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deceptive-daydreams · 1 year ago

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The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Two - Baggage

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - As you continue to train Eddie, words are exchanged. Your life is in shambles and he only adds to it.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

12.1K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: This story has been lingering in my mind and it took me so long to write this chapter because I want to do it right and I had the worst writer's block but now I am flooded with inspiration. Pls let me know how you feel about it so far

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The biting cold of the morning nipped at your skin, little pins and needles feeling like they were burying themselves there. The streets were glimmering with puddles, the rain from the night before leaving them behind and the moody clouds still lingering in the sky. No matter how long you’d lived in Hawkins the changing of the seasons would always sneak up on you like an unwelcome visitor. Gone were the days of walking around downtown with an iced coffee on your day off, the summer sun beaming down and flowers in full bloom while the trees were leafy and lush. No more lounging around on a bench outside of the college to complete a few assignments under the shade of a large oak tree in desperate need of a change of scenery in comparison to your shitty apartment. At least not until next Spring.

Hawkins Community College was a historical building that used to serve as the town hall but has since evolved into the college after the council elected to have the town hall relocated to a more practical location. The building was settled just south of downtown and was deemed ‘too out of the way’. Its bricks were a faded brown, weathered down over the years and not a high enough priority to keep maintained, though the sidewalks were freshly paved and the grass was as green as ever, the morning dew blanketing over it like a fresh coat of paint. The campus wasn’t very large seeing as Hawkins’ population wasn’t very impressive and the majority of its residents would travel elsewhere for college.

The front steps of the building were scuffed and scattered with various footprints from students and teachers who walked with purpose to their destination. On the very top step, front and center sat a disoriented Dustin Henderson, face scrunched up in perplexity. Though he was still attending Hawkins High as a current sophomore, he enlisted himself in one of the programs offered where students could take classes at Hawkins Community for college credits. Fingers desperately ruffling through the several papers in his dense binder, he argued with his mother while his phone was clutched in the other hand on speaker. Something about “I swear it was on the kitchen counter!” followed by the word ‘mom’ being shouted into the phone repeatedly as if it would solve his dilemma. When she apologetically let him know that there was no such mystery item, he only cursed as he facepalmed, ending the call with a defeated “Okay, love you. Bye.”

A heavy sigh escaped the boy as he slapped the binder onto the step beside him, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, agitated. Dustin was ironically your only college friend, not a best friend but you knew him well enough to gather that he’d definitely left his assignment at home and that this was going to dictate his mood for the entire day. His eyes resembled emeralds as his focus shifted from his dirty sneakers up to you, a hint of excitement swimming in the deep green of his irises.

“Rough morning?” You suggest with a sympathetic smile. He bites his lip in frustration as if he’s holding back every distressed thought racing through his head.

“Mhmm.” He squeaks, still refraining from word vomiting all over your peaceful morning, hands now resting on his denim covered knees.

“You forgot your essay, didn’t you?” You know you’ve poked the bear but you could feel how anxious he was to blow up about everything that went wrong that morning leading up to this moment and who were you to deny him? Henderson had a special place nestled in the corner of your heart, always loud and boisterous but also kind and delightful to be around.

He sucked in a breath before releasing every word that was prodding his brain. “All because my mom had to clean the goddamn house! She was all ‘Dusty, this is why we don’t leave our things around!’” He mocks his mothers voice with a high pitch, face twisting in dramatics. “I left it right on the counter where I could grab it on my way out but apparently, a ten page essay WITH MY NAME ON IT IN BIG BOLD LETTERS was thrown in the garbage. On its way to a landfill. Gone.” His shoulders tensed and all you could offer was a supportive hand to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Dustin.” You say carefully, the kid was a ticking time bomb sometimes. He waved you off, his way of saying ‘don’t worry about it’.

“And THEN, fucking Will made the dumbest move last night at our campaign. Completely tanked the whole thing.” His hands were thrown up in misery as he recalled the memory. “Eddie had the whole thing set up perfectly, we’ve been playing this campaign for weeks!” Dustin’s eyes shifted back and forth erratically as the whole thing played out in his mind, your eyes rolled at the mention of the metalhead. “Oh he was so pissed. You shoulda seen him, he was throwing dice, screaming at Will, screaming at Mike, screaming at ME! I finally talked him off the ledge but shit, he was revved up.”

Eddie hosted their DND club a majority of the time per Dustin and from what he tells you about those nights, Eddie is always a sadistic maniac. Dustin also swears that he’s like his big brother, next in line to King Steve although Steve took on more of a dad role. There was no way to imagine Eddie embodying the role of a big brother let alone displaying any kind of pleasant behavior. You cringed at the mere idea of him, knowing you’d have to endure him at work this evening.

Dustin continued his rant passionately. “And I’m sorry, I know you hate when I bring up Eddie for whatever reason but dude was not having it. My special edition dice are now lost in the abyss underneath his couch.” You shake your head in disapproval. “I told him I’d let it slide though cause he said he’d let me go with him to a concert.” He concludes with a shrug.

At this you nudge the boy’s shoulder, disappointed. “Dustin! He can’t bribe his way out of losing your dice after chucking them when he has a temper tantrum! If those dice are important to you then you need to stand your ground.” You instruct him.

He lets out a long sigh before responding. “Socks, respectfully, this is how our friendship with Eddie works. We piss each other off and then we move on. Like a few weeks ago, he kept making sexual sounds while I was on the phone with my mom so I hid his shoes from him after he got really stoned.” At this you can’t help but release a laugh.

“Good on you, Henderson.” You praise. “I guess I won’t need to step in when I see him at work later then. Sounds like you can handle yourself.” You begin pulling your binder from your bag in preparation for class.

Dustin shakes his head in confusion, waving his arms in front of him like he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. “Hold up, Eddie’s a barista now?” His tone is humorous, on the brink of cackling.

“Uh huh.” You answer nonchalantly while opening your binder and shuffling through a few papers, making a note in your planner for some homework you just remembered off the top of your head. “And our dear Stevie knew about it before me and just decided it’d be a good idea to see my reaction when he walked in the door for his first shift yesterday.” You chew on your pen as you attempt to remember any other assignments you may have forgotten to write down.

“Eddie? Eddie Munson? Metalhead, former drug dealer, thought it would be funny to piss in Steve’s beer, Eddie Munson? That Eddie?” Dustin gapes at you in disbelief to which you nod. “I’m sorry but–there’s no fucking way! A barista? He doesn’t even drink coffee, he hates trendy little cafes, and there’s no goddamn way he would apply for a job where both you AND Steve work. Sounds like his own personal hell.” The boy is laughing, clutching his stomach.

You hang your head and giggle along with him. As awful as the situation was, it did sound ridiculous enough to laugh. “I thought the same thing, Dusty. The universe just has it out for us.” You refer to you and Steve. As much as you had a rivalry with Eddie, Steve had his own beef with the guy. This posed as an issue seeing as Steve practically mothered Lucas, Mike, Will, Dustin, Max, and El ever since he was in high school when he dated Nancy Wheeler. The way Eddie and Steve fought resembled a divorced couple exchanging their kids in a Walmart parking lot. And to Steve’s disadvantage, Eddie always ended up at the notorious parties he threw since one of the kids always ended up blabbing after he distinctly told them not to. It always put a damper on your night when he showed up, giving you flashbacks to that one party years ago that you swore you’d forget about but it still lingered in the back of your mind.

“I hope you know this means that everyone’s going to be placing bets on who ends up dead first.” Dustin raises a brow at you, throwing his arm over your shoulder, shaking it playfully.

Standing up as classes were about to start, you shot him a glare. “I can definitely take him.” You state, holding your hand out to help him up. He takes it and shrugs, a grin on his face that tells you ‘I don’t know about that’. “Dustin. Please don’t tell me you think Eddie is going to get to me.” You scoff as he opens the heavy metal door leading into the building, the hinges creaking.

His face indicates that he’s bouncing a thought around before answering. “Well…” he begins. “You don’t know what he’s capable of. The guy is a menace. He can play games for as long as he needs to.” He further explains.

“Okay, you know what? I’m done talking about some asshole who doesn’t even matter to me.” You decide, the mostly vacant hallways echoing your footsteps as you step into the heated building.

“Ugh, it’s like having three parents who don’t get along. I know Eddie is a lot but maybe if you, I dunno, hung out with him you’d realize he’s actually also really cool.” Dustin has the audacity to suggest.

Huffing out a breath and holding your binder to your chest, you give him your final piece of mind. “Munson is never going to even get the time of day out of me let alone a besties hangout sesh.” You snap bitterly. Dustin’s hands raise in surrender, you’re done with this conversation and he knows better than to try and change your mind.

“Anyway…” he sighs, dropping his shoulders while you both make your way through the beige halls. “Max and Lucas are back together again.” He nudges your shoulder with his, causing you to sway as you walk. The couple were always on again, off again. One week Lucas would do something dumb like stand her up by accident to go to the mall with Mike and another Max would invalidate his feelings. It was something they claimed they were working out but after every breakup, everyone always reacted with an eye roll, knowing full well that the routine would repeat itself. You truly did root for them but if they were going to keep hurting each other, there was no reason for them to continue the relationship.

Glancing at Dustin, your face tells him that you’re not amused. “Tell me something new, Henderson.” You deadpan. He nods, exhaling as he racks his brain.

“Holy shit!” He sounds as if he’d just had a revelation. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you!” His feet stomp on the linoleum floors in excitement, sneakers squeaking against the surface. “But you have to PROMISE not to tell anyone.” A finger is pointed at you in warning as you nod for him to continue. Dustin was very bad at keeping secrets. “Steve has a girlfriend.” He chirps.

Stopping dead in your tracks, shoes screeching against the floor, your eyes widen. Steve told you everything so if Dustin’s accusations were true you were going to have some words for him for not telling you. “Who?!” You inquire, full attention on the curly headed boy. “You’re lying, Steve would’ve told me!” You whine like a child.

“That’s the thing, he hasn’t told anyone. I saw some girl getting out of his car the other night in the mall parking lot. I didn’t get a good look at who it was cause it happened so fast.” He explains.

Your excitement drops at his words. “Dustin, that doesn’t mean he has a girlfriend, that means he’s messing around, he does it all the time.” You remind him of his reputation as King Steve.

“Well pardon me for being an optimist.” He sasses you, the two of you approaching the class.

“You’re really bad at gossiping.” You finish before stepping into the room, leaving him offended in the hallway.

–

Class was as bland as ever, your professor, Mr. Randall lectured about marketing the whole two and a half hours and you nearly fell asleep six times, Dustin jabbing the eraser end of his pencil into your side each time you started slouching as he caught up on his calculus homework. The closer to the evening it got, the more on edge you grew knowing you wouldn’t get to work the peaceful closing shift you were once used to but instead suffer a stress-inducing nightmare while training the local terror of Hawkins. Life sucked all the way around at the moment.

