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cacoetheswriting · 10 months ago

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celebrity skin. (part seven)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 6.7k summary: due to an unexpected visit, you're forced to tackle a certain situation head on. maybe now you can get some answers from the rockstar that broke your heart — or maybe your family will just annoy you about it.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, post-breakup emotional hurt / a little comfort, minor use of pet names, tiny bit of fluff, familial drama — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

There is an infamous estate in East Hampton that’s been key to many conversations between your family members.

Grey Gardens was four acres of oceanfront land.

The prime location had been prone to controversy right from the very beginning, or more accurately, since 1901. Controversies involving the women that owned the estate. Women not so dissimilar to your own grandmother, such as Margaret Bagg Phillips who was challenged for ownership of the land after the passing of her husband — (his brother suspected that she cremated him so that an autopsy couldn’t be performed).

More notably though, Grey Gardens had at one point been home to Edith Ewing Bouvier Beale, and her daughter, Little Edie.

Your Nana would often use Big Edie’s martial fall out as an example to never trust a man’s intentions. She’d also use the Beale’s widely publicised story as a warning. People will judge you, especially if your name is already known to some.

Despite the gossip associated with Grey Gardens, the reason for its frequent mention at your family’s dinner table wasn’t because of the vast size of the property, its architectural style, or design. And it wasn’t the scandalous story, or the association with being a recluse. No. For your family, the name signalled an escape. A white flag, of sorts, to end the standoff between two or more people because the talks were going in circles. The mention of Grey Gardens was to allow for reflection since seeing someone else’s point of view, in the heat of the moment, was not easy.

A white flag you were now waving.

“Eddie came to see you?” Val asks in disbelief while she carefully sets a bowl of mashed potatoes down on its designated spot at the family dinner table.

“Grey Gardens,” you mutter, not interested in getting into this conversation.

Unfortunately, your younger sister ignores you, along with the meaning that your family has given to the East Hampton acres of land. She proceeds to press on the matter, rather indelicately, because she’s always been nosy when it comes to your celebrity skin — not out of jealousy, you knew that much, just morbid curiosity, as she’d always say. Normally you don’t mind it. Hers is the only attention you give into because she’s always been your number one fan. This whole situation with Eddie however, well, that you didn’t want to get into. It’s the reason you stayed hidden in your apartment for all those weeks following the breakup.

So you made a promise with yourself: no one has to know that the Corroded Coffin frontman showed up at your door the other night. And by no one, you meant your own family and close circle, since you already told Steve and Eddie’s undoubtedly gone to visit his sister. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, three days with no hitch. Saturday… Well, the tabloids had to go and ruin that day for you and put a hink in your plan to keep this situation underwraps. EDDIE MUNSON SPOTTED IN NEW YORK: the Rockstar plus the Big Apple, it can only mean one thing.

People aren’t stupid. They picked up on the hidden meaning immediately. Understood the illusion presented to them by second-rate journalists who were dreaming of writing about things that matter, but are instead stuck working on puff pieces about people five-times more famous than they’ll ever be. So the gossip train took off. Eddie Munson was in New York City to see you. This time, of course, that was true, but you hated that other people knew about it. Most importantly, you hated that your family knew.

“Did he say why he came?” Val is relentless.

Tension is building up your back, to your shoulder blades. You crack your neck. You’ve never been one to go against family, but you’re maybe about one question away from telling Val to fuck off. Jesus. The intention behind the thought disappears from your mind just as fast as it initially crept up. It would be redundant. She’d just call for mom, the peacemaker.

And speaking of mom…

“Valentine, can you please gather your siblings? Dinner will be ready in five minutes and I’m pretty sure Jonah is knee-deep in Play-Doh, while Amelia will take about twenty to put down the phone.”

She always walks into the room like she’s in a rush for something, despite never having anywhere to go outside of school pickups and grocery runs. Yet there’s an elegance there, thought by your Nana, and an aura of warmth and a certain poise that you’ve envied since you were a little girl. An aura that can’t be mimicked or copied. You’ve tried.

