long, but perhaps the most telling was the way that Amanda’s hand clung tightly to Eddie’s. For a long second neither one of them said anything.  The kitchen crew could be heard, banging around pots and plates.  Another couple in a nearby booth was laughing loudly.  The radio was tuned to the oldies station so everyone could listen to Sam Cooke singing about Cupid. And when Amanda realized that Eddie wasn’t going to respond, she sat up, stiffer than before, readying to take her hand with her.  But Eddie closed his fist around her fingers, keeping his hold on her and tugging her gently forward, a pained pinch obvious in his voice, “Me either.” “What?” He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly, “I don’t date.  Uh, that often.”  Popping one eye open, just to see if Amanda was still with him, Eddie continued, “Um, I’ve got a bit of a, well, a reputation.  And for some reason, the ladies around here aren’t into that.” Shooting for levity, Eddie hoped to lighten the mood.  Moments like this, where he was on display emotionally, where he was open and vulnerable, made him nervous.  Anxious.  Twitchy.  It was fucking scary to be sitting here with this pretty bird and tell her how much of a disaster he really was with no bravado to use as armor.  And if Amanda wasn’t already heading for the hills, there was no way he would be able to stop her now. “It’s the van, isn’t it?  All the people you’ve attempted to kidnap, right?”  At her gentle jest, both of Eddie’s eyes popped open.  She was still there, sitting sweetly behind her melting shake, a tentative twist of her lips making it impossible for Eddie to stop imagining what kissing her would be like and he felt himself nodding with a hoarse giggle, relieved, “Yea.  That’s, uh, that’s it.  I’m just a creepy metal head with a super creepy van.” “You probably have candy too and uh, puppies?  For the luring of innocents?” “Of course.  What’s a kidnapper without his bait?”  “A weird guy with an empty van?”  And that absolutely shitty punchline was enough to send them both into a giggle fit, shattering any lingering tension created by being a touch too honest in the moment.  There would be a better time to talk about deep dark secrets and the reasons why two lonely people could find comfort in each other, but this wasn’t it. When Amanda pulled her hand back this time, Eddie let it go.  She used her napkin to dab under her eyes, clearing away the tears that laughing together had created.  Then she was dipping down to slurp at her creamy concoction, grinning, “This is so good!” “Right?  But, I gotta say, vanilla is-” “What?  What’s wrong with vanilla?”  Shaking his head with a laugh, Eddie raised his eyebrows, “Vanilla is kinda boring.” “It is not!”  Scalded by his choice of words, Amanda leaned over their shared table at the diner, motioning him closer.  When she was near enough for her now vanilla scented breath to skate across Eddie’s mouth, Amanda husked, “Vanilla is smoky.  Sweet.  It’s hard to grow, super hard to harvest and while there are many imitators out there.  Real vanilla.  The good stuff?  Well, that shit would rock your world.” Amanda, feeling bolder, pushed in tighter despite the formica between them, continuing in a hushed tone.  “And Eddie-” her voice dropped even lower, forcing him to concentrate on every word leaving her tenderly parted lips, lips that smelled like bourbon and sugar and cream.  Lips that Eddie wanted to taste so badly that he was sure he was going to go mad, right here in the goddamned diner, before their burgers ever made it to the table.  Lips that begged to be kissed stupid, carried on, unaware of his rising desire, “-never forget this: chocolate needs vanilla to taste so damn good!”  Sitting back, pleased as punch now that her point was made, Amanda slurped down another sip of her vanilla shake.  Eddie needed a minute.  Or seven.  He was still almost lying chest down on the booth’s table, having to cock his head up to look at the vanilla loving vixen gloating over him.  Spreading his broad hands over the tabletop, Eddie dramatically pushed himself back into his seat, eyeing Amanda warily, acting contrary for the fun of it.  “It’s a good story, kid.  But I’m still not convinced about vanilla’s superiority.  Maybe-”  He was pushing his luck, he knew it.  God, but he knew it only too well.  She’d admitted to being new to all this, inexperienced, but still, fortune favors the bold, isn’t that what some famous person had said once?  Amanda, unknowingly, waited for his follow-up, her mouth wrapped around the striped straw, her cheeks round and smiling, “Maybe?” Leaning onto one leather wrapped elbow, Eddie reclaimed the space at the center of their table, “Maybe I need to taste it again?” She’s confused.  Yea, definitely, confused.  So Amanda moved, ready to slide her icy half filled glass his way.  But Eddie shook his head slowly and waved her forward until their foreheads were almost pressed together.  That’s when he cupped her cheek, gently, softly and Amanda, powerless to stop her body, nuzzled into the warmth there. It felt natural.  Right.  Easy.  And there was no way that Amanda was going to deny herself this little bit of pleasure being offered so openly. If what Eddie had admitted was true, and the way his eyes had scrunched gave her a pretty good idea that it was, then he was in uncharted waters himself.  Something about that idea, that they were both in this raging waterfall of connection together made it safer somehow.  It made it easier to shut her own eyes and enjoy the calloused caresses of Eddie. Eddie slid his thumb over her plush bottom lip which parted without question, “Wanna taste you.  That alright, Mandy?” God, did she like being called Mandy.  She bobbed her head ‘yes’, her eyes shut from the want, already anticipating Eddie’s movements.  But he surprised her again, asking- no, telling, “Open your eyes, baby.  Please?” And only when Eddie could spy the blown open pupils of his dinner companion did he allow his mouth to surge forward.  His slightly chapped lips separated enough for his tongue to sweep across Amanda’s own and he was rewarded with a sultry sigh.  It made Eddie braver.  Bolder.  