Bidding Dustin a ‘see you later’ while you were walking in sync just outside the building where you always parted, he flashed you a grin before begging you to snap him a photo of Eddie at work to send it to him later. More than likely for blackmail reasons for the next time they were pissing each other off. Their relationship was something you couldn’t quite get a grasp on however you didn’t attempt to even understand it past the fact that for some reason Dustin admired the man child as well as despised him sometimes in that brotherly way.

“Dustin, fuck off.” You tell him with a playful tone.

“What!? You don’t even like the guy. I’d venture to even say that this would be benefiting you in the long run.” He clasps his hands together in front of him in a pleading motion but you don’t seem to budge which his face falls at.

“I don’t need to be involved in your little war, I have my own!” A dramatic wave of your arms is enough to stop him from prodding.

With that you departed from the campus and headed straight to downtown a few hours shy of your shift to lounge around and chat with Robin. It was either that or go back to your shitty apartment and sit in the freezing stale air, at least this way you could revel in the warmth of the shop and sip on a hot chocolate which happened to be your favorite and the only hot drink you would ever order. Every other option had to be iced or it was a no go.

It was around two in the afternoon so there was time to be killed until five. You figured you’d grab your hot chocolate, gossip with Robin and Steve for a little, maybe work on some assignments, and then take a little walk through the park at the center of the square, a solid plan. The morning chill was long gone and it was now a tad warmer with the sun sitting high in the sky. The sidewalks were vacant since everyone was either at work or still in school which was a plus in your book, you liked to keep to yourself and found it especially annoying when you had to stop to interact with random patrons and were expected to indulge in stupid small talk that was lost on you the second you walked away.

A thirty minute walk later and you’d finally reached The Under-Ground, the smell of espresso already invading your nose before you even stepped into the building. As you reached for the metal handle, the door had already swung open with the bell chiming above it, a rushed Joyce Byers stumbling out with two full cup holders of hot coffees nearly flying out of her hands, eyes panicked and a startled gasp escaping her.

She mumbles your name with a nervous grin, her nose tinted pink from the fall air. “So sorry! I didn’t mean to run you over–I just–I was in such a hurry. I forgot to get the coffee for a staff meeting.” She further explains apologetically as she gestures with a tilt of her head to Melvald’s.

Your expression softens, Joyce was always the sweetest person you’d ever met and she was a regular at the shop. She was one person you didn’t mind engaging in small talk with because she was genuinely interested in your answers and took the initiative to further the conversation, asking how things were and telling you to let her know if you ever needed anything. You never took her up on the offer, there was no reason to bother her. Joyce was somewhat of a mother figure but in a quiet manner and you were so grateful whenever she graced you with her presence. Her boys were well mannered too, she’d done an amazing job raising them as a single mom. Obviously you’d hung out with Will since Steve was the designated neighborhood mom and that granted you rights to the movie nights, pool parties, and just about anything that Steve hosted which meant all the kids were there too. Will was a sweet kid, he was shy at first but an absolute menace once he was comfortable enough.

For some reason you had a connection with him as well as Joyce, they were like family just not by blood. Will had always comforted you if things ever felt off. If no one else in the group noticed your shift in mood, Will did and he would approach it graciously, silently nodding at you to ask if you were okay. From there you would communicate through your eyes and he’d gather what you were feeling from that alone. It was like having telepathy and somehow you would both silently step out from whatever scene you were in the middle of. If it was at Steve’s, the two of you would perch yourselves on the front steps and you would just let him know you weren’t feeling that great mentally. The conversation really wouldn’t go further than that but it didn’t need to, he was just there for you and you for him. It worked both ways, if Will looked particularly lonely you would nod your head toward the door and you’d both meet outside. Sometimes he’d hint that he found it annoying how clingy El and Mike were but you knew it meant that he was sick to his stomach that his best friend and his crush were basically making out on top of him. Jonathan had always made it a point to bring you to the side and thank you for providing that support to his brother and that it meant a lot to him. You’d always offer a small smile in return. The Byers held a special place in your heart, they were so effortlessly nice just because. They had no ulterior motive, just the intention to be good people.

Taking in Joyce’s disoriented demeanor, you shake your head and help her to steady a leaning coffee that almost escaped the cup holder. “That’s okay, I almost crashed into you.” You tell her.

“No, that was my fault! I really wanna catch up with you but I have to go!” She says rather quickly, worried as she begins to scurry back to Melvald’s. Telling her you’ll have to catch up soon over coffee and that she knows where to find you, she agrees and hurries into the store. You can’t help letting out a small giggle at her antics.

Finally sauntering into The Under-Ground, the warmth wraps around you like a cozy cocoon, something that was all too unfamiliar at this stage in your life given the circumstances of your apartment where you were meant to spend most of your time but did everything in your power to stay away from. You welcomed the hot air like a big hug, eyes shutting in content with a deep sigh. The tables are empty save for one in the very corner where a businessman sipped on a latte while putting together a powerpoint on his laptop. Steve leaned against the counter scrolling away until he felt your gaze on him, raising his brows in expectancy.

“You’re here early…” He points out.

Irritably, you set your bag on one of the tables before making your way over to the register. “So what you’re saying is, you’re not happy to see me, Stevie?” You ask with mock hurt.

Steve scoffs as he stands on the opposite side of the register as if to ring you up. “You know that’s not what I mean.” He explains. “I mean, you seem to be coming in earlier and earlier. Can’t get enough of me?” A wink is offered your way.

You gag at this, painting disgust on your features. “No offense but you’re not my type and I think you know that by now.” You joke. The chances of you and Steve getting together were as great as the chances of him and Robin getting together, zero. And it was mutual but you had this ongoing joke. “Now can you please make me a hot chocolate?” You request with a pout. “Pleeeeease.” You add, swaying back and forth like a child asking their mother for candy.

All you receive in return is an eye roll as he begrudgingly obliges and spins on his heels to prepare the drink. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You tell him in an annoyingly high pitched voice.

“Whatever, SOCKS.” He pronounces the nickname loudly, the businessman in the corner momentarily looking up at him in displeasure. You give Steve a glare while taking a seat at your chosen table in the book corner, mouthing his words, mocking him with a dramatic facial expression.

Shortly after taking a seat, Robin emerges from the back and claims the chair next to you silently, her hair thrown up in a messy ponytail on top of her head, face indicating business. “You see, Steve was given one job and that was to ask you how last night went with Munson but clearly he was incapable of even the smallest task.” She rants. “So here I am. Asking. How did it go? Is he still alive?” She pushes, crossing her arms while awaiting an answer.

Raising a brow at her, you continue pulling out your laptop as planned. “I’m only gonna say this once.” You affirm. Steve’s ears perk up as he rushes over while struggling to fit the lid onto your hot chocolate, face twisted in concentration as he approaches the table. “He’s the actual spawn of the devil and I have contemplated quitting–” Robin goes to interrupt you before you hold up a finger, finishing your thoughts. “But I will not give him that power and I’m going to keep working and will only talk to him when absolutely necessary. I’m also going to forever hold a grudge against Steve for even letting Munson hear the nickname ‘Socks’. My tranquil closing time has become my own private hell, thanks Steve.” You ramble. “Also, yes. He’s still very much alive, unfortunately.” You say in monotone.

Steve looks taken back, a hand flying up over his heart in surprise, temporarily giving up on securing the lid of your drink. “Thanks, Steve??? I didn’t personally hire him! I admit I slipped up on the name but give me a break here.�� He whines.

You reach for the hot chocolate, making grabby hands as you frown at a distraught Steve, hoping he’ll at least nudge the cup toward your reach. He throws his hands up in the air with a scoff. “Socks, I didn’t mean to rile you up by not telling you he got hired, okay?! I made a dumb decision thinking it would be better for you and it bit me in the ass. I’m sorry.” In usual Steve fashion he stares at you with giant pleading eyes, his long lashes blinking at you while his lips pout, all pretty and pink as if he were a Barbie doll.

“Really, Steve?” Robin mocks, a smirk pulling at her lips.

You finally pipe up, still reaching for the drink across the table. “Steve, I’ll forgive you if you hand me my drink.” You bargain, tongue darting out in concentration as you inch your fingers toward the chocolatey goodness hidden in a paper cup. Steve snatches it up and pushes it into your hands, the warmth of the beverage consuming your palms. The lid is still barely sitting on top, you gently pull it off to allow it to cool down.

Triumphantly, Steve strolls back behind the counter. “So we’re good? I’m free of my mistake?” He shouts to you. You and Robin share a look, her attempting to take a sip of your hot chocolate only to burn her tongue, a series of huffing noises leaving her as he waves her hands up and down in front of her mouth.

“Hoth, hoth, hoth.” She lisps.

You offer Steve a thumbs up from across the room while shaking your head at Robin. “All good, Stevie. Until the next time you cross me.” You half joke. “Robin, it’s hot chocolate. Hot.” You remind her as she pinches her tongue with her fingers, her brows knit together. She whines in response, rushing away to relieve her scalded tongue with some water. It turns out, you didn’t get that gossip session with Robin seeing as she was too occupied with soothing her tongue along with a sudden wave of customers. Next time, you suppose. You’ll have another chance to rant and rave to each other soon enough.

–

The espresso machine whirs and creates a hum as you craft a macchiato for the customer standing idly by the to go counter. It’s 5:15. And you work the shop alone. Not that you would usually complain, the evening rush was nothing you couldn’t handle on your own but training a new hire wasn’t something you could bypass so either way it would need to get done and the sooner your new terror of a coworker could do things independently, the better. And yet, he was fifteen minutes late, nowhere in sight, not even the roar of his stupid motorcycle in the distance.

Robin and Steve had taken off at five on the dot, Steve complaining that he was responsible for hauling everyone to Lucas’ basketball game and you grateful for having the night shift. Sports were a complete snoozefest and although you’d love to support Lucas it just wasn’t your scene. Of course you’d go when you were free but there was that sliver of relief when you weren’t required to subject yourself to the highschool gym full of sweaty kids and squeaking shoes.

With a polite smile, the drink is gingerly handed to the customer and you are offered a half assed thank you before they exit, no eye contact while they stare down at their phone. You shrug it off, glancing around at the few people that are lounging around at the tables either working on their laptops or reading. Everyone seems satisfied and no tables are in need of tidying or wiping down so you return to the hot chocolate you had been nursing, now chocolate milk if anything but still delicious. Leaning against the counter as you sip, you allow yourself a moment of meditation, breathing in–and out–in—and out, the cocoa taste lingering on your tongue in between sips.