“Your sister is going to help me out here,” your mom adds before Val can argue, “The green beans need to be finished, and I need someone to check on the pie because I have to handle the steaks.”

You’re grateful for the distraction, following your mom into the kitchen. The sizzle coming from the oil is soothing, like white noise. You stand in the doorway for a moment, allowing yourself to close your eyes, listening to the hissing as you take in the surrounding smells. Solace. Although it’s brief because your mom is calling your name and she’s again in a rush, opening the oven quite harshly and telling you to look at the pie.

“Where’s dad?” You wonder while doing what she’s requested you to do. The pie is burned at the top, but you don’t tell her, taking it out instead and setting it aside to cool. The oven is off before she even gets a chance to ask what it looks like.

“He’ll be back soon,” she answers simply, “Went to pick up Caroline and your Nana.”

You nod and move onto finishing the green beans before your mom can implore you to do so. She starts whistling. The same tune she always does when cooking — your first number one song. It makes you smile. She’s always told you how proud she was, both of your parents did. Their beautiful girl, their second daughter, grew up to become bigger than the world. That’s plenty of reason for pride. You start to hum along.

For the next ten minutes, five longer than what your mom said dinner would take, you forget all about Eddie Munson showing up at your apartment door.

The banging continues. Eddie's calling your name through the wood that’s separating your two bodies, desperate for your attention. It’s almost like a plea, but that would mean he’s remorseful of something, and if you know Eddie at all — which you think you do — he’s not the remorseful type, considering how often he fucks up.

With a trembling hand, you slide the chain onto the lock and slowly open the door, peeking at the rockstar from between the created gap. Eddie is quick to readjust his position, leaning forward against the frame, so that he can see you better in the dim light of your apartment.

“How did you get past the doorman?”

“I uh… I told him I was your boyfriend.”

You can’t help but scoff. His answer angers you. Enough to want to shut the door back in his face, which you’re about to do when Eddie places his hand between the crack, preventing you from doing anything.

“Just hear me out.”

“Please leave.”

“Sweetheart—”

“No,” you snap, “You… you don’t get to call me that.”

Eddie sighs while dropping his hand, though he doesn’t move much further and his persistence makes it hard for you to just leave him there, sulking in your hallway.

Motherfucker.

Despite the resentment you currently feel, and despite not really wanting to talk to him, you briefly close the door to unlatch the chain, then open it again before stepping to the side, allowing him to enter the confines of your apartment because a) you’re an idiot, and b) you’re a stupid fucking idiot.

The rockstar lingers for a moment, glancing between you and the inside of your home, and you think he must be unsure about your sudden change of heart. Frankly, you’re unsure too since you did your best to get over him — a lot of that effort to no avail. You’re mainly unsure though, ‘cause once he steps through the threshold, it will be a lot harder to kick him out.

“Do you want something to drink?” You ask, breaking the rather heavy silence, but you don’t wait for him to answer. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get us some water.”

Eddie nods at your words, slowly, and you leave him there, lingering by the open door before he finally takes that step forward. You disappear into the kitchen under the pretext of hydration, when you’re alone, however, instead of reaching for two glasses, you lean against your fridge as the tears breach through the corners of your eyes. The stone-like facade you put up just moments prior has disappeared the second you allowed yourself to breathe.

Every inch of you is against indulging the Corroded Coffin frontman in whatever conversation he hopes to have with you, hence why you shut the door in his face in the first place. He broke you, a sentence you repeated to yourself like a mantra while spending hours on end in bed instead of living your luxurious life. You’re dreaming of Grey Gardens. The escape that it provides. The white flag you wish to wave in means of avoidance because avoidance is always easier than working through feelings, especially since you’ve been down this road before with Eddie and he just doesn’t seem to change.

Then there’s that voice of reason, closely resembling your mom, telling you that Eddie did come to New York and of all people, he chose to see you. Despite everything that’s happened, despite knowing he most likely wouldn’t be greeted kindly, he still came to see you. That’s gotta count for something, right?