Now he was intrepid in his search for the flavor of vanilla, teasing and taking a taste of every muggy corner of her mouth.  His tongue brushed against her own, the fresh flavor of vanilla sweetness everywhere.  Heady and exotic and exciting.  Amanda tipped her chin downward, ready to deepen this first kiss that arched over forgotten milkshakes and the paper napkins wrapping up their silverware, tentatively running the tip of her tongue over Eddie’s teeth.  Traces of chocolate and the syrupy sweet cherry from the top of his treat lingered on Eddie’s lips making Amanda hum harmonically.  Her fingers fisted into the collar of his flannel shirt, ensuring that Eddie couldn’t escape, at least, not without effort. But she wasn’t worried.  When his second hand molded to the curve of her other cheek, Amanda couldn’t avoid smiling, knowing that Eddie was as into this as she was.  As far as first kisses went, this one was ranking pretty high on the list of all time greats and both were reluctant to pull away first. “Ahem!  AHEM!  I have your order.” Two heads turned toward the intruding voice of the bored and bordering on disgusted server Doris but Eddie and Amanda didn’t jump apart like a couple of randy teens might have.  Oh no, Amanda leaned further into the cup of Eddie’s palm, offering their put upon server a small smile, dazed and almost drunkenly, “Hmm, thank you so much.” Eddie would have rather died than forfeit the pleasure of her trusting touch.  With his free left hand he reached for one of the two plates, “Here, lemme have that.” “Whatever.”  Without any further ceremony, Doris, because that’s what her name tag read, plopped both heavy ceramic dishes to the table, “Need anything else lovebirds?” Amanda lifted her head slowly, licking over her bee stung lips and nodded towards the pink cheeked shaggy headed boy still draped across their booth, “Uh, yea.  Could we have another vanilla shake, please?  It’s his favorite flavor.” Chuckling, Eddie let his broad thumb with the bitten down nail graze over the apple of her cheek, speaking to Doris but only looking at Amanda, “Two cherries, huh, Doris?” Rolling her elderly eyes, the waitress shook her head, “Right away.” Steam rolled off the two cheeseburger melts and stacks of seasoned french fries but they remained huddled as close at the table between them would allow.  Cocking his eyebrow, Eddie couldn’t help the teasing, “My favorite, huh?” “Oh yea.  You’re a convert now.” Settling back reluctantly, Eddie smirked your way, “Ever think that you’re my favorite flavor?” He was rewarded with a small kiss pressed to the inside of his wrist and what he realized was a trademark tilt of her head, “I told you that everything tastes better with vanilla, Eddie.” “Yea, you sure did.”  Biting into his burger, Eddie grinned through the grease on his face, sure he had never been happier in his short life.  And if the triumphant smirk Amanda flashed his way proved anything, she felt the exact same way.