As if god himself had it out for you, your brief moment of silence and tranquility is rudely interrupted by the blaring engine of a certain someone’s dumbass motorcycle, whipping around the corner and into a spot dead center in front of the shop. You note that you’ll have to have a conversation with him about parking in the back so customers can actually use those spots provided–he won’t listen but at least Ronnie won’t be able to put the blame on you. Rolling your eyes at the delinquent, he makes his way into the building, pulling his helmet off and shaking his shaggy mane around like a dog.

Knowing that you can’t reprimand him the way you so desire in front of customers, you shoot him daggers from where you lean, gripping the paper cup tight enough to leave crescents from your nails. If he doesn’t even have the decency to show up for work on time, why should you have to endure closing with him every night? Why is it that you’re seemingly being punished by the universe? Haven’t you had enough already? My apartment sucks, I sleep on a lumpy mattress in the corner on the hard ass floor, my heater doesn’t work even though it's getting cold, hell, even some of my lights don’t work, rent is being raised next month, classes are kicking my ass, and now that actual spawn of satan gets to unleash his wrath on me every day. The thoughts consume you momentarily until Eddie spins around from clocking in on the computer, delivering a smirk with an amused expression underlying his features. And you’re having none of it, it’s only his second day and he’s pulling this shit? Absolutely not.

Your brows furrow in rage but your voice comes out in a hushed but cruel whisper. “Were you out rolling with the raccoons again?” You refer to the time he crashed one of Steve’s parties, maybe it was New Years; he got so wasted that he began befriending some raccoons out near the pool. He laid on the ground for at least two hours and nearly cried when they ran off, crushing whatever dream he had of either taking them home or whatever he was planning in his drunken state of mind. In any case, it was something everyone held over him, especially you on the rare occasion that you had to associate with him–so if he wanted to dick around at work and make your life hell (as if he hadn’t already done that) then you would throw anything you could at him to cause him grief. There was no playing nice.

The slightest hue of pink makes its way across his cheeks before he straightens his posture in a means to intimidate you. “Calm down there, Socks. Don’t get your panties in a twist over lil ol’ me.” His brow raises as if to challenge you. Your comment got to him–flustered him. He’s trying to hide it but you can detect the embarrassment seeping out of his pores, the hatred he has for the fact that he let his vulnerability slip out in his drunken haze that night and the look on your face indicating that you have the upperhand here.

Taking the lid off of your remaining hot chocolate gone cold, you slurp up the contents of the cup, a layer of the melty whip cream decorating your top lip as you give him a cocky glare. “Trust me, nobodies getting their panties in a twist over you, Munson.” You reply, checking around him to make sure no customers are listening in on the exchange.

His notorious grin takes over his features, dimples on full display and you could just kick him in his stupid teeth. Leaning in ever so slightly, his breath fans over your face, tobacco evident. One hand rests next to you on the counter, the other gripping his helmet. “Nice stache.” He whispers, tapping the counter twice before heading toward the back.

Nice stache? What kind of come back–oh. You gently bring your fingers up to your top lip, feeling the obvious whip cream sitting comfortably there and you feel your blood run hot in embarrassment as well as rage. What makes it worse is that he had nothing to do with it, it just happened and that gave him the upperhand in return. The universe or some higher power really it out for you and clearly wasn’t rooting for you in this war.

Tossing the cup angrily into the trash and wiping off your lip, a quiet groan escapes you, Eddie sauntering in actually wearing an apron today. Except it's littered in several pins and patches, some room in between to add more later on. “Do you even care that you’re–” You check the clock. “Twenty minutes late?!” You finish, still attempting to stay quiet enough that the remaining customer’s wouldn’t hear. “And–and your apron. Do you think you can do whatever you want?” You whisper yell furiously. A stupid question, you realize as it tumbles out of your mouth.

“Yes, actually. I’m a free man in a free country. What a foreign concept.” He says tying his hair back into a low bun, a few select pieces framing his face. “Why don’t you worry about yourself.” He snaps. “Also…” He begins with a point of his finger. “Who the hell drinks hot chocolate as someone who works in a coffee shop?” He mocks. You can’t help but glance at the glint that catches at his earlobe, a little silver hoop reflecting off the lights, something you otherwise wouldn’t notice if not for his hair being pulled back. You would dare to even call it cute if he wasn’t such a menace, an absolute barbarian that you vowed to never give the time of day to again and yet here you are, giving several hours of your life.

A scoff is earned from you while you cross your arms, leaning on one hip with sass. The attitude is there but you have no response to counter him. He stares at you expectantly and you come up with nothing but a mumble under your breath. “Caffeine makes me anxious.” He barely catches it, humming for you to repeat it again. “Hot chocolate doesn’t have caffeine in it, I try to limit my caffeine okay!?” You snap, still quiet enough to not draw attention.

Rolling his eyes, he seems to ignore your answer and strolls over to the front counter, reaching over and snatching up a ham and cheese sandwich without a care in the world, immediately tearing into it. You resist the urge to grab it right out of his hand and launch it across the room, instead opting to massage your temples with your fingers, taking deep breaths. It was either that or you’d have a homicide charge on your hands. Sure you also snuck sandwiches from the cooler however you were discrete and no one ever noticed. If Eddie kept it up, you’d get in trouble for his misbehavior.

“Do you want this job or not?” You sigh, trying to reason. He chews disgustingly on the sandwich, crumbs rolling down his chest. He shrugs. A scream is awaiting in your lungs, an unreleased scream of pent up rage for the immature boy towering over you. It doesn’t escape but it so desperately wants to. “Munson.” You grit your teeth, fists forming at your sides.

“Hmm?” He hums carelessly, scarfing down the remaining bites and tossing the wrapper into the trash.

Another deep breath, you try to clear your energy. “If we don’t at least cooperate here, I am out of a job and I cannot afford to be out of a job.” You plead with him, eyes becoming the slightest bit watery much to your distaste. It’s not on purpose, things are really just that bad.

“What? Did your trust fund run out?” He bites, and it hurts. Though it's not the most vile thing someone could say it pinches you and leaves behind a nagging pain. Trust fund? Who did he think you were?

“Excuse me?” You breathe out, stepping slightly closer to him, still on alert for any customers who might listen in but you’re still in the clear.

“Yeah, did mommy and daddy cut you off? Welcome to the real world.” His words are like knives cutting into your skin. They shouldn’t be, you know that. His words are meaningless to you–are they though? Where did he even come up with the idea that you came from any sort of wealth? Sure in high school you were stable enough but nowhere near Harrington wealthy. Was he referring to you living comfortably? If that's the case he would be elated to know that you had close to nothing these days. But you can’t give him that satisfaction.

Brushing off the interaction as if nothing was said, you grab the clipboard from one of the drawers to find where you left off in training last night and what boxes remained to be checked off. “So yesterday we learned cleaning procedures and counting the register. Today we pick up learning drink recipes.” You suck it up and push through. His words are nothing, he is nothing. A certain emotion flashes in his eyes when you glance up to scold him for not paying attention. You can’t put your finger on what it is but it must be some type of regret for taking this job, there’s something sadder to it though. He is nothing to me but a warning from the universe on what to stay away from.

–

“Okay so five pumps of caramel.” Eddie confirms with you, eyes drooping in boredom. The shop is now devoid of customers, the evening rush long gone as it was now 7:30 and you only expected to see maybe five more customers at most before closing, giving you ample time to stuff Eddie’s dumb brain with all the drink recipes possible so he could eventually do everything by himself and you’d no longer have to convene with him.

An exhale leaves your lungs while you rest your head in your hands on the counter, shaking your head. “No. Four. Four pumps of caramel. Four.” You reiterate, patience wearing thin. At least he wasn’t arguing with every word that left your mouth. “Let’s take a break from that one and try this one instead.” You advise, pushing a new recipe card in front of him. This one was for a simple iced mocha. “So for this one you start off with three pumps of chocolate and then two shots of espresso.” You instruct, eyes tired and the bags underneath them giving it away.

Eddie reaches for one of the syrups and before you can stop him, he’s pumping three pumps of hazelnut into the cup, your hand smacking your face in frustration. “Eddie, do you just not read the labels?” You question.

He fakes a laugh, shoving the syrup back into its place. “Do you just not read the labels?” He mocks in a high voice. Your patience is wavering but you know you just need to get through this. The sooner he finishes training, the sooner you will have peace and quiet.

“Try again.” You tell him, holding back all of the anger rattling in your bones. He rolls his eyes and grabs the correct syrup this time. Except as he pumps it into the cup, you find that his pumps are way too big, not like you taught him earlier. He’s pushing down too far. “Too far! You’re pumping too far, it’s too much!” You tell him as the bottom of the cup becomes filled too high with chocolate, practically taking up where the espresso should go.

“Okay, you are like the worst teacher ever.” He states while sloshing around the flavored syrup in the clear cup, coating it around the sides as it maneuvers in his hand.

A hand drags down your face and you swear you’ve lost years of your life just in the past two nights. “Train yourself then.” You slap your hand on the counter, making your way over to the book corner and taking a seat in your favorite spot near the window to gaze at the streetlights.

His face contorts in confusion as if he had no idea why you were giving up on him. “Fine.” He mutters, taking a look at the little card that had the instructions for an iced vanilla coffee concoction. He can’t stop himself from glancing over to you in the corner, the warm glow of the street lights embracing you like a blanket. And he can’t shy away from the pang of guilt in his chest. Yet he continues to find himself at your throat every time, and you at his rightfully so. At least you have reason to be, he’s just a pathetic excuse of emotions buried under skin that dug himself so deep into a hole over the years there was no way out and all he could do was what he did best–shove people away and just play the part that had always been assigned to him since birth.

The sudden wail of the blender has you jolting and looking over behind the counter only to find Eddie manning the machine. You were too beyond exhausted to care anymore. If he wanted to start making milkshakes in spite of you then so be it. Your sight continued to set on the glow of the streetlights over the sidewalk. It didn’t rain today or tonight thankfully since you’d have to walk home. As you close your eyes, you imagine the warmth of the lights engulfing you and bask in the heat of the shop, silently cursing your landlord for not being attentive to your broken heater, leaving you with chattering teeth every night. If you could sleep in the back room you would, however that would be an awkward conversation with Ronnie and the openers, Max and El who took on the earliest shift from 4:30AM to 8:30AM, when Robin and Steve would relieve them of their duties. It was funny how your whole group seemed to now run The Under-Ground but you couldn’t come up with a better team if you tried. Save for Eddie, you could definitely find someone a hundred times better and then you would have the perfect team.