Wrong, considering the timing of his arrival is shortly after your not-so-fake date with one of his closest friends as so carefully planned by Max; who was counting on this very reaction from her brother. She prepared you for it, so you knew damn well that whatever conversation you’re about to have would be far from productive, since, you suspect, this is the reason he’s in the Big Apple to begin with.

And while you’re in the kitchen trying to regain control of your nerves, Eddie is also going crazy.

He didn’t really come here with a clear mission. Honestly, calling Marianne to charter a jet last minute was a pure knee jerk reaction after reading that spread on you and his so called friend, Steve. A night out on the town, featuring his best girl and someone he thought was a best friend. The photo of the two of you was cosy, too close for comfort and too much for poor ol’ Eddie. He wondered how the two of you met. He wondered what you talked about on this date. Did either of you mention his name?

Then the questions took a turn for slightly more perverse considering your history.

Did you do more than just hold hands, as depicted in the photo? He wondered if you, as the tens of girls in Hawkins, also thought Harrington was a good kisser. Was he better than Eddie? Did you enjoy kissing him? Fuck— Jealousy, jealousy, jealousy. The feeling made him sick.

That’s when Eddie knew, despite all perceived consequences, he needed to see you.

Your apartment was exactly like he imagined it to be. Big and bright. Eclectic, but with classy furniture that unsurprisingly looked more expensive than anything he’s ever owned. It was carefully arranged to maximise the space and make it look more inviting.

There was a display of various awards on top of the marble fireplace, most notably a Grammy. Eddie smiles at the statue, then continues to glance around your living room. A gallery wall catches his attention, so he stops his small, self-guided tour in front of it. The photos vary from your magazine covers, to childhood memories. In the middle, there’s a picture of your family and although Eddie’s never met anyone aside from your evil grandmother, from your stories, he knows exactly who everyone is — your parents, Alicia and Brad, with their four daughters, Caroline, Valentine, Amelia, and you, plus the youngest boy, Jonah — and he can’t help but wonder if you told them anything about him.

He suspects the answer is yes, since why else would you disappear for a few months to Los Angeles, only to come back heartbroken. So the brunette rockstar hates himself even more for putting you in that situation in the first place. He wishes more than anything that he could explain, but the grisly threats made by the very person that’s sitting right in the middle of the family picture, ring in his ears.

That’s how you find him. Staring blankly at the photo frames ahead.

Everyone settles at the table, taking their assigned seats, like it’s always been. Mom on one end of the wooden piece of furniture, your dad on the other. The sides see your Nana sitting in between you and your older sister Caroline who’s partner, Jackie, usually takes today’s empty spot. Across sits Valentine, Amelia, and little boy Jonah, who’s always closest to your mom, otherwise he throws a fit.

Nana initiates prayer. Your family has never been overly religious, if at all, but you do believe in thanking whatever higher power may exist for the blessings you’ve each encountered in life: your parents meeting each other when they did and starting the beautiful family your Nana is constantly praying for, Caroline for graduating at the top of her class in medical school and most recently starting her surgical residency at John Hopkins Hospital, Val for her spot at NYU and Amelia for her spot at the top of the cheer pyramid (a sure scholarship ride, when the time comes), and lastly you, for everything that made you. Jonah is the only one that has no idea what’s going on. He’s just happy to see food.

The potatoes are passed clockwise. That’s when the chaos slowly begins to unfold.

“Guess who came to see our star,” Val teases. She means no harm, but you just have this feeling that there’s no way this could end well.

“Who?” Caroline asks, focused more on plating her dinner than on actually getting an answer. She’s just being polite, as always. Unwilling to leave her sister hanging.

“A certain dark-haired rockstar.”

“Val—”

But your attempt at a protest is quickly interrupted.

“Oh for the love of everything good,” your Nana exhales rather loudly, “What does that boy want with you now? I thought you left that fiasco behind in Los Angeles, where it belongs.”

“It’s not like I invited him over,” you state, “He just… appeared.” Not entirely a lie because they don’t have to know that the last date you were seen on was carefully orchestrated to get under the rockstar's skin, which is why he came.