— The second their empty plates had been cleared away, Eddie’s hand naturally kind of reached for Amanda’s, needy and greedy for the reassurance of touch.  Just as natural, Amanda slotted her fingers between his, “I gotta say, Eddie, that was a pretty amazing burger.” Pleased at the recognition, Eddie squeezed her digits for a second, “Thanks for trusting me.”  And then he seemed to realize the full implication of his statement.  Thanks for trusting him on the drive over.  Thanks for trusting his judgment about the restaurant and not just his menu choices.  Thanks for trusting his intentions. Her eyes rounded at the sentiment, giving Eddie a flash of sympathy before leaning into a flirty smile, “I had to.  You did pinky promise me that there would be no funny business and that’s ironclad.  At least, that’s what I’ve been led to believe.” “God, you remember everything, huh?”  But he sounded impressed.  Happy that she hadn’t lingered on his more revealing comment. Nodding, Amanda agreed, “Yea, I mean, I kinda have an ear and it’s always been easy for me to memorize stuff.  Lyrics, melodies, lines from movies-” Leaning forward again, engaged and interested, Eddie licked over his bottom lip, “No shit?” “No shit!” Eddie couldn’t help it.  He let his eyes roam over the pretty face in front of him, etching all of the details into his own memory, vowing never to forget the greasy sweet shine of her lips around the red striped straw or how she folded her disposable napkin up primly before laying it across her dinner plate.  The way Amanda’s hand felt so right in his and how her mouth tasted like vanilla ice cream with a trace amount of menthol throat drop lingering along her teeth. Eddie needed to remember it all for later.  For tonight when he went back to his trailer, like a gentleman.  For tomorrow or the day after or the day after that.  For all the days that would spread between this time together and the next time Eddie would be able to see her.  He was going to live off the sound of Amanda’s begrudging laugh when he made a joke that was funnier than it had any real right to be.  He planned to survive on the nourishment of her sugared sighs when those perfect, plump and pouty lips had welcomed Eddie’s own.  It was food for his soul.  Essential for life like oxygen or water. “Uh, Eddie?”  Amanda’s quiet question yanked him out of his own head and back into the present moment. He tugged the forward chunk of his hair between his long fingers, embarrassed at being caught, “Hmm?”  “You’re, uh, staring.” “Yea.  Sorry about that.  It’s just-” “Do I have something on my face?”  Panicked, Amanda patted at her cheeks to find the non-existent stain. And how could he help himself?  “Oh, yup.  A little higher.  No, lower- uh, nope, other side.  It’s right there-” he directed her wildly, pointing at the corner of his mouth to watch Amanda lick the same spot of her own, “-almost.  How do you keep missing it?” “You little shit!”  It was suddenly crystal clear that Eddie was full on fucking with her.  There never had been anything on her face. “What?  You got it.  Just now.”  Eddie’s impish grin made it impossible for Amanda to be truly mad so she settled for shooting him a playfully spiteful glare, “Uh huh.  Yea, sure.” His thumb rubbed along the side of her pointer finger, the gentle drag a grounding reminder of Eddie’s unwavering presence.  Amanda rested her chin against the flat of her right palm before sighing deeply, “What am I gonna do with you, Eddie?” Reflexively, re-actively, he answered, “Whatever you want, baby.” It was Amanda’s turn to stare.  There was an open honesty in the hot coffee color of Eddie’s eyes that hooked her right through the heart and tugged like a caught fish on a rusty lure.  He was being serious, there was no denying it. Around them the air shifted.  It was no longer funny.  It was no longer polite. The world narrowed once more, big enough for only the two of them and the dingy diner booth where they sat as everything else fell away. Her throat tightened and a lick of heated flame unfurled through her belly.  Words flooded her thoughts but Amanda couldn’t seem to settle on the ones that would say what she wanted desperately to express.  Eddie’s seemingly simple declaration had untethered her. Because it was too soon to speak with such clarity of purpose.  Too early for the implication of more to be made.  And yet, for the first time, Amanda saw the ghostly shape of possibility in the earnest expression Eddie wore. There was a promise there, stronger than one created when two little fingers linked, and something about that was spooky.  Scary.  Only, Amanda didn’t feel frightened like she thought she should, shrugging smoothly, “I- I wanna stay with you.” That was her truth, in the singular sparkling now.  Leaving Eddie, even for the comfort of home, was a thought so daunting, so disruptive, that she was actively moving against it.  Everything in Amanda Patterson said ‘stay’.  Eddie’s head bobbed in understanding.  He had no intention of letting the night end so early and without any plan in place for a follow-up rendezvous.  At Amanda’s declaration, he’d changed the grip of her hand, turning it so that their palms touched, textured heat melding together.  

He’d be lying if he denied the libidinous way his blood shot south at the whispered want in Amanda’s voice.  He was a young and virile guy, after all.  But Eddie wasn’t thinking with his dick when he said, “I don’t wanna let you go, Mandy.”

