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winchestershiresauce · 1 year ago

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VERA OH MY GOD! This was so... Aaaahhhh! The feelings! I don't even have anything productive to say because I'm very tired but my god, I love this. I was just begging for a happy ending through the whole thing, even when I wanted to slap Eddie's fucking face for what he was doing... I felt this so much. Amazing job.

Your Graduation

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Eddie didn't remember much of his first senior year. But he remembered you. Now, after finally graduating, he just hoped you'd forgive him for the way that first year ended. Warnings: Bullying, self-esteem issues, anxiety, blink and you'll miss it parent issues, maybe a vague mention of Hawkins being Hawkins; anything else, let me know and I'll tag it. Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader Word Count: 9.8k

Eddie Munson couldn’t remember much of his first senior year.

The whole thing was a blur, a barely there flash of moments he was glad to forget, but he remembered how rough it was. Some things hadn’t changed - taunts still followed him and so did the name calling - but it was worse then, hurt more when the torment came from people his own age, people he’d known most of his life and once naively pretended were his friends.

Back then, Eddie was still settling into his own. He knew who he wanted to be - or, more accurately, who he didn’t - but he still stumbled. Hellfire was in something of an infancy, only a year or two old after he’d dragged it from an informal gathering with a handful of people to an official school club, and Corroded Coffin was just starting to become a serious pursuit. It was before they began playing at The Hideout on Tuesdays and he’d fucked up his hair with black boxed dye so badly that he’d been tempted to shave his head again. At that point, he’d only just begun dressing the way he really wanted and his skin wasn’t quite as thick; had no ink and no armor to protect himself from the teenage bullshit.

Things hadn’t changed very much, hadn’t gotten much easier, but it was more tolerable; better. He was better.

It was difficult to remember the classes he skipped, the books he thumbed through, the assignments he ignored, the dances he was never invited to, but Eddie had a handful of memories that all centered around one thing; you. In fact, the only thing he really remembered from his first senior year - and the only thing he never wanted to forget - was you.

Eddie considered himself to be a man with few regrets but his biggest was that he hadn’t taken the leap and gotten to know you sooner.

For years, until August of 1983 - the first week of classes, the first week of what should’ve been his year - you never really ran in the same circles. Eddie was the freak, an outcast among outcasts, and you were beloved by all. There were only a handful of people who would be caught dead speaking to him but it seemed as if everyone wanted to speak to you.

The basketball players, their cheerleader girlfriends, the swimmers, the football players, the pretty girls who couldn’t be bothered to actually attend gym, the burnouts, the theater kids, even the terrified freshmen; you somehow fit with them all, alternated sitting at their tables or stopping by to say hello, and always received bright smiles in return.

Sometimes he wondered how you did it, floating around the school with a smile as everyone just let you in without hesitation, but then you turned your charm on him.

Every time you caught his eye in the hall or across the crowded lunchroom, you smiled at him. If a teacher stuck you with him for a project, you never huffed and puffed in the same way so many others would; you simply slid your chair a little closer to his and smiled, bright and pretty, as you asked him what he thought about the topic at hand. There was never a sneer on your lips at his presence, never so much as a wary look, and you never cowered in fear if he brushed a little too close in the hallway, always on accident. You were nice to him, even when you didn’t have to be, and he appreciated it.

You and Eddie weren’t friends but you never made him feel as if there was a reason for that.

The day that changed, the day you became friends, was nearly the clearest day in his memory of that first senior year - overshadowed only by the day he kissed you for the first time.

Eddie found you in the woods on a Thursday, sat at the picnic table he’d claimed as his own, after a particularly rough pop quiz. The eyeliner you wore had been scrubbed away, harshly chipped at by soft fingers desperate to rid your face of the evidence, though a few wayward streaks stained your skin in a way that confirmed you’d been crying.

Everything always seemed to easy for you, so fucking effortless, and Eddie remembered his surprise when you admitted that some things - math, mostly, and science; classes that weren’t English, not rooted in some kind of thoughtful analysis that allowed you to delve into thought and feeling and intention - left you struggling.