“I for one like the thought of you and that boy together,” your mom says, knife cutting into her piece of steak, “There’s something very kind about his face, and you know what I always say about kindness.”

“At the end of the day, that’s all that really matters when it comes to love,” you chime in unison with each of your sisters.

“Exactly.”

“This isn’t about love.” The tone of your Nana’s voice is urging close to displeasement. You look at her, but she’s focused on her plate. If you knew any better, you’d say she was avoiding your gaze. Almost as if she was hiding something.

But you quickly brush the thought away before it can grow into something more. Whatever her stance on the rockstar, and she’s made it very clear on numerous occasions that she wasn’t Eddie’s biggest fan, your Nana was often a lot of talk and little follow through. She didn’t like to get her hands dirty, unless there was a clear benefit to her, or someone in the family. And there was no winning for anyone when it came to the whole situation with Eddie.

“Eddie’s cute,” Amelia says sweetly, taking a forkful of green beans into her mouth. “Like a sexy sort of cute. That bad boy look is definitely working for him.”

“I don’t see it.” Caroline shrugs.

“That’s ‘cause you’re into chicks, not dicks.” Val points out.

“Valentine.” Your dad’s first words around the dinner table are always spoken to reprimand someone else. A man of a few expressions, is what you often described him as. Holly thought it was insanely hot which always grossed you out.

Val clears her throat, understanding that she’s crossed a line with that rather cheeky comment, but she doesn’t apologise. Instead she continues with questions to the initial subject she raised — Eddie coming to see you.

“Did you let him in?” She probes, “Did you guys talk?”

Eddie does turn his head as soon as you walk back into the room, sensing your presence like he usually does. He tries to smile, though his mouth refuses cooperation with his brain and instead pursues his lips into a lopsided line, somewhat reminiscent of what he was trying to achieve, but not quite. Not really.

Avoiding more eye contact than absolutely necessary, you place the two glasses of water on the coffee table before standing on the other side of it. Ensuring ample space between you and the Corroded Coffin frontman. A necessary precaution considering how fast you tend to give into his mahogany-coloured eyes.

“Talk.”

It’s simple. Right now, that’s all you can muster.

Eddie clears his throat. Right now, that’s all he can muster.

In the few minutes of rather unbearable silence that follow, you’re forced to come to terms with the fact that Grey Gardens is most definitely not an option. Eddie is actually here, in your living room, for one reason or another, which is another reminder of how the two of you ended up like this in the first place: “I think we made a mistake,” he says a little too bluntly. “I-I don’t think we should have labelled this so soon, and ehm… This is nothing on you, sweetheart. I’m just not the relationship type.”

“Eddie, talk.” You say with a little more conviction. “Because you begged me for a chance to hear you out just mere minutes ago, and now you’re as silent as the dead, so I’m a little confused and getting even more peeved off.”

“Okay,” he breathes finally, “Okay, uhm.”

Running a hand through his crazy locks, Eddie glances briefly at the golden award on your chimney, before settling his gaze on you.

“I-I saw the pictures of you and Steve.” A statement that surprisingly isn’t fueled by anger, or the jealousy he was for sure feeling, but rather by a sadness that he only blamed himself for.

“Right…”

“How did you two meet?”

“At Saks,” you answer, intentionally leaving out the young redhead that was also present, “We bumped into each other and kind of hit it off.”

“Did he say he knew me?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking him all those questions, Eddie? I’ve got nothing to explain to you since we’re no longer together, you made that very clear,” you state. “If it bothers you so much that I was seen out with Steve, then ask the guy that’s supposedly your friend.”

There’s a twinge of guilt that oozes through your veins because if it wasn’t for your agreement to Max’s little plan, you wouldn’t have to witness Eddie’s desperation. And even though you try to remind yourself how hurting the brunette man back is exactly why you agreed to the stupid date in the first place, seeing Eddie’s melancholy expression makes you think it wasn’t really worth it.

“Look, I-I—” You’re about to give in, explain the situation in hopes he’d simply let it go and leave you be. Leave you to finally move on since, at the end of the day, that’s what you really wanted, no, needed to do.