“Am I-” pausing to catch her breath, Amanda started again, “-are we crazy?” “I uh, I don’t think so.”  Conspiratorially, Amanda huffed, “Then what do we do now, Eddie?” His free hand brushed through his curls roughly before landing on the back of his neck, “Let me take you home?” It was a question born of chivalry and Amanda agreed with a thin, “Yes, please.” Eddie stood up first, somehow managing to keep her hand in his as he slipped out of the booth smoothly.  Once he was on his feet, he tugged lightly, bringing Amanda to the edge of the bench before offering his arm.  She watched as Eddie threw some loose bills on the table and then he was leading her outside of the bacon scented diner and onto the sidewalk. She floated at his side, the swaying of her skirt brushing against the stiff denim of Eddie’s jeans.  What had been an appropriate outfit for the early evening was now a bit too thin and he saw her shiver under the bright and clear Indiana sky.  Popping open the van’s door, he saw her settled inside and as she buckled her seatbelt, Eddie shrugged off his leather jacket, “Here.  Snuggle up under this, yea?” Gripping the body warm coat with greedy fingers, Amanda clutched it to her chest, humming her thanks.  He watched as she spread it over herself, nudging the collar with her nose, “Oh man, it smells like you!” “Cigarettes and bad decisions?” “Nope.”  Inhaling deeply, she thought for a minute, “Cologne?  Aqua Velva, like my granddad wears and uh, Green Apple shampoo?”  She couldn’t hide the surprised way her eyes widened or the knowing little smirk her mouth made at this discovery. “What?  I think it smells good.”  Lingering in the space between inside the van with Amanda and outside on the sidewalk, Eddie’s arms leaned into the rusted metal frame, effectively caging her in the seat. Not that she minded when every time he stretched his flannel shirt rode up just enough for an alabaster white slice of belly to peek over the waistband of his jeans.  She had already noticed splashes of black ink over each hip but couldn’t be sure of its shape.  His forearms were on display, the strong veins of his wrists visible under the artfully stained skin, and Amanda let her mind wander at the idea of what Eddie looked like under all that cotton and cloth. Amanda swallowed thickly.  She was very aware of the protective bubble Eddie had built around her, here in the cab of his vehicle.  The scent of him.  The sight.  It was a feast for the senses. And now all she wanted was to taste the plush and pillowy softness of his lips.  Lips that were moving, saying something but her mind had gone over into staticy silver.  She couldn’t help it.  Not when he was standing with his trim waist nearly at eye level, the belt of his jeans drawing them low on his hips.  “Huh?” That grin.  Broad and toothy, spread smugly over his face, “Uh, did I lose you for a second?” “Hmm, yea.  Kinda.  Sorry, what were you saying?” “I was saying, I don’t want to say goodnight, at least-” he raised a hand to her cheek, brushing the calloused pad of his thumb across her smooth skin, “-not so soon.” Having already melted into his touch, hoarse and throaty, she agreed, “Yea, no, me either.” “Yea?  So, if you’re up for a little adventure, I may have an idea.” Amanda lifted an eyebrow, questioning the boy before her with a sarcastic thread to her words,  “An adventure?” “Don’t worry, babe.  I'll make sure to get you there and back again.”  His pinkie finger was wiggling, just waiting for Amanda to link them together in a silent show of trust. —

Thanks for reading!  Part 2 is coming soon!

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[thestobingirlie]

Hello!! How are you?? So, I absolutely hate ronanc/e. Like you never ever date your friend's ex, especially if it ends badly. Which is what happened. There's going to be a ton a complicated feelings about Steve and ro/nance and even if Steve didn't express his displeasure about it, it would negatively affect Steve's relationship with Robin. Like ST4 completely screwed over Stobin for Stancy. And it drives me crazy that Steve, who canonically has issues with people committing infidelity, would go for someone already in a relationship. And Dustin, Robin and Eddie for convincing Steve to go after someone in a relationship!! And Nancy and Robin barely have a good relationship in canon! Nancy gets annoyed with Robin until she does something helpful to Nancy's cause. (Which is something that is now like ingrained in Nancy's character and I would like for the Duffer's to let her change from it, because it makes her so unlikable and the one of the most unrealistic parts of the show is that no one treats her like she only cares about people until they are useful to her.)