You continued to wander around in your imagination, the blender coming to a halt but you were too lost to even open an eye. The sound of cups scattering on the counter had you wincing but not once leaving your mind, not yet. It was rare that you were able to just sit and not think about the stressors in your life. That relaxation is shattered when a cup is slammed down in front of you, the noise causing you to jump back in your seat, eyes flashing open only to be meant with a perfectly curated blended iced mocha, down to the whip cream and chocolate drizzle on top. Behind it stands Eddie with his arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes stuck on the drink and not your reaction. All you offer is a nod, hand wrapping around the cup as you push it back toward him across the dark wood. What did he want? An applause? He did his job, congratulations.

“Good?” He asks for approval, much to your surprise.

“Mhm.” You nod again, standing up and making your way back behind the counter, leaving him to stare at his creation. There was no way you would give him any type of praise even if he did make the drink without any flaws.

“You didn’t even taste it.” He continues to stare down at the beverage on the table, his voice monotone.

As you start to mark a few things off for inventory, pen gliding across the paper, you hold out your other hand, paying him no mind in any other manner. Reluctantly, he scoops up the drink and strides over, shoving it in your hand like a pissed off child. You take a sip and are impressed that it actually tastes good but rather than give him any kind of compliment, you offer another nod. He’s starting to hate that response and if he receives another nod from you he may pull his hair out. The cold condensation stings your palm so you set the drink down, again pushing it toward him without so much as a glance.

“Just admit it, Socks.” He starts, grabbing the mocha and licking the whip cream from the top. “I did good and you hate it. Oh but if King Steve or Robin made it you’d be falling at their feet.” His tone is low and his gaze is intense as he burns into your side profile.

Continuing to ignore him, you jot down a few notes on the inventory sheet for some things that Ronnie may need to order more of on the next shipment. He scoffs, beginning to walk away from you when you decide to speak up. “Steve and Robin didn’t make me hate myself.” You remind him. It’s as if time slowed down the moment you spoke, the way you let the words roll off your tongue so truthfully, as if those words were in the bible. Eddie wasn’t religious by any means but that’s how disastrous your words felt. Yet he still finds comfort in playing his part.

“I made you hate yourself?” He seethes. “I made you hate yourself.” He repeats gritting his teeth. He knows he shouldn’t let himself go any further, it's a bad idea and it's simply not true what he’s about to say. But he can’t stop himself from assuming his role, he doesn’t know any different. He shouldn’t venture into territory where he knows he can never return from. “Babe.” The name is far from its endearing meaning, its dripping in hostility, soaked in venom. “I never made you hate yourself, you did that just fine all on your own.” The moment the words pierce the air he knows he shouldn’t have said them because there wasn’t even the slightest hint of honesty. The ugliest parts of him jumped out and now he has to suffer the damages.

A swell of tears stings the backs of your eyes and you desperately suck them back, refusing to let him have this. Your fists clench as you drop the pen from your grasp, your side profile still facing him, him standing in your peripheral. Suddenly you're gripping the counter with white knuckles, slowly shifting your gaze to the cowardly man a few feet away. His mouth opens and closes as if trying to take back what he said but he’s coming to realize it isn’t an option. In all honesty, the way you look right now frightens him. There’s suddenly no emotion behind your gaze. And then you fire right back at him.

“I hope you hate yourself just as much as I hate myself. I hate you more than I hate myself.” It stings like a deep scrape after you’ve fallen off your bike as a child, the dirt wedging itself into the skin. Again, his mouth opens and closes but there’s nothing to respond with. This may be his last shift since you’re probably going to tell Ronnie that he did some kind of fucked up thing just to get him fired and Ronnie will believe you over him–of course he will. He deserves it. But it would also mean he’s back right where he started, no one wanting to hire him. The Munson name really carried its burdens. He already had a secure job during the day at the auto shop, Jax & Sons but he needed the extra income. The only reason Ronnie hired him at The Under-Ground was because the owner, Beth’s husband Sam, owned The Hideout and Eddie was at least welcome there with the other rejects most of the time. While The Hideout wasn’t hiring, Sam referred him to The Under-Ground and assured him he would put in a good word with his wife. They were too good to him and he was starting to regret their kindness toward him, he deserved to be run over and have the shit kicked out of him.

No further words were spoken the rest of the night. Eddie was handed the clip board with the checklist for training, a silent demand that he train himself the rest of the shift while you occupied yourself with finishing some inventory, cleaning, and serving the few customers that came in. He quietly figured things out, familiarizing himself with the ingredients and learning quicker than he thought. Whenever he had a question, he refrained and decided he’d either ask you at a later time or eventually sort it out on his own. He should quit but there weren’t any other options if he wanted to keep himself fed and continue saving up to get out of Hawkins. Nowhere else was going to hire him, especially for the night shift. He was lucky they even trusted him to close with a girl though Sam seemed to put the rumors about him to rest if his wife and Ronnie had anything to hold against him and he would forever be grateful although now he didn’t feel he deserved that grace even if he was an innocent man that never amounted to the things his dad did.

–

Night after night for the remainder of the week, the evening shift was filled with tension and bruised feelings. If you had to so much as speak to Eddie it would be short and to the point, no sugarcoating. Each time you instructed him to clean something or do a task he would roll his eyes but oblige. He was the least of your problems and you were going to make sure it stayed that way. His training was almost complete and he was starting to pick up on a rhythm which meant you wouldn’t have to engage with him nearly as much. By Friday you’d fallen into a routine and while not in the best of circumstances, it was fine since not a whole lot of arguing happened since the previous incident.

You would attend to the customers with a friendly smile and a higher than your normal octave voice as usual and he would be his sarcastic self while also seeming to charm people with his damn dimples. Ronnie didn’t appear to be phased by all the pins and patches that adorned Eddie’s apron when he made an appearance randomly yesterday, to your dissatisfaction. You guess as long as none of them had anything offensive then he left him alone. Why did you care anyway? You didn’t.

The evening swarm of coffee addicts had arrived and you churned out drinks left and right, earning tips with the help of your perky attitude that you’d learn to put on over time. It aggravated you that Eddie had no issue charming his way into bigger tips, it’s like he was a professional. Some patrons would give him nasty looks while others, particularly the older moms who you’d definitely seen with a husband at some point, would pay him extra attention and drop larger bills into the tip jar while flipping their hair and lingering around longer than necessary. It made your stomach churn. Regardless, you continued to put on a smile and work through the rush, hoping by the end of the night the tips split up would give you a little bit of extra rent money to save for next month. It wasn’t like you were in a position to save money, living paycheck to paycheck but something had to give and you needed that cushion so you actually had a place to live.

As the night winded down and people were heading home, neglecting the coffee shop until early in the morning, you took a rag to the tables to clean and straighten up while Eddie obnoxiously banged on the espresso machine that had been giving everyone a hard time all week, periodically getting stuck and then spewing espresso everywhere. “Fuckin’ piece of shit machine.” He mutters, trying to pry off the panel to get a look inside at the machinery.

Not wanting to be responsible for a five hundred dollar machine broken by none other than your jackass coworker, you decide to step in, shouting over to him. “Would you knock it off? We have someone who comes in to fix the machines and I’m not going to be responsible–” A loud clank of metal stops you as Eddie jiggles a screwdriver you weren’t even sure how he found in the machine. He pries the screwdriver into the machine as if trying to loosen something stuck in the gears, succeeding when a few coffee beans fly out and fall to the floor, a shit eating grin on his face.

“Fixed it.” He confirms, shutting the panel and running the machine with a test shot of espresso, the liquid coming out smoothly rather than spraying him in the face. You shake your head, choosing to keep your mouth shut. If anything bad happens with the machine you didn’t see it and it wasn’t your fault. You were not an accomplice if it malfunctioned on his watch.

Eddie glances over at you now sweeping up under one of the tables, somewhat disappointed that you won’t revel in his victory over the machine but also remembering the atmosphere he created from the very beginning, never deserving your positive attention in the first place. It was 8:00PM, only an hour away from closing and the college students who had occupied the tables earlier were no longer around, the only sounds being the upbeat jazz music playing from the speakers. He sparked an idea.

Jogging to the back room where his eye caught the music system the very first day, he starts messing around with it, fingers searching in the back where his eyes can’t see behind the wall for a wire. Biting his lip in concentration, he locates it with a triumphant hum.

Too overcome with sweeping the floors clean, you only notice Eddie is no longer in the room when a shrieking guitar blares through the shop’s speakers, leaving you covering your ears and dropping the broom with a smack to the ground. It’s some kind of metal song that you’ve possibly heard before but wouldn’t be able to recall the name. Before you can map out your next moves, Eddie appears in the doorway to the back, grinning ear to ear genuinely. “I hacked the stereo, how sick is that?” He goes back to his spot behind the counter, head banging away.

“Shut it off!” You yell over the noise. Either he pretends not to hear you or he really can’t hear you over how loud it is. Now you’re afraid that some of the neighboring businesses will call the cops or something and it’s on your dime. “Eddie!” You shout once again with no reaction from him. You take the initiative and scurry into the back, finding the stereo system with a wire coming out of it and Eddie’s phone plugged in. You scowl and unplug it, killing all sound, an offended “what the fuck!” heard from the front of the shop as you soothe your ear drums in the quiet.

He starts to make his way toward the back only to be stopped by you nearly running him over as you walk with a purpose back out to finish cleaning. “Um, excuse you?” He gestures your way as if you’d stepped on his ego.

The broom is picked back up from its spot on the floor and you finish off by sweeping the remaining dirt into the dust pan, not responding. When you look up again, he’s not there and you know he’s definitely gone to the back to plug his phone back in. Your suspicions are confirmed when the riff is taking over the speakers once again, drums pounding through the sound system. A groan emerges from deep within you as you empty the dust pan into the trash. There was no winning with him, he always pushed back and you had no energy to keep up. As he emerges from the back again, he doesn’t even look in your direction.

“Can you at least turn it down!?” You yell over the music, hoping he would find some kind of humility within himself so you didn’t go home with a headache. It wasn’t just that it was too loud, it was overwhelming, your anxiety was spiking and no matter how much you breathed and told yourself to calm down, the volume of the song playing had your heart rate beating faster than you felt it could even keep up with. Eddie continues ignoring you, and you know damn well that he heard your request since you were close enough, standing just a few feet away. You swallowed hard as you attempted to keep your cool, keep your nervous system in check. I’m okay, I’m okay, nothing is going to happen.

And there was no reason to believe anything bad would happen but your brain was screaming at you that the escalation of the metal riff playing was a warning signal and you couldn’t talk yourself off the ledge. As much as you tried to contain your breathing and keep it steady, it became erratic as you stumbled over to one of the tables and thankfully made it into a chair. Your elbows rested on the table top while you covered your ears in an attempt to muffle the suddenly overwhelming sound that wouldn’t otherwise bother you had it not taken you by surprise earlier and had the volume not been set the highest the speakers allowed.

