#pretend the bear in the pic has a green jingle vest

[staceymcgillicuddy]

Day 21: Hugs

@hellcheerxmas

December 1986 Hawkins, Indiana

“Dude, what the fuck?” 

Eddie slams his locker shut, nearly clamping Gareth’s nose inside. Which is as much as the little shit deserves for sticking it firmly where it doesn’t belong.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says as he leans against the metal door, aiming for nonchalance. 

“There was a bear.” 

“Fuck off, go to class.” 

“It had a hat—”

“Go to class,” he hisses, and the Dungeon Master voice doesn’t work on Gareth anymore, but Eddie likes to think he projects a modicum of authority. Sometimes. Maybe. 

“Whatever, Eddie.” Gareth snickers and hoists his backpack onto his shoulder. “Good luck with that.” 

Eddie watches him go. Waits until the hallway clears out and the bell rings (so he’s skipping English; he knows how to read) before he opens his locker again.

Sitting on the top shelf is, indeed, a bear. And not just any bear. A polar bear. A polar bear wearing a red Santa hat and a green vest with bells all over it, and one of its feet has a sticker that says squeeze me. 

He's no fool—he ain’t squeezing shit—but he does pull out the crisp white envelope that’s been neatly placed in the bear’s lap. 

Dear Eddie, 

This is Mr. Hugs. He loves you. Merry Christmas.

Best wishes, Mrs. Claus

P.S. This is revenge

He sighs. Grabs the jingling bear and tries to muffle it against his jacket because he can’t leave it in his locker and he can’t throw it in the trash, so his only option is to get it to the van without anyone seeing. 

Which might have worked if not for the fact that he runs into Lucas Sinclair holding a hall pass when he’s halfway to the back door. 

“Hey, Sinclair,” he says like he’s not holding a giant Christmas teddy bear to his chest. 

“Hey, Eddie.” Lucas, a nice kid, is trying not to smirk. “What’s uh… that?” 

“Oh, this? This is Mr. Hugs.” Because what else the fuck is he going to say?

“Uh-huh.” 

“It’s not what it looks like.” 

“It doesn’t look like anything.” 

“Right. What are the chances of you not telling Henderson about this?” 

Lucas considers his options, then shrugs. “My mouth stays shut if you let my sister start coming to Hellfire next semester.” 

Eddie groans. “I told you, man. It’s not a babysitting service.” 

A shrug and Lucas folds his arms. Eddie inadvertently squeezes the bear a bit tighter, which is when a tinny, mechanical voice spouts, “Ho-ho-haaaaappy holidays from Mr. Hugs!”

Lucas can’t keep from snorting. Eddie grits his teeth. “Fine. But she’d better come prepared,” he says before sprinting for the exit.

Luckily, he doesn’t run into anyone else between Sinclair and the parking lot, where his van waits like some sacred oasis. 

Chrissy’s sitting in the back when he gets there, painting her nails and flipping through a magazine like she’s not an evil little Christmas imp. She has a free period when he has English, and she says being in the van beats study hall, so he gave her his extra key. 

“Dude,” he says when he sees her, and she looks up all beatific, batting those big, baby blues. “I have a reputation.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He launches Mr. Hugs against the back of the passenger seat. The bear drops to the floor with a squealed “Meeeeeeerry Christmas!”

She lifts her hand to her mouth and blows on her nails, then shrugs. “I think he’s cute.” 

“You think he’s—” 

“Maybe think twice before insulting Boy George next time, Munson.”

Eddie frowns, because when did he even do that? Except, yeah, last weekend. Rick’s place. Chrissy and Rick wanted to listen to Colour By Numbers, and Eddie’d been… like, maybe more of a dick about that than the situation warranted. But still!

“That’s disproportionate, Cunningham!”

Another shrug, but she’s tamping down a giggle.

“Whatever. You’re such a fucking freak.”

Chrissy doesn’t disagree, and he spends the rest of her free period doing his best not to smudge her nail polish.