I honestly think people are harsh on Vickie (I adore her, she looks like a really good match for Robin and she's bi! If not canonically, then in my heart.) because Robin is the sole canonical wlw character in the party. So her love interest falls under way more scrutiny and when the Duffer's gave her a similar trait to Robin, people were disappointed, especially with how little screen time she has. And if the Duffers wanted, they could have really easily made Vickie a more prominent character. Have Chrissy take her for backup at Eddie's trailer and have them both go on the run or something. And most non party love interests get the same amount of development. (Take Suzie) However, on the fandom side of things, people will literally make up backstories for Gareth and ship him with Will???? You see this white boy who's a junior and got like 30 seconds of screen time and decides he's a good match for Will, but you see Vickie and deem she is too similar for Robin and won't bother creating backstories for her? People literally do it for Chrissy and ship her with Robin! Nothing against Buckingham, it's just that people will take any character and give them backstories and ship them but they won't do this for Vickie.

I think that the whole Robin and Nancy making fun of Steve things stems from Robin making fun of Steve in ST3 and Nancy just generally being demeaning to Steve in general. And ST4, with every single person demeaning Steve's intelligence did not help at all. And people say that you shouldn't bring a man's feelings into a wlw relationship, but Steve is entangled in this relationship. Nancy was his first love and Robin is his best friend. If the genders were swapped, people would be having a conniption. [Also, I honestly believe that if you swapped the genders of the characters, Steve would get a lot less hate and Nancy would get a lot more, but that's my opinion. Like people would never doubt that Nancy cheated on Steve and Steve breaking the camera wasn't all that unreasonable.]

Anyways, sorry for the long ask, I just have a lot of opinions on ro/nance and platonic Stobin and Vickie! (Also, from above, like Vickie and Chrissy could have been childhood friends but then grew apart but they know they can go to each other for everything, so Chrissy takes her to Eddie's trailer and then season 4 continues with lots of Rockie interactions. I would love to read a ST4 AU like that but unfortunately I haven't seen any of those on AO3 and I have negative writing skills, so I will be waiting for the day that it might come) ~@thestrangerthingsmeadow

hi!! i’m good, thank you.

i’m so glad other people dislike r//nance! the ship feels so difficult to escape within this fandom, which is insane, because it honestly makes no sense to me. i think a lot of people that ship it, ship it because they’re two hot women, and don’t really care beyond that. their personalities don’t mesh well, and their situations in life don’t either. like you said, steve is robin’s best friend and nancy’s ex. it’s just not the kind of thing that mix.

i didn’t love that a lot of stobin scenes became about stancy, and i feel like nancy replaced a lot of scenes that could’ve included robin. it is also weird to me that so many people were pushing for stancy when nancy and jonathan are still together. like you said, steve has major issues with infidelity, and while i can see dustin pushing for steve and nancy (because he loves to involve himself into steve’s love life) i don’t really understand eddie putting in his two cents.

and yeah! nancy really only likes people when they benefit her in some way, which is a really interesting character trait, but not if the character never develops out of it. nancy’s character development has been stagnated for 4 seasons, when they gave her a handgun and decided that was enough.

i love vickie so much and it kills me that the fandom doesn’t appreciate her. i’m pretty sure she’s canonically bi, but people toss her aside for no reason. and while i would’ve liked vickie to have more of a role, i also think it makes sense that she doesn’t. someone compared her to rosie from lotr. the calm in the storm, the peace at home, the hope you long for during horrible times. i know the st fandom loves trauma relationships, but i just love the idea of robin being able to have someone safe, outside of everything horrible that’s happened to her. and yeah, i don’t have anything against gareth, he’s a fun little character, but i have no idea why people love him and will so much, it’s honestly weird. people found the closest in age, good looking teenager they could, and said that’s good enough! wlw will always come under more scrutiny than mlm.

i’ve made a post about how much i hate steve becoming the butt of all stranger things jokes, but it’s even worse if it’s his ex and his ex’s new girlfriend that is also his best friend making fun of him. and i think it’s insane that people complain about a man being involved in a lesbian relationship, like… first of all, it isn’t even a real relationship (not in real life, or even the show) and second, a man is involved. he is quite literally at the centre. you can shove him off to the side, but in doing so essentially create entirely different characters. and i think i made a post about that!! if nancy was the man people would hate her, like she would probably be one of the least liked characters. people would consider it girl power that steve had slutshamed nancy, and smashed the camera. and if you’d had a drunk guy calling his girlfriend bullshit, and saying he’d never loved her. people would think they were the worst person alive.

you don’t have to apologise for long asks!! though it might take me a bit longer to respond!! and i do love that idea to involve vickie more!! honestly if i had written the season, i wouldn’t have given her a current boyfriend, but still, i’m just glad we got her at all. and if that fic existed, i’d totally read it!!