The world around you blurred out while you seemed to fall apart because of a stupid issue you had with loud sounds that caught you off guard. You couldn’t think straight, you couldn’t even think to just run to the back and unplug it again. You didn’t even register that there were hands waving in front of you and a pair of big brown eyes worriedly looking at you. His lips were moving but there was no way to understand what was being said in this state. And then he was gone from your vision as you choked on a breath caught in your throat. You were about to make a run for the door just to get your bearings back when the room went silent and suddenly things started to slowly become clear again. When you turn your body in your seat toward the back, Eddie stands there with a shocked expression painted on his face, mouth dropped open.

“I—I didn’t—I’m—I—“ For probably the first time ever Eddie Munson is speechless. No quirky comments, no stupid jokes, just stuttering. Your breathing, while a lot better now, is still heavy as you recover from the sudden panic. “I didn’t know—I wouldn’t have—“ Before he can continue rambling you save him the energy.

“Just—leave it.” You demand, putting a hand up to signal him to stop. A warning to never mention it again. He owed you that much.

Then he goes on to do something you’d never expect. He makes his way to the table you’ve sat yourself at and pulls out a chair, sitting across from you. “Are you okay?” He asks, eyes wide and concerned, hands clasped together on top of the table as he fidgets with his clunky rings. What the fuck did he care? He’d jump at any chance to see you upset, why was right now any different?

All you can do is look at him in distress, displaying how you felt on your face and in your body language. “Oka—does it look like I’m okay?!” You respond, throwing your arms up before they fall back into your lap. Your outburst quickly dwindles, a shyer demeanor taking over as you both linger in the quiet, in the aftermath of what he believes may have been an anxiety attack. “I’m—I'm fine.” You finally decide, standing and acting as if nothing just happened, taking your place behind the counter. Eddie looks dumbfounded, unsure of any of his next moves so as to keep the peace for once in his fucking life. He’d experienced lots of trauma before but never had to come face to face with the kind of terror that took over your face, never experienced being on the other end of the turmoil. While he’s sure he’s gone through what you just had except with other triggers, there was not one idea in his head about how to approach the situation, how he would dare to even console you if that’s all you really needed. In a sense, he’s a tad grateful that you seemed to snap out of it on your own but that also makes him feel like the most terrible person on planet earth. What kind of man was he if not some duplicate of his dad like everyone says and like he feels he’s doomed to be? He had been in your shoes before, experienced the true fear you held in your body and no one was there for him. So when he was there fully capable of providing some kind of comfort, he did nothing and suddenly he was his dad. In his mind he was his dad, doing nothing, helping no one but himself.

Suddenly he felt like he was 12 years old again, sinking in on himself but before he could be pulled any deeper he shot up and rapidly blinked his eyes. And you were there perfectly normal, trying to sneakily set aside a sandwich for yourself but it didn’t go unnoticed, it’s not like he cared though. Had he become this big of a fuck up without realizing it? He was no better than the man that abandoned him at 12, he genuinely believed he was on the same path as the man that single handedly tore his son’s life apart, who raised him in a crack house until things got too complicated and left only to be arrested 48 hours later. Eddie had to stop thinking, he was pulling himself down again, an anchor might as well be tied to his ankle.

“I—I need a break.” He exhales, not listening if you had any protests which you didn’t, you just tuned him out as the bell on the door jingled and he stopped outside for a cigarette. Who smokes cigarettes anymore? You wonder. Well you answer your own question when you remember the hick town you live in, many people still smoked cigarettes out here but most of them were older. It was now around 8:45PM, almost time to go home to try and knock out in the chill stale air of your room. The bell above the door rings again and you glance up but don’t find Eddie and instead meet the vibrant blue eyes of Jason Carver. While not a close friend, you’d known each other throughout high school and had a few mutual friends and even found yourselves in some of the same study groups during finals.

“Hey!” He greets you like an old friend, a smile on his face, his bright white teeth glimmering in the light.

“Jason! I thought you were away for college in Boston.” You say, remembering that he was able to escape this small town and move onto bigger things. Of course he was, his family had everything lined up for him. He stuck to his plan and it seemed to be going well for him. Something you wish you could say for yourself but you never even had a plan if you’re honest.

“Yeah, I’m just in town for the week. I flew in earlier today. My grandmas sick so you know…” He doesn’t finish the sentence and doesn’t have to for you to understand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” You sympathize with him.

“No, it’s okay. This has happened a few times, it just seems like this might be it.” He tells you with a sad nod of his head. “Anyway, is that Eddie Munson outside?” He asks, changing the subject. You almost roll your eyes at his name but quickly remember how many fights the two had been in previously, usually Eddie walking away with no more than a black eye or a busted lip and Jason always looking worse. You don’t want to encourage another here tonight so you just nod, shyly avoiding Jason’s gaze. “Hey, is that freak bothering you while you work? Is he harassing you?” He starts to sound like he’s getting worked up, the opposite of your intention. Jason was always super forward especially when he was agitated which is why you always gravitated away from him. He’d always put on a sweet front but then come out with pure anger the moment he heard something he didn’t like.

“No!” You blurt out, unsure of why you’re even protecting Eddie in any way. Maybe it’s the fact that while you do hate Eddie with every nerve ending in your body, Jason only hates him for being everything he’s not. For not being popular, not engaging in sports, not going to church. None of those are why you hated Eddie but Jason had this bottled up rage toward him and you had the smallest inkling that he was envious in some weird way of the metalhead. “No, he’s not bothering me. He just works here and he’s on break. He doesn’t even talk to me.” You try to talk him down. Jason looks at you with suspicion, not fully believing you. Why you were even explaining yourself to him was beyond you.

Reluctantly, he drops it and continues on with the small talk which you find yourself growing bored of. Jason was turning out to be someone that reminded you of your parents, fairly conservative and tightly wound up. In high school he was a bit more laid back but it seems that whatever college he goes to has morphed him into another stereotypical white guy. The conversation couldn’t end soon enough for you as he started getting into a story about his frat house. You tried to hide your distaste but the air just felt sour. Not once did he even ask what you’d been up to, immediately going off about himself. As if he could read your mind, the bell above the door is heard and Eddie slowly walks back in, his face twisted in a scowl.

Jason looks toward him at the sound of the bell, freezing to stare him down as if it would intimidate him. Did he forget the several times Eddie handed his ass to him? If this was going to happen again right now, it was guaranteed that with Eddie being a man now, he’d have no problem taking him down. Jason was a man now too and while he had muscle from what you could see peeking out from under the sleeve of his polo, Eddie had grit and there was no way to go against that.

“Munson.” Jason greets with a nod of his head, a fake smile on his face. Eddie offers no greeting in return, only a glare as he makes his way back behind the counter.

“Anyway, it was great catching up with you.” Jason directs his attention back to you. “We should hang out while I’m in town. Here’s my number.” He says cockily, using a nearby pen to scribble on one of the shop’s business cards, placing it in your hand.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, um. Okay.” You respond with uncertainty. The number would be tossed aside the moment he stepped out the door but you appeased him the best you could while he stood in front of you. As he backs up toward the door, he shoots you a wink. While he thinks butterflies are fluttering within you right now, you’re actually internally cringing. And with that, he was gone, finally. You piece together that he hadn’t even purchased a coffee. The more you think about it, he may as well have pissed on you in an attempt to assert dominance over Eddie. Men were stupid creatures.

Eddie huffs out a laugh as he doodles on his hand, nothing left to do besides leave and lock up. You pay him no mind while you begin to quickly count the drawer so you’d be able to leave on time. “Fuckin’ tool.” Eddie mumbles to himself.

While you agree, you don’t want to give him any satisfaction so you continue counting the money. Finding that everything is accounted for, you lock up the drawer and grab your bag from the back while Eddie silently does the same. You meet at the door in some unspoken agreement, him holding the door as you step out into the chill air, turning to shut the door and lock it while he puts his motorcycle helmet on and walks over, straddling his bike. As you shove the keys back into your bag and start your journey home, he clears his throat. “Watch out for Carver. He’s not all sparkles and sunshine.” He says revving his bike. Who was he to tell you what to do? Though you had no interest in Jason whatsoever, you weren’t going to let Eddie tell you what to do, he was the last person on earth you would listen to.

“Oh, I’m sorry? I could say the same about you. You don’t get to tell me who to watch out for.” You step closer toward the bike, a hand on your hip while the nagging cold pinches at your skin. If your jaw was tightened it was both out of anger and due to the cold.

“Listen, Socks–”

“Don’t call me that.” You snap.

“I’m serious, Carver–” His voice is muffled under the helmet.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve trying to tell me what I can and can’t do, Munson.” You’re trying to get in his face somewhat but it's hard and a little humiliating when you can only see a reflection of yourself in his visor.

“When something happens you can’t say I didn’t warn you.” He points a finger at you sternly.

“Oh! My hero!” You say with sarcasm laced in the words. “I don’t need some drop out lecturing me about what I do or who I associate with in my free time.” The insult shouldn’t affect him, he’s been called every name in the book. But it does, for some reason it does.

“Do whatever the hell you want.” You can’t see his face under the helmet but if you could you knew he’d be clenching his teeth and flexing his jaw by the way he said it. In seconds he speeds away, bike screeching annoyingly down the street.

It had been a long day. A long week even. The only silver lining was that tomorrow was your Friday and after that you’d have at least one day to not think about work and Eddie Munson’s stupid attitude. The shop was closed on Sundays and though it wasn’t very enticing to think about sitting in your room catching up on homework, it was far better than having to argue with the equivalent of a stubborn six year old in a man’s body.

Eddie on the other hand was feeling things he’d never experienced before. There was this persistent worry in the back of his mind that he didn’t know what to do with. His emotions had been gathered up and thrown into the wind so suddenly and he was struggling to grasp every single one so he could tuck it away again. And you only angered him beyond comprehension, even if he deserved every venomous word thrown his way, he couldn’t deny that you provoked him in ways no other human has. The way you had no issue with telling him off but let Jason talk over you made his blood boil. It was none of his business, genuinely. That’s what he told himself but deep down he knew it was his business the second Jason flashed that fake smile at him that said everything.