The phone rings. Interrupting your train of thought along with the conversation. When you answer and it’s Steve, calling to check in since you never called him back, like you promised you would, the guilt bubble bursts and bleeds.

“Eddie’s here,” you simply state into the receiver, your back now to the Corroded Coffin frontman as he continues to stare at your frame.

“Oh,” Steve sighs, “Do you need me to come over? Diffuse the situation?”

Even though Harrington can’t see you, you shake your head. “No, that’s okay. I’m okay,” you affirm and for the first time that night, smile. Albeit slightly. “Thank you anyway, and ehm, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Deal.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, darlin’.”

When you shift in your spot to once again look at Eddie, his expression is no longer one of dejection. Instead it’s replaced by the look you knew you were bound to be at the receiving end of at some point during this night — resentment.

“So you call each other goodnight after just one date, huh?”

Bitter, the tone of his voice. Like a child at a playground who was forced to share his favourite toy. It causes you to roll your eyes ‘cause you’re once again reminded of the person everyone warned you Eddie is: a self-serving asshole. And to say you weren’t expecting a drop of the broken facade at some point would be a lie.

“It’s really nothing to you,” you state back, crossing your arms under your bust, no longer wanting to explain how this all came about. “Now, if all you came here for is to question me about my date, I guess you can leave ‘cause I’ve got nothing else to tell you, Eddie. It’s frankly none of your business and I once again remind, that you made sure of that.”

Eddie scoffs, but doesn’t say anything else, not even a stupid goodbye, or see you around. He simply brushes past you and slams the front door shut. Leaving you all alone with your thoughts, yet again.

The sudden silence is overbearing.

You think of Grey Gardens. Inside, a dust-covered grand piano. Untouched and unplayed for many years. You think of the songs that never made it past the first key, wasted because of the hosts decision to lock all doors. Self-preservation. Recluse, like Val recently called you.

And a recluse is the last thing you want to be again.

Jonah is making a mess. He’s playing with his dinner, potatoes everywhere but the places they’re supposed to be. Your mom is trying to calm him down. Unfortunately the further she bargains for peace, the more excited he gets. He’s laughing now. Clearly enjoying himself, along with the attention he’s getting.

Mom’s voice is calm while she repeats his name. Amelia can be heard from the kitchen, screeching that your brother got his dinner all over her new jeans and the stain won’t come out. Caroline is shouting back from her seat, giving your youngest sister cleaning tips she’s picked up at the hospital. Your Nana and Val have gotten into an argument over the parenting style you were all raised with (Valentine protecting your mom, while your Nana remains ever the scrutinizer).

You’re grateful that for a few minutes, everyone is focused on your brother.

Then Jonah starts crying. It’s gotten too loud for his tiny ears. He’s no longer enjoying the minor disruption he’s caused, he just doesn’t know how to apologise for it, so he opts to let the floodgates open. Watching him, you think how lucky it must be to just cry when things get tough. How freeing it must be to not keep shit in until it gets too much.

When his screams get louder, your mom glances at your dad, who understands without a single spoken word that he can no longer just observe. So your dad stands. He walks around the table until he’s by Jonah’s chair, lifting him up in one swift movement.

“It’s alright, my man.”

With that, they’re gone. The cries soon fade. When Amelia sits back down, a wet patch on her jeans, it’s quiet around the table again. Your mom asks for the empty plates, a smile on her face as if the last ten minutes didn’t just flutter her completely. One by one they’re passed to her without a word. When she stands, Caroline follows by picking up the bowls with leftover mash and beans.

“So are you gonna see him again?” Amelia asks. Continuing the previous topic because if she’s engaged in conversation, then mom won’t ask for her help.

“Who?”

“Eddie, you dingus.”

You grimace. “I don’t know.”

That apparently was not the right answer because your Nana jumps back in with nothing but judgement in her tone of voice.

“Honey, do you really want to put yourself through more heartbreak?” She queries, “Because I’ve told you before that boys like that don’t change their ways.”