[milllies]

Good day or night everyone!

I really don't understand how people can think that Midleven can be canon when they lose on all fronts.

1. Love actors

Yes, actors do not always need to be listened to, because they are told that they must answer certain questions and it is very important for Duffers that unnecessary information does not leak into the network, but by their reaction you can see how they feel about certain pairings. I think you've all seen those interviews, but the conversation where they were talking about how the ending of Stranger Things was similar to the ending of Shitts Creek. Let me remind you that it ended with the wedding of a same-sex couple. I advise you to look at your leisure) The faces of David and Finn when they said that Will wants to spend his life with Mike in the basement playing D&D. Also, the serious attitude of other actors towards the byler, they don’t joke, they don’t condemn, they don’t laugh, but they say that their love is beautiful and all that. By the way, it’s very strange that they don’t talk about them a lot, that is, it would be it is logical to mention the other side of the triangle and say that Will's feelings are unrequited, but Mike will still be on his side and all that, instead we get Finn's words that Mike will accept this and understand (though he will understand himself too)).

2. Marketing

Things have recently been released with a picture logo on them, would they release a collection with a picture that is not needed and will not matter in the Mike and Will arc, and also if the feelings are unrequited and our boy is rejected. Seriously? This is very strange, given the type of thinking of the Duffers and their love of logic in everything.

3. The goals of the characters

For El, the goal of her entire journey was to find family and friends, she began dating someone before she knew what relationships and romantic love were. Her ideas about love are made up of soap operas that she watched on TV and thought that this is how love should look, and then she started projecting it onto Mike and nothing good came of it.

For Mike, acceptance was the goal. That is, starting from the end of season 2, Michael realized that he was in love with Will (his view of the ball and the state Dustin was also in because of Lucas and Max). Due to the homophobia that was developed in the 80s, Michael was unable to accept his feelings in season 3, but he had to do it at the very end, when El kissed him and it was clear that he did not feel anything and was in confusion.

Will's goal was to forgive himself. He was able to get used to and accept what he tried to reject all the time, but his arch in is not yet closed and will not be until Mike's confession.

4. Tips of the creators.

There are a lot of them, the entire twitter dedicated to the series consists of them, but I want to show my favorite tweet:

5. Lies and everything else

We all know about the lies in Michael's monologue, because El did not find any memories on any of his words, except for a T-shirt, and it was disgusting and painful for her to hear Mike's "confession", because it was Will who suggested this to him. She heard it. She's not stupid. You know, it hurts so much when you try to knock out a declaration of love for 3 years, and another person succeeds at the snap of his fingers. In an instant, he gets what was not available to you.

Will and Michael used the name El to talk about each other because, Mike, everyone knows she's special, you're not the first to discover this, but the first to see things in Will that you didn't see in anyone else. He's special to you, right? Some of his words were really about El, but such a lie is immediately visible, because it refutes what was in the series)

And this is the minimum that I can call, midlevel is not created to be canon, because they do not have the foundation that they gave to Will and Mike, they are the prototype of typical lovers who think that their feelings are not mutual.

Most likely it turned out to be confusion, but these are just my thoughts on this matter

[stranger-fanfiction-n-things]

CHAPTER 5: THE FLEA AND THE ACROBAT

This is an Original Character fanfiction. All Stranger Things characters and content are owned by Netflix and The Duffer Brothers.

a/n: I try to include Erica as much as I can.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2053

Masterlist

PART I || PART II || PART III

ROANE CEMETERY

Dad didn’t say anything to me when I came downstairs wearing lipstick, but I didn’t miss the look he gave Mom or the warning look Mom gave him back. Me wearing lipstick was the least of our troubles when we have a funeral to attend. The drive to the cemetery was quiet once again. Lucas hadn’t uttered much of a word since we left the house and Erica was unusually quiet as well. It must be difficult to navigate how to move when your two older siblings both lost their best friends at the same time. I reach for Erica’s hand kissing her knuckles before entwining our fingers to show that I’m here, even when my world is crumbling beneath my feet. I’m here. Erica leans on me in acceptance and I sigh contently knowing she doesn’t feel like I’ve neglected her. Erica, Lucas and I are all hyperaware of each other’s feelings without having to ask. Call it sibling telepathy or what not, but our relationship though sometimes rough around the edges, especially between Lucas and Erica, but when it comes down to it, we are always there for each other, no matter what. 