That soft laugh, a little deflated and a little self-deprecating but entirely devoid of humor, you offered when you acknowledged how stupid it was to get so worked up over a grade still rang in his ears if he sat quiet for long enough. The beginning of that conversation was a little watery - you sat with your bottom lip quivering, eyes rimmed red and falling to the table in a display so shy it took him by surprise - but he understood. You were trying to get out of Hawkins, trying to make something of yourself, and a scholarship was the only way to do it.

In an effort to lighten your mood, Eddie did all he could to take your mind off it. He grabbed a handful of tapes from his van and introduced you to his favorite bands. He played Black Sabbath and Dio and Metallica, laughed when you wrinkled your nose and grinned when you got into the rhythm of one of his favorites. He spent the afternoon hiding in the woods with you, drawing little bits of your personality out piece by beautiful piece, and he’d give anything for one more day, just like that one.

That was the first time you’d ever cut class, the first time you’d broken the rules, but - perhaps more importantly - it was the first time Eddie shared thoughts he’d only ever dreamed of breathing aloud. It was your first attempt at chipping away his walls and you didn’t even notice.

Eddie always thought you were pretty, a true vision even in garish green and gold as you wandered the halls of Hawkins High, but that day really sealed his fate. He saw you then, up close and personal, and could still see the details permanently etched into his field of vision if he concentrated hard enough.

The shape of your lips, rounding around soft admissions and breaking apart in delighted laughter at his stupid little jokes; the twinkle in your eyes, warm and so bright in the late afternoon sunlight, sparkling as you glanced at him from beneath your lashes; the softness of your cheeks, puffing with feigned annoyance when he teased you for admitting your love for disco.

Everything about you was beautiful, bright and warm and brilliant, and all Eddie wanted was to bask in your glow.

After that conversation, when night began to fall and early fall sun began to give way to an Indiana night, he drove you home and thanked every deity he could remember when the scent of your perfume lingered in his van the next morning. That conversation was the confirmation he’d dreamt of - confirmation he’d feared - as it told him your soft smiles and pretty eyes weren’t shown to him in pity.

Though he’d never admit it to anyone - except you, maybe, if you ever pressed - he’d been afraid. Not of you, never of you, but of falling for you. He always knew it would be easy, almost alarmingly so, and that it would end in a broken heart on his behalf. There was no other way it could go. Not for him, never for him.

That certainty made him keep you at a distance as he told himself for months that your smiles, the soft looks and quiet laughter at his antics, meant nothing. He convinced himself that you pitied him, that you simply hated the way other students talked to him because you couldn’t stand seeing anyone hurt, and that you’d do the same for anyone else in his shoes.

But that day, something bright and warm blossomed in his chest when you waved at him from your front steps. It curled around his lungs, tendrils squeezing tight every time he thought of you, and made it hard to breathe. Though fall was just beginning, the days seemed brighter somehow and as the warmth consumed him, lapped at his skin and left him floating, he began to grow accustomed to the feeling.

Eddie always wanted you to be a part of his life but never dared dream that you would want the same. Even when you made it clear that you enjoyed his presence, he never believed there was anything other than friendship on your mind. In a desperate bid to protect himself, he decided that it was reciprocity, maybe - a few hours of your time for weed, for someone to fix that rattle in your car that always disappeared before the mechanics at Thatcher’s could hear it, for a shoulder to cry on when someone better than him lost their mind and rejected you - but never could he have imagined you would want him the way he so desperately wanted you.

It was shameful to admit, a secret he would’ve kept had you not chipped away at the walls he so carefully spent years constructing, but Eddie dreamt that you would just hold his hand. For far too long, he imagined being able to hold you in his arms - to look at you, to trace the slope of your lips with his thumb before tugging you into a soft kiss that left you flustered - and he sometimes worried reality would never live up to his dreams.

With you, though, reality always seemed infinitely better than anything he could dream up. He only wondered how long he would continue to get lucky.

When you kissed him for the first time, it was both completely expected and the biggest shock of his life.

Everyone but him saw it coming.

Though your friendship took years to build, that initial spark - a flicker of sun magnified on the ash of a bad day - quickly became an all-consuming wildfire. The pair of you went from barely acknowledging one another to attached at the hip seemingly overnight. Within a week of that conversation, more often than not, your free time was spent with him.