“Well, I wouldn’t really know if they change or not, since I wasn’t exactly privy to the circumstances surrounding the demise of my and Eddie’s relationship in the first place.” You don’t mean to snap, but that’s exactly what happens. “Now, does the concept of Grey Gardens not apply anymore, because if so, I must’ve missed that family meeting.”

You walk away from the table next. Sick of answering questions. Sick of this conversation. Sure, this was your family, but there were things you wanted to keep private. Especially things relating to Eddie since you were still only trying to figure everything out yourself.

The conversation with Eddie didn’t amount to much. Without allowing yourself to second guess the feeling in your gut, you rushed after the rockstar the night he walked out of your apartment. There was a lot going through your mind, but one thing was a little more clear, he wasn’t going to win. Eddie Munson was not going to be the one to play victim in this situation since he’s the person that’s caused this crazy domino effect. He won’t turn you into a fucking recluse again.

Unfortunately he’s gone by the time you make it to the lobby. You don’t get a chance to confront him then and you haven’t heard from him since. You’re not even sure if he’s still in New York — a feeling creeping through you screams that he is, but you can’t be sure.

The line rings once, twice. Then a jovial voice picks up.

“Mayfield residence.”

You clear your throat. “Hey, Max, it’s uh… it’s me.”

“My favourite popstar,” Red cheers, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Is Eddie there? Or do you maybe know what hotel he’s staying at?”

When Max doesn’t immediately answer, you think you fucked up by calling. Dumb idea, dumb idea, dumb, dumb, dumb. Sucking your bottom lip in between your teeth, you proceed to chew on it nervously, about to tell her to forget you asked, forget you called. But then a voice flows through the receiver and it doesn’t belong to Max.

“Heard you’re looking for me, sweetheart.”

Eddie.

“Have you ever been to Coney Island?”

The Wonder Wheel was an attraction to hundreds, if not thousands, locals and tourists. A glistening staple of the peninsular neighbourhood. You could never hope to see it during the day anymore. Not since your fame skyrocketed, now on par with the amusement park. At night however, when the sun went down and the workers finished their shifts, well, that was a different story.

The watch strapped to your wrist displayed two in the morning as you walked towards the metal gate with a rather hesitant Eddie by your side. He’s unsure why you called, unsure of why you invited him out here after making it pretty clear the other night that you didn’t want to talk to him. What changed?

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Tony was the security guard, about four years shy of retirement. Working the Wheel grounds since he was a kid, following his dad who’d done the job before. A true New York family affair. You befriended him a long time ago now.

“I thought I’d seen the last of you, kid.”

“Back to my roots now. It’s nice to hear I’ve been missed,” you say as Tony opens the gate for you without question.

“One hour,” the older man states, like he’s done many times before, only briefly glancing back at the rockstar that’s accompanying you. Thankfully, he chooses not to comment.

“One hour,” you repeat with a nod and a smile.

Underneath the Wonder Wheel is where you hope to find some peace in this whole situation. Eddie’s still hesitant, and a little confused, especially when you lay flat on your back on the dirty ground to stare upon the metalworks of the world famous attraction. He doesn’t question you though, just accepts that to continue any sort of conversation, he’s going to have to join you.

There’s a half-a-beat of silence. Just the wind, the water, and some crickets. You exhale slowly, eyes closed momentarily because this was one of your safe spaces and now you might’ve ruined it by bringing your ex.

A sigh escapes your lips.

“Eddie, why did you really come to New York?” You ask without looking at him.

When the rockstar doesn’t immediately answer, a glimmer of hope for what you two lost, oozes through you. It’s foolish, yes, you know that. Your Nana would even call you stupid for holding onto something — someone — that has hurt you repeatedly. Matter of fact, she damn nearly has earlier this evening. But it’s Eddie, you tell yourself. He’s charming, but not in a try-hard way. The charm comes naturally to him. He’s funny. He’s wicked smart. And underneath that cold-ish exterior, he’s unbelievably kind (as your mom suspected). You learned this about him. Which is why it hurt so much when he ended things so casually. It seemed uncharacteristic to the Eddie Munson you’ve gotten to know, and possibly even love.