When we get to the cemetery, I am surprised at how many people are already there in support of the Byers. There had to be 40 people here at maximum. Most of them I assume are fellow classmates showing their regards to the loss. I’m warmed by the outpour of support from everyone who showed up today to pay their respects. Over the past few days, the town has come together to find Will, even though the search came to a tragic end, the love still showed. I follow closely behind Lucas who still hasn’t spoken much of a word. All of us are still following Dad’s rule of leaving Lucas alone to grieve and process. He’ll come to us when he wants to. 

The air is brisk yet refreshing and the sun shines weakly in the sky. Brown leaves rustle in the wind, swirling around us in haste. I brush my hair away from my face and look down at the uneven ground under my black sunglasses in effort not to trip and fall in the damp grass. We approach the group, sending small smiles. I immediately notice Nancy standing beside Mrs. Wheeler. She is dressed similar to me in a black dress, nylons and kitten heels. Her black trench coat is open despite the mild winter chill. I wave at her before I am handed a white rose and walk down the row towards her and the Wheeler and Henderson Family. Mike and Dustin look at me; Mike sending a small wave in my direction. Dustin smiles a toothless grin at me but it quickly fades to a scowl when Lucas elbows him in the side. I scrunch my nose to hide my smile, happy to know my brother isn’t completely gone.

Only a few minutes pass before the Byers approach the cemetery. Jonathan guides Ms. Byers to her seat and is followed by a man I haven’t seen in a while and who I can only assume is Jonathan’s dad. He looks done up in what looks to be an expensive suit meanwhile, Jonathan and Ms. Byers look plain. I notice Jonathan’s dad has a tie on but Jonathan doesn’t and I think about Dad teaching Lucas how to tie a tie in the mirror. I am aware of Jonathan and Will’s home life. Living with a single mom proved itself to be difficult especially in a religious town like Hawkins. I purse my lips thinking about everything and it occurs to me that Jonathan has not once mentioned his dad in any of this which makes me wonder if his dad cared at all about Will and if so, why did it take so long for him to care about his own child. 

I stare at Ms. Byers. When I briefly saw her yesterday at her home when Nancy and I were looking for Jonathan, she looked how I expect any parent who has a child missing; worse for wear. I didn’t pry or stare at all the Christmas lights strung up on the ceilings and walls or even the alphabet written across the far end of the wall. If I learned anything at all this week is that people grieve in their own way. She looks more presentable today, though she moved slowly, barely aware of her own movements. Ms. Byers didn’t look at anyone or even smiled. Just sat down on the chair in front of the casket. Jonathan told us yesterday that she didn’t believe Will’s body was real and now she has to sit through a funeral she deems unnecessary. 

Pastor Charles approaches the front of the casket and begins his sermon. Not too long after the ceremony is filled with silent tears, muffled nose blowing and soft sniffles. My hand is on Lucas’s shoulder for the entire time. He doesn’t cry which surprises me a little bit because he was bawling his eyes out when news about Will’s body being found in the Quarry broke out. Maybe he was numb to everything now. 

“Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God.” Pastor Charles says. “I will strengthen you. Yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with my righteous hand. It’s times like these that our faith is challenged. How, if he is truly benevolent could God take from us someone so young, so innocent? It would be easy to turn away from God but we must remember than nothing, not even tragedy, can separate us from His love.” 

The sermon ends and it’s time for everyone to throw their flowers onto the grave site. One by one we all let go of our flowers. Mom and Dad approach Jonathan’s dad who is nothing but smiles and charm thanking us for coming. I send him a tight-lipped smile, feeling slightly put off by him and his mannerisms. I look over her shoulder and see Ms. Byers frowning and shaking her head. I want to pay my respects to her, but she doesn’t look like she’s in the mood for any interaction. Her eyes were empty, lacking any hint of emotion, though with just enough focus to know she was still there. 

Nancy is waiting for me outside the crowd. I excuse myself and I hug her tight hooking my arm with hers. 

“You look like a movie star with your sunglasses,” she teases. I lay my head on her shoulder as we walk to a more secluded area. “Also, I can’t believe you’re wearing lipstick right now.” 

“I know I can’t believe it either. My mom gave me one of hers to wear today.” 

“Have you told her anything? Y’know about…” 

I lift my head, shaking it. “No, I haven’t. Have you told your mom?” 