Eddie’s bedroom consistently smelled of weed and green apple shampoo, a little patchouli cologne and cigarette smoke - coffee and hairspray, if the day called for it - but it soon began to smell of you, too. The sweet, warm summer of your perfume, the soft rose of your shampoo, the bright mint of your gum; he breathed it in, allowed it to fill his lungs each morning, and reveled in the warmth that filled the pit of his stomach. He needed it, craved it, desperate for just a fraction of your presence, and would’ve been embarrassed had it been anyone else.

Pieces of you - soft scrunchies, tubes of sticky pink lipgloss, half-empty bottles of nail polish, fashion magazines, pop cassette tapes - began to accumulate. In his bedroom, in his van, in his locker; soon, it seemed that everywhere he looked, there were little reminders of you. It was comforting to be surrounded by your presence and, more than that, eased the ache in his chest when he realized that your weekends were spent in his bed rather than in the backseat of some meathead’s car.

Still, he sometimes wondered if it was all a dream.

In fact, he nearly grew convinced that it was all some vivid hallucination right around Christmas. When you handed him a neatly wrapped package, a soft smile on your lips, he teased you for the pretty bow you’d spent too long tying. To shut him up, you pressed yourself onto your toes and captured his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. You couldn’t look him in the eye when you pulled away, soft lips curved into a giddy smile, and he couldn’t stop himself from dragging you back in for another kiss.

That day was simultaneously the best and worst of Eddie’s life.

That was the day Eddie realized there could be more to your relationship, that you could love him, too - he was so far gone then, stuttering and shy and deep in the throes of his first love. It was the day he realized he could see a future with you, especially as time wore on and you grew closer and closer. Much to his surprise, your affection only grew when dragged into the light. You sat with him and the Hellfire Club at lunch, spent your afternoons studying with him in the library after practice, spent your weekends exploring long forgotten spaces hidden around Hawkins, had sporadic dinners at the diner and sat in the grass to read as he worked on his van.

There was never any attempt on your part to hide your love, to pretend that you were anything other than head over heels for Eddie Munson - reputation be damned - and everything should’ve been perfect. Eddie had everything he’d ever wanted but that didn’t matter very much.

As desperate as he’d been to make you his, to call you his girl and smirk at the jocks who thought they still had a chance, the day you kissed him was the day he realized that he couldn’t. You were his in all the ways that mattered - you slept in his bed more often than your own, slipped pieces of his wardrobe into your own and wore them for everyone to see, held his hand in the halls and kissed him before heading to class - but he could never bring himself to make it official.

In the eyes of everyone else, you were his girlfriend but not once was he able to call you that. To everyone else, it was obvious just how much you loved one another - they heard you whisper it before class, a little shy but never ashamed, and Eddie could recall every single time those three little words spilled past your lips - but he’d never been able to return them.

Eddie knew you were under the impression that he was simply nervous, hesitant to admit his feelings because he’d never received romantic attention before, but he was so far past self-preservation when it came to you that he would’ve told you he loved you the moment you kissed him had he not realized you had no future.

In October, well before he even considered he had a chance with you, Eddie realized there was no way out of Hawkins; not for him, not in 1984, anyway. He tried desperately - studied harder than he ever had, let you make him flashcards and actually used them, hid in the library and read the awful books Ms. O’Donnell assigned - but it was never enough. You built him up, reminded him that he was smart and capable, but no matter how hard he tried, his grades remained a flat line of crushing disappointment.

Not a single day passed without you encouraging him, pushing him forward with sweet words and bright smiles, but it was no use.

In late May of 1984, underneath the blistering Indiana summer sky, you walked across the stage while he watched from the bleachers.

During your time together, Eddie learned a few important facts about you. One, you would stop at nothing to encourage him; two, you were selfless to a fault; and, three, if you felt that he needed you, you would do everything in your power to help him.

Eddie knew that if push came to shove - and it had, because he’d pushed desperately to graduate and had been shoved straight back into a second senior year - you would entertain the idea of sticking around, just for a year, to help him graduate.

As much as he loved you, there was no way he was going to be the reason you abandoned your dreams.

By never making your relationship official, by never telling you just how desperately he loved you, Eddie hoped it would be easier for you to let him go. The last conversation you had was one he desperately tried to forget - one in which he yelled, the first time he’d ever raised his voice at you, that you were better off without him - but it played on a loop in his mind.