~end~

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Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson series

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sortofanobsession · 1 year ago

Note

Roy/Jaime idea: Roy eats something and has a severe allergic reaction to it and Jaime is the one to run and get an epi-pen to save his life, and looks after Roy once he comes out of hospital. Jaime stays with Roy, and winds up never leaving.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. It's been a bad week for me trying to focus. I've only had one allergic reaction to medication as a toddler. I don't remember it. I wasn't there for my nephew's two anaphylaxis events. So I'm just going off what little I do know. Not sure if this is even a real allergy. I have external allergies, like contact allergies and a horrible reaction to bug bites, but that's not the same. I just imagine what that would be like in your throat and oh yikes.

Not beta read

Ao3

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Word Count: 6k+

Paring: Roy x Jamie (Romantic), Roy x Phoebe (familial/platonic, protective), Jamie x Phoebe (platonic, protective) Roy x AFC Richmond Himbos (platonic)

Content warning: Allergic Reactions, anaphylaxis, Hospitals, needles, epipens, medical emergencies, ptsd, trauma reactions

The press will make it seem like I ended your career and then you

Roy does not like people knowing about his life. He likes keeping it that way.

In a rare week where they end up having an extra day off after one of their games gets moved for a different game to be televised. The team only has a half day of training, and they meet up in the afternoon. Roy picks up Phoebe from school and joins them later in the day outside an unusual cafe. One of the guys hands them a smoothie, some fruity concoction a few of them insists Phoebe will like. And it's fine until Roy tells Phoebe to get her bag. When Phoebe looks up at him, she shouts. Jamie and Isaac are on their feet as she scrambles to get her bag.

"What was in that?!" Phoebe asks.

"Fruits and veggies," Someone says. And Jamie gets a good look at Roy and curses. She adds, "He needs to lie down." Jamie and Isaac do as she says and get him flat on the ground.

"Phoe," Jamie starts to ask if she has an epipen but she ignores him.

"What kind?" Phoebe shouts. “He has allergies.”

"Call an ambulance," Isaac shouts.

"Colin already did," Jan Maas says. "He is talking to them now."

Phoebe panics as she looks up at Jamie. “I can’t find it.”

“Does he have one?” Jamie tamps down his inner panic and focuses on what needs to be done.

“Glovebox,” Phoebe says.

“Sorry, mate,” Jamie mutters as he awkwardly gets Roy’s keys out of his pocket and sprints to the G Wagon. He makes a bit of a mess, but he finds an epipen. He rushes back and drops down beside Roy. With little work, he preps the pen and slams it into Roy’s thigh. “You can kick my arse if it bruises when you aren’t half dead,” Jamie says as he looks Roy over. He looked awful. His face was swollen, and his color was off. “But you don’t get to fucking die on me, mate. The press will make it seem like I ended your career and then you. Those pricks love making drama out of shit.” He isn’t sure if he’s talking to keep Roy focused on him being annoying or to make himself feel better.

“Someone see if anyone has another,” Colin says. “Lady says it might not work.”

“Bruv,” Isaac smacks Colin and gestures to where Phoebe stares at him with wide eyes.

“But I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Colin adds.

“He’s a fighter, Phoe,” Jamie says, trying to get her attention off of Colin. “Now, what’s he allergic to?”

Phoebe looks up at Jamie. "He can't have some leafy veggies like he can't use whistles," she tells him. "That's what mum says, at least."

"I got it, Phoe," Jamie says before focusing back on Roy. "Rough day, coach?" Roy glares at him. "When this is over, I'm going to ask your sister what else you haven't told the team that might actually kill you. So far, it's whistles and kale or some shit because clearly you can't be trusted to tell me." Roy growls, but it comes out half wheezed. Jamie takes Roy's hand and puts his fingers on his wrist. His pulse is fast and all over the place, but it's not terrible. "Just try and breathe, ya prick. Don’t want to traumatize the kid any more than she already is.”

Colin comes over to hand Jamie his phone, but Jamie just hands it to Phoebe. "Tell them what you told me." It's good for her to have a task to keep her focused. And she knows more than most of them do with this. Jamie can tell the swelling must ease some because Roy looks a tiny bit better. Jamie takes off his jacket and puts it under Roy's head. "There nice and comfy now, innit?" Roy glares at him again, but Jamie takes his hand again. His grip shifts to hold it in one hand, and still feel his pulse. His other hand goes into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Jamie unlocks it and hands it to Colin. "Do me a favor and call Phoebe's mum. She's in there as Roy Kent's fit sister."

That earns a grunt from Roy. Jamie smirks. "I know. You'll cut my eyes out." He squeezes Roy's hand. "You can yell at me when you can breathe properly again."

"Fuck you," Roy manages now that the epinephrine is working. Jamie grins and carefully sets Roy’s hand down.

"Good news, lads, he lives," Jamie says, standing up. They cheer. "Still going to the A&E," Jamie insists.

Phoebe gives Colin back his phone and moves to sit beside her uncle. She takes the hand that Jamie doesn't keep using to check his pulse and holds it tight. Jamie leaves for a second and comes back.

"I'm okay, kid," Roy says. She hums but doesn't say anything.

"How ya doing, coach?" Jamie asks.

“You lock my fucking car?” Roy asks.

Jamie chuckles. “Yes, I locked your fucking car. Now answer my question.”

"I'm fine," Roy insists. Jamie huffs another laugh. He uses a bandana to wipe the sweat off Roy's now less pale face. Roy grimaces.

"It's clean. I swear," Jamie says. "Can't have big bad Roy Kent looking sweaty, might make some poor medic swoon."

"You're fucked in the head, Tartt," Roy says.

"You don't know half of it," Jamie grins.

"I'm fucking glad for that," Roy grumbles.

"Oh, trust me, you'd enjoy some of it," Jamie adds with a wink. And Roy glares at him.

"He seems fine to me," Richard laughs from where he and Colin stand behind Jamie.

"Yeah, but unless one of you has another epipen, then we better hope that the ambulance doesn't take forever," Jamie says.

"I told you, I'm fine," Roy attempts to get up, but Jamie and Phoebe stop him.

"Sorry, Coach," Jamie says. "Doc's orders."

When the paramedics get there, Roy cooperates because Phoebe looks like if he doesn't, she might cry from where she holds onto Jamie's hand with both of hers. Jamie is knelt down to her level and clearly trying to comfort her. The medics let Jamie go with them to look after Phoebe.

Phoebe stays with Jamie in the waiting room when they reach the hospital.

"You good, Phoebs?" Jamie asks when she sits down.

"Yeah," She says.

"You sure?" He asks again. "Cause you don't have to be. Sure as hell scared me."

"You didn't seem scared," Phoebe says.

"Got years of practice looking tough on the outside," Jamie says.

"Uncle Roy says it's because your dad is a…well," she pauses.

"Bad word, innit?" Jamie grins.

"It is," she admits.

"Well, my old man is a bad word," Jamie says.

"Mine was too, so we have that in common," she states.

"We do," Jamie says as he throws his arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his side. "But you're a way better kid than I was. 'Lot smarter than I was. But we don't need bad dads with your Uncle Roy around."

"He's going to be okay, right?" She asks.

"Your mum's here, 'course he'll be okay. Be back to his gloomy and grumpy self in no time. A quid says he's already trying to convince them to let him go because he's fine, and your mum will have to put him in his place."

"You're on because he's not going to argue if mum is working because she is already busy, and she won't put up with nonsense."

"Oh, fair point. Guess we'll see."

Roy might yell at Jamie for gambling with his 8-year-old niece, but Jamie will take that lecture. She isn't as worried or upset as she had been when they got there. So he doesn't regret it. They argue over what the waiting room TV should be changed to, despite neither of them having control over what is on. They both send Keeley texts from Jamie's phone, and they end up looking at magazines and saying who on the team would wear the outfits in the photos and ads.

"Mum!" Phoebe runs over and hugs her mother when she approaches them.

"How is he, doc?" Jamie asks.

"On the mend," she assures him. "Should be able to go home soon. But someone will need to look after him. You up for that?"

"Me?" Jamie asks. He figured Keeley would be the one to do it.

"I think you can handle it," she says with a sly smile. "And I know you'll actually fight him if he tries to do something he shouldn't. He is not the easiest of patients."

"Giving the nurses trouble?" Jamie asks, glancing at Phoebe.

"Ha, no, not in my hospital. He knows better," She says.

"That's fair," Jamie says. He digs a coin out of his pocket and hands it to Phoebe. Phoebe's mum shakes her head. "You guys can head back and see him now." She has a nurse take them to Roy's room.

"Uncle Roy!" Phoebe hurries over to him when they get there.

"Hey, kid," Roy says.

"How do you feel?" She asks.

"Like I don't need to be here anymore. I'm sure there's someone out there that could use this bed more than me."

"You just want to get out of here before the press finds out you're here," Jamie says as he sits in the chair by the bed.

"Probably already on the way if Jamie Tartt was loitering around the waiting area," Roy states.

"Hey, someone had to keep Phoebe from getting bored," Jamie says.

"Fuck off. I'm sure she was the one entertaining you. You can't sit still for five minutes. You can barely sit like a fucking adult."

"Wow, rude, and two quid on your tab, for shame, Uncle Roy," Jamie grins.

"Fucking nightmare," Roy mutters. "Anyone tell you when I could fucking leave?"

"Mum says soon, but you have to go home with Jamie," Phoebe says.

"Fuck no," Roy says.

"Uncle Roy," Phoebe says and gives him a look she probably learned from her mum. Jamie hid his smile behind a drink he had gotten when he had gotten Phoebe food since she didn't actually get to eat at the cafe. He always found it insanely adorable how much sway she had over her uncle. And honestly, it was something Jamie could just sit all day and watch. Because getting to spend a day with his childhood hero and someone he cared for was just something special to Jamie. To see such an honest and genuine version of Roy fucking Kent. Times like these he secretly enjoyed. Although he could have done without the gut-wrenching fear of losing Roy to something as stupid as a fucking smoothie. If Roy didn’t start carrying an epipen on him at all times, Jamie would because they had in a very bad spot if Jamie hadn’t found the one in the glove box.

Jamie listened to Roy and his niece argue.

"What do you think, Jamie?” Phoebe says.

"I'm pretty sure my coach yells at me if I ignore my doctor's orders," Jamie points out, making direct eye contact with Roy. "And that coach is usually you."

Roy groans. "Fucking, fine."

They settle in and watch some cartoons Phoebe picks on Roy's phone while Jamie just scrolls through his. He texts the team to let them know Roy is fine. And after a couple of hours, they get to leave. Jamie insists Phoebe come with them for the night to “help”. He'd left both his and Roy’s keys with the team. Isaac said they’d get Jamie’s car back to Nelson Road, but they’d drop Roy’s at the hospital so they had a ride home. Isaac assured him Colin wasn’t allowed to drive either of them. Jamie loves his teammates, and he lets them know how thankful he is in texts.