He seemingly came to ask about your date with Steve, as his little sister predicted he would. Just like she planned for. At first, you thought that too ‘cause what other reason would there be to bring him all the way out here after months of no contact. What other reason, except for just seeing you.

“I think I told you once that wherever I go, solo or with the band, I never really set foot outside of whatever hotel they have me staying in, or whatever studio I have scheduled interviews and press in, venture from whatever show I have.”

“Your exact words were: they keep me prisoner,” you say through a smile.

Eddie laughs briefly at the memory. “Well, sweetheart, it’s true. Fame overall in a way is like a prison. Do you ever feel that way?”

“That’s one way to not answer my question,” you tease, nudging his side slightly. “But I guess, yeah. Can’t go anywhere without Hank out of fear some randomer will come up to me with ill intentions, or I’ll end up in the papers again and my ex-whatever will fly across the country to confront me about it.”

You look at him then, a smile circling your lips. Eddie does the same. His brown eyes scan your own for a moment, contemplating the comment you just made.

“We kinda get what we signed up for though, no?” You add. “Seems ungrateful to complain.”

Eddie nods. He licks his lips before looking back up at the sky above, spotty between the metal of the wheel, but beautiful nonetheless. Different from Los Angeles. Different from Hawkins. Reminiscent of the people he’s met here. Reminiscent of you which makes it perhaps the most perfect night sky he’s ever seen.

“I came ‘cause I wanted to see you.”

He exhales.

“When everything went down… I thought I was doing the right thing, sweetheart. I thought I was protecting you from the hell I know dating me can become,” Eddie explains, “I know that’s not an excuse and if it was, it’d be a fucking lame one, but people that are close to me get hurt. That’s just the honest truth.”

“People like Chrissy Cunningham.”

Eddie’s head snaps back in your direction. He’s shocked, that’s for sure. How do you know that name? Did Steve tell you? Surely not without giving Eddie a heads up first. That’s the least Harrington could do after going on a very public date with his ex-girlfriend.

Quick to notice his surprise at the mention of Chrissy’s name, you realise the only way to get the truth, is to be honest yourself.

“Eddie, there’s something you should know about my first run-in with Steve.”

“Did he tell you about Chrissy?” The question is quiet, almost as if the rockstar is afraid to ask it. He’s clearly nervous and it goes well beyond you just knowing about Chrissy.

“Max told me.”

“What?”

You sigh, glancing back up at the metal and sky above.

“She was with Steve that day at Saks. We, uh, we didn’t really talk then. We didn’t even introduce ourselves ‘cause I was with Val who was trying on dresses for this event,” you tell him, then quickly look at him again.

“Max left a note with Hank. It was her address, she wanted to meet me.”

“You met with my sister? I was just with her. Why didn’t she tell me that?”

“I guess maybe she wanted me to be the one to tell you, I don’t know.” You shrug before continuing, “Eddie, she told me how you were seemingly crazy about me, so to her, it didn’t make sense that you suddenly weren’t. All she really wanted was to get your attention, get you to talk to her at least.”

You pause. “Don’t be mad at her please.”

“Why would I be mad at her?”

“Because she’s the one who organised that date with Steve,” you answer. “It was fake, Eds. All for show, to get under your skin.”

He stares at you. Blinking as the information settles. Betrayal isn’t exactly the word he’d use to describe what he was now feeling. Lord knows he deserved it ‘cause there’s no denying he’d been acting like a complete prick towards everyone around him, including little Red who he’s supposed to always be honest with.

So the date was fake. That gave Eddie some solace. You weren’t really going to start dating one of his closest friends, even if the friend in question is calling you goodnight after said fake date. Then again, that’s just Steve the King Harrington, always the gentleman.

One thing remained unanswered, however. How much do you know of Chrissy?

“I’m not mad,” Eddie says eventually. “It actually makes a lot more sense now. Steve’s a good guy.”

“Not the type of guy to go out with his friends' ex,” you tease lightly.

The brunette smirks. “Still a dickhead.”