Instead of promising he would call or write, that he would do his best to graduate and join you, he denied ever loving you. He stood in your driveway and watched, cheeks stained with tears and hands trembling, as you tore out of Hawkins. You’d gotten into a school in Illinois, one you’d talked about the entire time you were together, and he’d spat that you were better off there, forgetting all about him.

Still, at first, you tried.

Eddie wondered if you’d seen right through him - you were good at that; knowing exactly when he was lying, when he was retreating into himself in hopes of protecting his fragile heart - but he felt guilty. The glassy look in your eyes, the quiver of your bottom lip, the trembling of your fingers, the soft gasp of hurt; it haunted him, lingered every time he closed his eyes, and was made worse with every effort you made.

Despite how things ended, you sent letters and postcards and even a care package. You called, spoke to Wayne a handful of times, and even knocked on his door in December when you came home for break. He knew that you were desperate to at least see his face, to try and make sense of how quickly he pushed you away, but he couldn’t. Eddie knew that one look at you would break him, would convince him that he’d made a mistake, and he couldn’t do that.

Instead, he ended up with a shoebox full of letters, all from you and all unopened. He refused to read them, refused to let himself wonder what words were hidden inside even as he lay awake at night, but he still dreaded the day they stopped arriving. Most days, he struggled to remember the date but if you asked, he could tell you exactly when the last letter arrived.

It was only a matter of time before he ran into you, he knew that. Your family still lived in Hawkins - your parents, your little brother - and when the summer after your freshman year of college and his second unsuccessful senior year rolled around, he waited with bated breath for you to return. Eddie never cared much for gossip but he listened intently for even a whisper of news about your return.

Finally, he heard that you’d decided to stay in Chicago and he decided to stay in his bedroom for the remainder of the summer.

As time passed, Eddie wondered when you would return. Soon, however, summer turned to fall and then to winter and he heard - through the grapevine, once again - that your family was headed to Chicago to spend the holidays with you. It seemed as if you were avoiding Hawkins and, truth be told, he couldn’t blame you. If he ever made it out, he planned to never look back.

However, your return was inevitable.

Eddie knew that you would be in town for the class of 1986’s graduation; that was never a doubt in his mind. Though you kept your distance, your brother was in his class, spared him glances in the hallway and told Jason Carver to fuck off any time he witnessed something he shouldn’t, and there was no way you were going to miss seeing him walk across the stage.

Whispers spread through town when you arrived, murmurs of your name filled his ears each time he wandered the halls, and he was grateful that nearly everyone seemed to have forgotten your momentary lapse in judgement. Still, he held his breath any time he was forced to enter a local building - Family Video, Bradley’s, the gas station, the diner, Thatcher’s - just in case, even though he never expected to see you in any of them.

The one place he knew you wouldn’t be was exactly where he found you.

For the first time in two years, you stood in Eddie’s line of sight and he was struck with an understanding of what people meant when they said that someone had both changed completely and not at all.

Physically, there were only a handful of minute differences. Even from a distance, he could see that a few more piercings littered your ears, your hair had gotten a little longer and your cheeks a little thinner, your thighs and hips a little fuller. The last time he saw you, you were eighteen and terrified, heartbroken and miserable; now, you looked sure of yourself, more confident and at home in your own skin.

Long gone were the muted tones and modest skirts you used to wear. In their place, you wore a dark mini-skirt that exposed most of your thigh, something he’d only seen in a magazine, and a tank top. The jean jacket that covered them both was oversized, littered with patches and pins, and Eddie wondered - only briefly - if it was yours or if you’d borrowed it from a boyfriend.

The thought of you with anyone else filled him with a jealousy he couldn’t stand. It was unreasonable - he was the one who broke things off with you, was the one who refused to keep trying - and he knew that. But as he stood at the bottom of the staircase and observed you, his heart hammered so hard against his ribcage that he fleetingly feared it might leap through his skin.

Warm light spilled from the windows and illuminated your figure, cast a dim glow about the small space that allowed him the luxury of studying you. He could see silver jewelry glint every time you moved your hands - rings, that looked a hell of a lot like his, and bracelets that jingled with every gesture - and it seemed nearly impossible to breathe as he watched you throw your head back in a laugh.