Roy is exhausted and feels like shit, but he is happy to be home. Even if Jamie was now in his home. Roy unceremoniously drops down on the sofa. Phoebe is quick to sit beside him, and he smiles when she snuggles into his side. They had a fucking terrifying day, and the look of absolute fear that Phoebe had during the entire incident was burned into his retinas. It would probably haunt his fucking dreams.

“Here,” Jamie says, handing Roy a glass of water and the meds Roy's sister insisted he takes when he gets home. Roy’s neck and throat fucking hurt as he looks up at Jamie.

“Thanks,” Roy says as he takes them. Jamie just nods and goes to sit in an armchair. Roy shakes his head as Jamie tucks one leg up under him. He really couldn’t sit like a normal person, could he? At least the striker had taken his shoes off. But Roy didn’t really mind. Jamie had saved his life and taken care of Phoebe. Jamie could fucking key his car, and Roy would probably let him, today at least. Jamie pulls out his phone and starts typing away at it. After a few minutes, he looks up at the TV and then at the pair on the sofa. Phoebe had turned some kid show on that Roy’s tired brain couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of. “You guys hungry?” Jamie asks.

Roy doesn’t exactly feel like eating. But he hadn’t eaten shit at the hospital.

“You eat?” Roy asks Phoebe.

“Some,” Phoebe says. Roy looks at Jamie.

“She wasn’t exactly hungry, but I did feed her,” Jamie says. He gets up and hands Roy his phone. It had a soup and sandwich place they often got delivered to Nelson Road pulled up. “Your sister says you can’t have much, nothing pointy or crispy, but mines is already in. Add whatever.” Jamie heads back towards Roy’s kitchen. Roy could remember a time that having Jamie Tartt doing anything in his house would have annoyed him, but honestly, he was glad Jamie was there. Roy’s too fucking tired to think about much. He decides to heed his sister’s warning and gets a soup he doesn’t hate. He lets Phoebe pick what she wants before ordering it. He’ll find out how much he spent on Phoebe earlier and pay Jamie back later. When Jamie is gone for a few minutes, Roy considers getting up to see what he is doing, but Jamie returns and hands him a mug of tea.

“Figured you probably don’t keep whatever you’re allergic to in the house, so it was safe to make this. Might help your throat,” Jamie says. “Or make it worse, I’m no expert.” He hands a mug to Phoebe, who thanks him. Roy looks down and can tell that Jamie made her one of the fruity herbal teas that he keeps mostly for Phoebe, and that makes Roy pause. Because Jamie clearly has thought about a lot of details, Roy didn’t expect him to. He hadn’t asked for tea, but Jamie’s right. It might help. He knows Phoebe shouldn’t have caffeine this late in the day, especially after all the chaos of the afternoon. Her bedtime was only an hour away. Jamie had obviously considered that. And Roy has never been so glad to have Jamie around. Ever. Roy takes a drink and relaxes because whatever Jamie adds to it does actually help. He could fucking hug the man if he wasn’t so fucking knackered. And that was fucking weird. He fucking wanted to hug Jamie Tartt. Because he can remember the feeling of Jamie’s hand in his. It had been an awkward hold because Jamie had his fingers on his pulse point, but it had been more comforting than it should have been to him.

Jamie doesn't let him do shit. Doesn't even let him answer the door when the food is delivered. Jamie has Phoebe make sure of it, and it suddenly makes sense why he insists she joins them. Jamie knew Roy wouldn't make too big a fuss if she was there. She had been through enough for one day.

And Roy knows how that feels because Jamie may not have looked panicked while Roy was struggling to breathe. Roy could tell. Jamie’s eyes had been wide and filled with concern. The way Jamie’s hands had gripped him tight. It screamed, 'Don't leave me.'

After Phoebe goes to sleep, Jamie sits on the other end of the sofa and sighs.

“You good?” Roy asks.

Jamie pulls a leg up on the couch and angles himself more towards Roy. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but fuck you for not actually having that stupid epipen on you. Because fucking hell, mate.” Jamie runs a hand through his hair. “That can’t happen again. Was fucking terrifying.”

“Not exactly a fucking walk in the park for me either,” Roy says.

“I get that, but if you don’t start carrying one, then I will, because yeah, fuck that. Not doing that again.”

“You’re serious?” Roy stares at him.

“Fuck yes,” Jamie says, leaning forward. “I meant it. You don’t get to die on me.”

“Because the press will blame you,” Roy remembers.

“No…because…well, forget it,” Jamie sighs. “It’s late, and you should probably get some sleep.”

“What were you going to say?” Roy was surprised. Jamie usually isn’t one to hold back when it’s just the two of them.

“Because believe it or not, I do care about you,” Jamie admits. “Now go the fuck to bed. Because you're going to fucking need it. And so do I because I already know the team’s going to annoy you if you’re knackered. You’ll call drills and ‘m not doing those fucking knackered.”

Roy nods and says, “Fair play.”

They say goodnight.

Roy wakes up to the smell of fresh coffee and leaves his room to find Jamie and Phoebe making breakfast. Roy stops and takes in the scene in front of him. Jamie is making eggs, and Phoebe is buttered toast. Jamie had said something funny because Phoebe is laughing, and Jamie looked proud of himself. Roy gets a sudden feeling of want. And he isn’t exactly sure what that means. Obviously, coffee and food that wasn’t fucking liquid. But that wasn’t the kind of want this was. He wanted this to be a regular thing. To spend time like this. Jamie and Phoebe got on like a house of fire. And that made him insufferably endearing. Because Phoebe liking Jamie means a lot more to him than Roy even thought possible. And Jamie likes when people are happy. Roy used to think Jamie just liked the attention because of his ego. But now, Roy knows that it’s not his ego. Jamie is actually a people pleaser. Jamie craves validation. And fuck the way Jamie grins when looks at him like he is actually happy to see Roy. And Jamie said he cared about Roy. Fuck, it is too early for this many feelings.

"Morning, Coach," Jamie grins. Roy just grunts. "For the man that bangs on my door at 4 a.m. almost every day, you aren't looking much like a morning person." Roy flips him off as he gets coffee, and Jamie laughs. Phoebe giggles too. And Roy gets the strangest feeling in his chest. It stops him in his tracks. The sound of Jamie and Phoebe laughing in Roy's kitchen, even if it is at his expense, gave him fucking butterflies. That was not a feeling Roy was expecting first thing in the fucking morning. He nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand touches his shoulder. He turns, and Jamie looks at him. The jovial mood is gone, replaced by a look of concern on the striker's face. "You good? Jokes aside, you gave everyone a hell of a scare yesterday. If you're not feeling it today, you can-"

"I'm fine, Tartt. Try not to burn my flat down making breakfast," Roy says to redirect the conversation because there was no fucking way he was going to tell Jamie that it felt like his skin was electric where Jamie touched him. Fuck. Roy needed to get his shit together. This was Jamie Tartt—Prince of all pricks. But Jamie had stayed with him since Roy started having trouble breathing. And if he wasn't with Roy, he had been with Phoebe. Never leaving her until she was safe and no longer afraid. Phoebe had told him when Jamie had gone to meet the takeaway delivery driver at the door after they got home that Jamie had kept her busy and made her forget how worried she was when they were waiting at the hospital. That he only left her if he absolutely needed to and always made sure someone on staff knew she was alone so they could at least check on her. Luckily they all knew her mum, so they didn't really mind a few minutes if Jamie needed to make a call or use the loo. But he only did that once or twice because he didn't want to leave her alone in case something happened. And that hit Roy hard. Jamie really did give his all to the people in his life. He cared about Phoebe. He had no obligation to do what he had done, but Jamie didn't seem to hesitate. Just like jamming the needle into Roy's leg. No hesitation because when Jamie Tartt cared, he went fucking hard. Just like on the pitch. Nothing else mattered. He's thinking steps ahead, analyzing threats, and coming up with contingencies. Give that anxious energy of his a task, and it gets done. Not always the conventional way, but it gets done. And his current task was breakfast for the three of them.

Roy’s sister came round to pick up Phoebe after they ate.

Jamie cleans up the mess he made for breakfast, despite Roy’s protest. Jamie just shrugs him off, saying it’s just to keep busy before they head out to training.

Roy drives them both to training.

Roy finds himself watching Jamie more than usual as the team trains.

Jamie goes over as they break for lunch.

“I’m fine, Jamie. You don’t have to babysit me anymore,” Roy assures him as they head inside.

“Great, so does that mean you have no interest in getting lunch with me?” Jamie asks as he heads to the locker room.

Unlike the last couple of meals, Roy does have the ability to say no. To spend time without Jamie, but the more Roy thinks about it, he actually wants to go with Jamie. So Roy follows Jamie.

“I could eat,” Roy says and is glad he did because Jamie fucking smiles at him. And Roy’s stomach flips when Jamie nods.

Roy finds that lunch is an easy affair. They get food at the canteen and find a table. It’s nothing out of Roy’s normal day, but it feels different. It feels comforting. It helped to calm the nerves he’d had since he walked through the locker room doors, and the team bombarded him with questions. His fellow coaches kept telling him to take it easy. The med team checked in with him multiple times, and Roy just wanted things to be normal. The only person that wasn’t actually acting insane was Jamie, but Jamie had been with Roy since he first realized what had happened at the cafe. Jamie had a front-row seat to Roy getting better. And Roy realizes how much Jamie has actually been dealing with while helping Roy. He’d been the one in contact with the team. He was the one fielding two dozen people wanting to know how Roy was doing. Jamie had kept his bosses in the loop and kept anyone from bothering Roy while he was recovering. Roy set his sandwich down and looked at Jamie.

“You alright?” Jamie asks, now studying Roy closely.

“I didn’t thank you,” Roy says bluntly.

“For inviting you to get lunch where we both work?” Jamie asks.

“For fucking everything. For saving my life. For taking care of Phoebe. For dealing with these idiots,” Roy says, gesturing to the team members scattered around the tables of the canteen. “I’m a fucking prick for not thanking you sooner. So thank you, Jamie. For making sure I didn’t die because of a fucking smoothie.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jamie says.

“But I should. You didn’t have to do any of it. You could have just done nothing like most of the people there. The cafe workers barely did shit. You did it. And that’s not something I’m going to just write off. You saved my life. No one has to put on fucking suits and dress shoes for another funeral. You kept me alive. I owe you-”

“You don’t owe me shit, Roy,” Jamie says earnestly. “You’ve fucking seen me at my worst, and you didn’t hesitate to help me. Fucking hugged me, and you don’t hug anyone. You make sure I don’t fuck up and that I keep getting better. The fact you get up at fucking 3 a.m. so you can help me when you really don’t have to. You have done so fucking much for me, even when I used to be such a fucking prick. I can’t ever-”

“You’ve made me better too. You get that, right?” Roy says in all seriousness. “You challenge me the good way, always keeping me on my fucking toes. My sister and Phoebe think you bring out a fucking passion that I’d lost, that and Phoebe is fucking thrilled and keeps asking me if you’ll help her learn to ride a bike.”