“Definitely not. Things have been…” she exhales. “Tense between us since the whole Steve thing. She still brings him up. Even after our talk with the cops, she never once asked about Barb.” Nancy scoffs rolling her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” I say. “If it makes you feel any better, things between my mom and I were…different to say the least yesterday too.” Nancy’s eyebrows raise to her forehead. I nod my head rubbing my lips together. “Yeah, the lies caught up with me, I guess. From going to Steve’s to getting a ride home—” 

“You got a ride home?” Nancy interrupts. “By whom?” 

I wince forgetting I haven’t told Nancy about Eddie yet. I open my mouth to speak but thankfully, I am distracted by Jonathan standing on the far end of the cemetery. He raises his hand to let me know he wants to talk to us about something. I wave back and glance at Nancy who looks at me pupils twinkling under the bleak sun and pat her hand. “I’ll tell you about it later.” 

The three of us sit on the ground behind a wrought iron fence in the cemetery. Jonathan holds out a makeshift map with red x’s making a triangle. I lean in close pushing my sunglasses over my bangs to see clearly. Jonathan points to the map. “This is where we know for sure it’s been.” 

Nancy furrows her brows, pointing an x the farthest to the left. “So, that’s…” 

“Steve’s house.” Jonathan confirms. He moves his finger to an open space on the paper. “And that’s the woods where they found Will’s bike and…that’s my house.” 

“It’s all so close.” I say, hugging my jacket closer to my body. 

“Exactly. I mean, it’s all within a mile or something. Whatever this thing is, it’s not traveling far.” 

I study Jonathan, squinting against the sun. His newfound eagerness was suspicious especially because of what was happening right now. He buried his little brother today and his family dynamic seemed way more intense than usual. I sit up straighter twisting my body. “You want to go out there.”

Jonathan perks up as if he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to be doing. “We may not find anything.” 

“We found something.” Nancy chimes in. “And if we do see it…then what?” 

“We kill it.” 

My eyes pop out of my head. “Kill it? How are we going to do that?” 

Jonathan stands up dusting dead grass off his pants. He looks determined and a little crazed. I blinked with incredulity. “Follow me.” He says marching to the parking lot. I look at Nancy wondering what’s going on. He leads us to an expensive looking sports car. He opens the door not before telling us to keep look out. I cross my arms above my chest shifting from side to side on my feet. My eyes dart back and forth around the cemetery. Everyone was walking back to the church for the reception. Mine and Nancy’s parents are talking to each other while Mike, Dustin and Lucas huddled in a circle. I tilt my head to the side wondering what they were talking about. 

“Just give me a second.” Jonathan says, pulling out a pocket knife from his jacket pocket. My eyes again pop out of my head. 

“Are you serious?” Nancy exclaims. 

“No, absolutely not!” I shout, watching him wiggle the end of his knife into the lock of the glove compartment. I can only hope and assume this car is his dad’s and even though his dad gave me bad vibes, I still do not approve of stealing. I am already on the police’s radar for Barb, I don’t need to add theft to my list. 

“What?” Jonathan snaps, opening the glove compartment. He sifts through taking out a gun. My mouth falls open. “You want to find this thing and take another photo? Yell at it?” 

“No, but…” 

“This is a terrible idea.” Nancy intercepts. 

“Yeah, well, it’s the best we’ve got.” Jonathan tucks the gun in his back pocket before closing the car door. “What? You can tell someone but they’re not going to believe you. You know that.” 

That was true and I wasn’t going to tell my parents anything, but Ms. Byers believed something was happening before Nancy and I knew Barb was missing. Hell, she doesn’t think Will’s body is real. It made sense to tell her about what was happening. Maybe she can help us somehow. 

“Your mom would.” I point out.

Jonathan takes a deep breath. I see how tired he looks, the bags under his eyes deepening in colour. There’s a hint a sadness in his eyes that disappears as soon as I see it. “She’s been through enough.” 

“She deserves to know.” Nancy adds.

“Yeah, and I’ll tell her when this thing is dead.” He says with finality. It’s enough for me and Nancy not to push anymore. 

I think about Barb and the looks on Officer Callahan and Powell’s faces when I told them about what I saw in Steve’s backyard. I pull my sunglasses down tucking my hair behind my ear. Determination bubbles in my body. If Jonathan is certain about this, I’m in through and through. Like I said. My brother and I deserve to have our best friend’s back. 

“When do we start?” 

NEXT -> PART III

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