Eddie had thought about you every day since you left. Somedays, it was for hours; others, it was simply in passing. Not a day had gone by, however, that he hadn’t thought of you at least once. There was no question that he’d missed you, no question that he still loved you. In fact, Eddie was of the opinion that he wouldn’t be able to get over you, even if he tried.

He knew in August of 1983 that you were it for him but now, he wondered if he’d been it for you.

As he stood, rooted to his spot at the foot of the stairs, he watched you lean against the railing beside your brother’s girlfriend. The swaying of your body told him you were on the verge of having too much, a little looser than he’d ever seen you in public as you pursed your lips and frowned at the cup in your hand.

“He’s a nice guy,” he heard you say, words stringing together a little too quick - a little fuzzier, a little clunkier than the carefully chosen words and measured cadence he still heard in his dreams. Despite that, your voice sounded just as he remembered and, were it not for the subject matter, he would’ve been content to close his eyes and listen for as long as you continued speaking. “I just… I don’t think I could love him forever.”

Eddie felt as if his world were crashing down around him. Though he’d thought of you daily, he never once considered the possibility that you were seeing someone else. It was possibly naive of him, or maybe a selfish, subconscious wish - after all, he hadn’t seen anyone else since you left, hadn’t even tried - but the breath he’d been holding caught in his throat as he waited for you to continue.

“I don’t even know if I love him now. I haven’t found anyone that I could see a future with since -” Again, selfishly, Eddie hoped that his name was on the tip of your tongue. He nearly broke when you cut yourself off, sent himself barreling up the stairs to ask the question. Your admission was comforting in a way he knew it shouldn’t be and it was selfish, but he hoped that you were thinking about him. He hoped that you missed him in the way that he missed you, that you still loved him, but he’d never really been that lucky.

The girl beside you offered some kind of reply, words of comfort that Eddie missed as the door opened and a handful of people stepped out into the night air, and he took that as his chance to ascend the stairs. Though he’d graduated himself and should’ve been celebrating, all he’d wanted was to make a few bucks before returning to his bed.

Now, all he wanted was to go home.

Had you been anyone else, he would’ve stepped right by and walked on without stopping, slipped into the open door and hid amongst the crowd - even though he’d never wanted anything more than to stop and take a look at you, catalogue all of the minute changes up close and personal. But you called his name, soft voice wrapping around each letter just as pretty as he remembered, and his body reacted before his mind could catch up.

“I thought that was you.” The words were less slurred than he thought they should be, a little easier to understand and coherent enough, as he turned to face you. Eddie barely noticed the girl at your side slip away - barely noticed anything that wasn’t you; your eyes, your lips, your hand wrapped around a cup of spiked punch. “The hair suits you.”

Eddie couldn’t really remember what he’d looked like the last time he saw you. There weren’t many photos of him in the first place but the ones you took with him - tucked beneath his arm, grinning as he made faces; smiling bright as he played guitar, watching with such careful focus; settled on his lap, face hidden in the crook of his neck - were hidden away. They lived in a shoebox, stuffed beneath his bed and slotted right beside the box of unopened letters, because he hoped he might forget what you looked like if he avoided looking at you for long enough.

That was never really a possibility, however, when he saw your face in almost every dream he had.

He knew that his hair hadn’t been quite as long - a little past his shoulders, almost awkward in length - and not quite as unruly. Despite himself, he’d wondered, often idly, what you would think of it.

For the first time in a long time, Eddie was struck silent. There wasn’t really much he could say other than, “Thanks. Yours does, too.”

Another minute change, but one Eddie noticed immediately. Your hair fell a little longer than he’d ever seen it, had been ironed straight and teased at the roots, but Eddie liked it. It reminded him of something out of one of his magazines, the pretty metalhead girls who wore leather and should’ve starred in his fantasies instead of you, and he struggled to keep himself from staring too long.

Silence had never been awkward between you. Even in the beginning, back before you knew how to be yourselves together, silence was tentative but usually broken by giggles. It was sweet, a nervous pause between young lovers who’d never been struck that hard by Cupid’s arrow, but those days were long gone.

The silence seemed to stretch endlessly, stifling and so fucking heavy Eddie feared he might crumble under the weight of it, but he couldn’t break it. Before that moment, he’d written lists - songs, poems, actual, honest to god lists - of things he wanted to say to you, if the universe would just give him a chance.