“Fuck yeah,” Jamie smiles. “If I could get your stubborn arse to do it, she’ll be a delight.”

“Guess I have to buy her a fucking bike now,” Roy grins.

“Fuck off,” Jamie laughs. “You’ll fucking love every minute of it.”

“Fucking shops always upsell that shit,” Roy laments and goes back to eating, awkward feelings discussion seemingly over.”

Jamie ends up looking through bikes online and which shop to go to. Jamie doesn’t need to go with them, but he’s apparently going to. And Roy is oddly fine with the idea of Jamie joining them. To see Jamie and Phoebe doing mundane shit like he had that morning made Roy’s stomach flutter in a good way.

Roy’s flat is too quiet. He wouldn’t have minded the quiet less than two days ago, but after having Jamie and Phoebe there to fill the space had been something he didn’t know he wanted. Even when Phoebe hadn’t been there, Jamie had. Even when he was just doing dishes, Jamie just had a way of filling the space, making it feel less empty. He would chat with Roy or just fucking exist, and that was enough to make it feel less lonely. And Roy couldn’t believe he was missing Jamie fucking Tartt. He might regret it, but he ends up texting Jamie and making plans for training the next morning. Because Jamie had missed one morning, and Roy was not going to be the reason Jamie slacked off. Jamie hadn’t argued.

The next few days, Roy finds himself talking to and texting Jamie more than anyone else.

Keeley grins as she approaches Roy before their match against Brighton.

“What?” Roy grunts.

“How you feeling?” She asks.

“I’m fucking fine.” Roy is so tired of answering that question. He grunts and waves her off.

“That’s good. How’s Jamie?” She grins.

“He’s fucking ready to fuck up Brighton,” Roy states. “How else would he be?”

“You tell me since you have been chatting him up,” Keeley studies his reaction.

“Fuck off,” Roy glares at her. “I have not.”

“So you haven’t been texting him for the past few days? Like actually texting him when you don’t need to.” Roy just grunts. “Admit it, Roy-o.” Keeley smiles. “You-”

Roy pulls her aside into his office and closes the door.

“Whoa,” Keeley says, looking positively giddy. “You actually do have feelings for him, don’t you?”

“Keeley, you can’t-”

“I won’t tell anyone, but you have to tell him,” Keeley insists. “Roy, he fucking adores you. Always has, but after that shit with his dad at Wembley. And whatever happened in Amsterdam, he rarely talks about anyone else or anything. It's football, whatever PR I am helping him with, maybe his mum and you. I don't know how much he has told you, but that man fucking cried when he got home the other day. Like it was over 24 hours later, and it's like he finally could process everything. And the idea of losing you fucking hit him like a bus."

"He did not tell me that," Roy says.

"Of fucking course not. He probably thinks you'd think he's needy or too clingy."

"Fuck," Roy says as he sits down. He'd thought a lot about Jamie the last few days. But the idea that Jamie could feel the same way had never crossed his mind. Sure, Jamie said he cared for Roy. But they were mates now, and that was enough for Roy. Or it had been. "You really had to do this right before a fucking match," Roy says with a glare at Keeley.

"Sorry, not sorry," Keeley says and goes off to find Rebecca.

They win because Jamie Tartt is a fucking mastermind on the pitch. Knows exactly where the ball needs to go and how to get it there. And Roy couldn't be more proud of him. As Roy makes his way out onto the pitch, he has the urge to fucking kiss the striker in front of a stadium full of fans. And that is a very fucking bad idea. So instead, he hugs Jamie and tells him he did fucking great.

When the team makes it to the locker room, Jamie is flying high on the win and the fact Roy had actually smiled at him and hugged him. And Jamie doesn’t think his day can get better. But Roy drags him into the boot room, and before Jamie can say anything, Roy says he wants to kiss Jamie. Jamie just fucking nods, and then Roy fucking kisses him, and Jamie wonders if he is the one that almost died a few days ago because this has to be a dream because Roy has him backed against one of the shelves. One hand is in Jamie’s hair, and the other gripping his hip, and Jamie can only pull him closer and kiss him back. The door opens, and an amused Will walks in. Roy goes to pull away, but Jamie won't let him.

“Don’t mind us, Mr. Kitman,” Jamie chuckles as he steps to the side and takes Roy by the wrist. Roy says nothing and refuses to make eye contact with Will as Jamie drags him out of the room. “Want to get out of here?” Jamie says lowly to Roy, looking up at him from under his lashes. And Roy answers him by gripping his face and kissing him again.

“Get your shit,” Roy says. “And get your arse in the fucking car.” Jamie fucking moans into Roy’s mouth when he kisses him one last time. Earning a few interesting looks from the nearest players, but no one says anything about it. No one gives them shit. And Roy can appreciate that. Jamie quickly gets out of his sweaty kit and shoves his jacket in his bag because fuck that. He’s in a hurry, and Roy is watching him with amusement because he is less than graceful as he hurries. They don’t say a word to anyone as they leave. They barely say anything until they are locked away in Roy’s flat.

“You know the entire team will know by tonight, right?” Jamie says as he kicks off his shoes and tosses his bag near the wall.

“Fuck ‘em,” Roy says as he takes his jacket off and tosses it aside.

“Rather be the one fucked,” Jamie grins, and Roy growls. “That’s some articulate response there, coach. Didn’t quite get that, did you-” Roy cuts Jamie off with an aggressive kiss. It’s all passion and teeth as he bites Jamie’s lip. Jamie gives him what he wants and opens his mouth to him. Roy pins him to the wall and fucking explores Jamie as well as he can while they are both fully clothed in the fucking hallway. And as much as Jamie would happily let Roy fuck him against the wall in his entryway, he knows Roy’s knee is fucked, and he wants Roy to actually enjoy being with Jamie. So Jamie has to pull away. Roy growls when, again, Jamie slips out from between him and where Roy had him pinned. But his annoyance is gone when he looks over at Jamie. Jamie is already pulling his shirt over his head and heading down the hall.

“You coming or what?” Jamie smirks as he tosses his shirt at Roy. Roy catches it and drops it on top of Jamie’s bag, and follows Jamie down the hall. He tugs his own shirt off as he reaches his bedroom and tosses it aside. Jamie’s trackies are gone. Roy can understand why Keeley went back to Jamie for a good time after they broke up because fucking hell, Jamie Tartt had to have been sculpted by a higher power. And Roy doesn’t hesitate. He’s on Jamie before the smug prick can make a joke about Roy eye fucking him. A breathless laugh is all Jamie manages as Roy gets Jamie in his bed. Jamie is less talkative in bed than Roy would have thought. Sure, he had a fucking dirty mouth, but Roy fucking loves the wordless noises that Jamie makes as Roy methodically takes him apart and fucking ruins Jamie Tartt. The way Jamie moans his name pushes Roy over the edge, and they both end up panting for breath side by side in Roy’s bed. But that has an unexpected reaction from Jamie. Roy had expected him to maybe be a cuddler. Jamie is on his side and looking down at Roy, studying him. And Roy realizes Jamie is a lot less relaxed than he was a second ago.

“What?” Roy manages to ask. “What’s wrong?” And Roy is unnerved when Jamie just shakes his head lays down with his head on Roy’s chest. Jamie is silent. His ear was over Roy’s heart.

And Roy gets it. Roy had been trying to catch his breath. The last time Jamie heard him struggling to breathe was far less enjoyable for both of them. So he runs his fingers through Jamie’s hair silently. But he knows he has to say something when he hears Jamie sniffle.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” Roy says, wrapping his arms around Jamie to emphasize his point.

"Sorry," Jamie mutters.

"Don't be," Roy says honestly.

"That's the thing, I know you're fine, I really do." He shifts so he can see Roy.

"Bit better than fine," Roy grins.

Jamie huffs a laugh, but it seems half-hearted.

"I know but-"

"But it is an impulsive reaction. No rationality to it. Just you hear it, and you can't help but react."

"Yeah, fucking annoying," Jamie laments.

"It's fucking adorable," Roy says.

"Is not," Jamie says. "Me being stupid afraid is not adorable."11

"It's a trauma reaction, Jamie," Roy tells him. "PTSD shit. You can't predict what triggers that shit. You know that. I think it's adorable because it means even when you aren't worried about what is going on, part of your brain is still making sure I'm not dying."

"Well, it doesn't feel adorable," Jamie sighs. Move until he can tuck his head into Roy's neck. Roy holds him close.

"I'm sure it doesn't," Roy agrees. "But we can work on it. If it's trauma-based, then it'll get better in time."

"Except it could fucking happen again," Jamie points out.

"And we'll fucking deal with it again if it does."

"Roy," Jamie moves to get up. And Roy lets him because he knows Jamie does not do well if he can't move.

"Jamie," Roy says back, and it somehow sounds like a challenge, and Jamie doesn't know what to say now. Roy shakes his head and disappears into his bathroom. He tosses something Jamie catches on muscle memory alone. Jamie looks down, and it's another EpiPen.

"There, and there's a new one in the glove box, and Gayle got two more for Nelson Road. They already have them for public first aid. One is in my desk, and the other is in the treatment room now too. Does that make you feel better?"

"It does a bit," Jamie says.

"Just a bit?"

"Means you took what I said seriously," Jamie says.

"Of fucking course I did," Roy says as he starts to put on a pair of pants. "Did you think I would just shrug it off?"

"Maybe," Jamie says as he gets partially dressed.

"Well, I didn't because it fucking sucked for me but also for you and Phoebe. And the team."

"You also could have fucking died," Jamie says flatly, and Roy goes over to him and pulls him close.

"But I didn't because of you. And I'll try and make sure it won't happen again. Can't fucking guarantee anything, but I will try because I don't want any of you to worry."

"I'm going to worry, just like you do," Jamie says. "Because I care."

"And it blows my fucking mind you do," Roy admits.

"Fuck it," Jamie says and drags Roy towards the ensuite. "We're going to shower, then getting food, and then get fucking dirty again."

"Sounds good to me."

#tw: allergic reactions #tw: Content warning: Allergic Reactions #tw: Hospitals #tw: needles #tw: epipens #tw: medical emergencies #tw: ptsd #tw: trauma reactions #tw: anaphylaxis #roy kent #ted lasso fic #jamie tartt #jamie x roy #roy x jamie #royjamie #phoebe kent #phoebe o'sullivan #phoebe ted lasso

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