That makes you laugh. And as the sound settles, a sound Eddie would only describe as angelic, it makes the brunette rockstar smile a little wider. He didn’t think he’d ever be so lucky to hear your laughter again. He especially didn’t think he'd be the one to make you spur the emotion, not after what he’s done and how he’s treated you. But here the two of you are. Your laughter has faded, but the smile on your face remains.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not mad I went on a date with that dickhead,” you say honestly.

“Tsk. I’m not mad at Red,” he clarifies with a smug smile, “Never said anything about you, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes. “May I remind you that you have lost all right to be mad at me for seeing other people when you’re the one that ended things?”

It’s meant to come off lighthearted, but you can’t hide the hurt behind your words. There’s a pain there. One that you’ve forgotten about for the last twenty-or-so minutes because things are easy with Eddie. They align. The imperfect dots that represent your life are pulled together by an invisible string when the rockstar’s around. He somehow manages to make you feel normal and you live to experience a level of normalcy. Even if he hurt you. Twice.

“Tell me about Chrissy,” you change the subject. Steer your thoughts in a different direction.

Eddie avoids eye contact. He lifts one of his arms, flicking the piece of metal and listening to it echo in the night. A lame effort to buy some time before answering you because now that his initial fear of someone else telling you about Chrissy has been squashed by your not-so-simple request, he needs to figure out a way to avoid answering. The threat your grandmother has made at that godforsaken party remains fresh in the rockstars mind: “And Eddie,” she continues, “I wouldn’t tell her about this conversation, and I also wouldn’t be so brave to tell her about Chrissy yourself, because with a snap of my finger, the whole world will know. Then you gotta ask yourself, what’s more important? Your happiness, her happiness, or the careers you both worked extremely hard for.”

He swallows his breath before glancing back at you once again.

“There’s nothing to say.”

It’s simple. Can be perceived as vague ‘cause someone is avoiding the answer, but Eddie hopes you’ll just take it as him not wanting to talk about an ex-girlfriend. Not that Chrissy was his ex, but you didn’t really know that.

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing at all,” he lies.

There are clear moments that define a person's life and they’re not as basic as one would believe: first words, steps, tantrums, day of school, first friends, first fallouts, fight, crush, kiss, first anything — the list goes on, and on, and on. No. These definitive moments are a lot more hazy. Often remain unclear until you find yourself in therapy, spewing your feelings to someone who’s paid to listen, or when you’re black-out drunk and what’s bothering you deep inside is now between you and some stranger you just met in a nightclub bathroom.

Your list of moments is short and yet, somehow, it features Eddie’s name multiple times. In any other reality, that would be almost poetic. As if some higher power considered the two of you to be bound together. In this reality however, it was almost cruel. You had built a life bigger than you ever dreamed possible, and yet your existence is defined by the rockstar.

Almost cruel.

“There’s a place in the Hamptons. Grey Gardens it’s called. I like to walk by it whenever I’m in the area, which in recent years obviously isn’t often, but still… There’s a certain solace about the property and despite its rather barmy history, my family uses Grey Gardens as a way to move past certain topics without a larger fight.”

The sand beneath you is coarse yet soft at the same time. You run your fingers through it, feeling every individual granule, while your gaze is fixated on the dark waters ahead. Eddie watches you. His arm is pressed against yours. He’s got no idea what you’re talking about, but he’s hooked on every word. As always.

“When you showed up at my door the other night, Grey Gardens is what I thought of,” you admit, “Truth be told, as angry as I was at you for breaking up with me like that, when I saw you, the last thing I wanted was any sort of confrontation.”

“I didn’t come here to argue,” Eddie clarifies.

“I know, Eds.”

There’s a brief moment of silence during which you wrap your arms around your knees and tilt your head to look at him, offering the rockstar a small smile.

“I believe you came ‘cause you regret your decision.”

Eddie looks away, bottom lip now between his teeth. He does so because you’re right, but unfortunately he can’t admit that out loud. He can’t say anything that’s on his mind because he’s aware of the wider implications to both of your careers.

“So, what happens now?” The rockstar asks, only slightly afraid of the answer.

thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!

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