But when he looked into your eyes for the first time in two years, nothing seemed right.

Eddie swore his heart hadn’t beat that hard since the day you left but as your eyes traced his skin, flickered over the new splotches of ink peeking out from the collar of his shirt or the scar on his chin from a fight the summer before, his chest ached with the force of it.

“Congratulations,” you finally said, breaking the horrible stalemate and drawing Eddie’s gaze back to your own. “On, you know, graduating and flipping Higgins off. It’s been a long time coming.”

If anyone asked, Eddie would say that he came up with that plan all on his own. Higgins had it out for him, always had - just because he was a kid from the trailer park who wore black and listened to music a little too loud - and no one could question why exactly Eddie would’ve thought to defy Higgins as his final act.

That wasn’t the case, however.

The idea emerged less than a month before he destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to him. He remembered the weight of your body, half atop his - the warmth of your fingertips, lightly tracing the few scattered tattoos that stained his skin; the scent of your shampoo as he buried his face in your hair, eyes closed and so content - as you lounged in his bed. The conversation faded in and out, a handful of sentences spoken between puffs of smoke, but he remembered the way your eyes lit up at the mention of his second senior year.

“I think,” you’d whispered, as if you were sharing an important secret, “you should tell Higgins to fuck off. After you get your diploma, though. Oh, or flip him off! He deserves it.”

“Yeah. I was starting to worry he’d retire before I got the chance.” The joke sounded weak in his own ears, a half-hearted quip uttered to stave off that horrible silence, and he hoped the ground would open up and swallow him whole as he folded his arms over his chest. “Eighty-six was my year, I guess.”

There was a set to your shoulders that told him you weren’t amused. That furrow of your brow told him you were thinking, seriously weighing every word you could possibly breathe aloud, and Eddie hated it. He hated that he’d ruined the ease with which you’d always interacted, hated that you couldn’t just speak your thoughts aloud in the way you used to. He hated that you stood, lips parting but silence remaining unbroken as you thought better of every word you wanted to speak.

Most of all, he hated that now that he finally had you in his sight once more, the only thing he wanted to do was run.

“I should -“

“Amanda’s probably -“

A confused cluster of words filled the quiet as you both tried to speak at the same time. Eddie’s cheeks tinted pink, warm and blistering as he felt a white-hot shame fill his chest. Cowardice had him running, looking for an exit after years of hoping for a chance to get you back, but that was what he’d always done.

When faced with difficulty, Eddie Munson ran.

So, when you gestured for him to speak first, Eddie cleared his throat. “I should go,” he declared, casting a cursory glance at the open door he no longer wanted to enter. “I was just - I shouldn’t have come, anyway.”

That much was true - Eddie had never been invited to parties, had never been particularly welcome when his stash ran out - but he likely would’ve stayed, just to make a few extra bucks if you hadn’t stopped him dead in his tracks.

Some small part of him hoped for a fight, hoped that you would argue and ask him to stay, but that hope did little to quell his surprise when you scoffed. “Jesus, Eddie, this is such bullshit. It’s so fucking stupid,” you asserted, dropping your empty drink onto the railing and taking an angry step closer. “We’re tiptoeing around one another and I hate it. I…” He waited, breath caught in his throat and heart seeming to still in his chest, as you took a deep breath before meeting his gaze once more. “I miss you. You fucking miss me. Just… just say it and let’s get this shit over with.”

Eddie expected anger, he expected your hard feelings and upset. But to hear that you missed him, to hear that you hated the uncertainty and discontent that lingered between you both just as much as he did, kicked his seemingly frozen heart back into overdrive.

Suddenly, the bubble he’d been in - the island that consisted of you and him alone - popped and he was painfully aware of where you stood.

From the corner of his eye, Eddie could see faces peering through the open windows. Familiar faces - your brother, Jason, Harrington, Robin; people who knew and maybe cared about one, or both, of you - watched with wide eyes and bated breath. The noise of the party had stalled, dulled to a murmur as everyone was reminded of your history and the question they’d asked so many times after your initial demise.

What had Eddie done to lose you?

That was never a conversation he pictured having in front of an audience, not one he wanted the friends he still couldn’t believe he had to hear, so he shook his head.

“Why does it matter? That doesn’t change anything.” Eddie sighed, arms falling to his sides as he shook his head once more. There was little his confession would do. Admitting he missed you wouldn’t change the past and it would only serve to make the future harder. So, he refused. “Just… go back to the party, okay. I’m leaving.”

There was a shimmer to your eyes that he hated, a glimmer of unshed tears in the dim glow of light filtering through windows, and he wondered just how many times you’d let him make you cry before you finally let him go. There was a roiling in the pit of his stomach, a sick feeling that made his chest ache, but that pain was nothing compared to the sting of your response.

“Aren’t you tired of running away, Eddie? Doesn’t taking the easy way out get old?” He wanted to be angry but the feeling that gripped his lungs and squeezed until he felt incapable of drawing the slightest breath was one of sorrow. You were right, but that made it hurt that much more.

“That’s not -“

“Not what, Eddie? Not fair?” A laugh, harsh and angrier than he imagined you capable of, escaped as you pushed away from the railing entirely and brushed past him to reach the top of the steps. “Yeah, well, neither was you pushing me away with some bullshit excuse and then hiding from me when I tried to figure out what I’d done.” Another scoff, this one accompanied by a defeated slump of your shoulders as you began descending the stairs with careful steps. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m going for a walk. I guess I’ll see you around.”

Eddie watched for a moment as you wobbled on unsteady legs. You weren’t drunk, but you’d had enough that he couldn’t let you leave alone. With a heavy sigh - and without a glance spared at the audience you’d amassed - he called your name and followed you down the stairs.

“Stop.” He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, careful not to grab, but quickly recoiled when you jerked away from him. “You’re drunk. Let me take you home,” he offered, tugging his keys from the pocket of his jacket.

“Fuck off, Eddie. I’m not drunk and I don’t need your help.”

From the corner of his eye, Eddie could see your brother moving to linger at the top of the steps - ready to step in should you need him, should you both find yourselves overwhelmed in the situation at hand - and sighed. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he urged, voice soft as he took a tentative step forward. “I’ll drop you off and then leave you alone, alright?”

For a long moment, he waited with bated breath for your response. He stood, statue still, as you seemed to weigh your options and watched as your shoulders rose and fell just a little too fast. Despite the venue, despite the time that had passed, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and offer some semblance of comfort but those days had long passed. His touch would only further annoy you, he knew that, so he simply waited.

Finally, without a single word or glance back at him or the party, you crossed the lawn to where his van sat and climbed into the passenger seat. It was a familiar sight, one he’d missed terribly, but it brought him little comfort as he tipped his head back and blinked at the stars.

With a deep breath, an inhale that barely filled his lungs, Eddie spared your brother a cursory glance. When he received a nod, permission to whisk you away - encouragement to give you some sort of closure - he crossed. The lawn and climbed into the van himself.

It was widely known around Hawkins that you heard Eddie before you saw him. Loud music, heavy and fast, often warned of his presence before his van peeled into view. Way back when, you always teased him - joked that it was difficult for you to have a conversation over the sound of Metallica - but this time, the drive was silent.

Long gone were the good old days, the days where his van was filled with laughter as you swapped stories - theories about the lives of Hawkins residents neither of you had ever met, tales of school, dreams for the future - and music you both loved. For the first time in years, Eddie’s van alerted no one of his presence as it navigated the roads that were once as familiar to him as his own route home.

The silence was stifling, overwhelming, but you were too lost in thought to speak first and nothing Eddie could think to say felt appropriate. Everything he wanted to say felt hollow, like an excuse plucked from thin air, and he knew that it would only hurt you further.

It only further broke his heart to realize just how hurt you still were. If he was honest, he sometimes worried you’d gotten over him immediately. He worried that the relationship never meant as much to you as it did to him - though he knew, somewhere in the depths of his heart, that he couldn’t be farther from the truth - but to know that you’d harbored these feelings this entire time had a nauseating combination of emotions bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

When he finally pulled to a stop in front of your house, a spot once unofficially reserved for his van, Eddie finally mustered the courage to speak. He still wasn’t sure what he planned to say but he hoped the words would come. However, before he could so much as turn to you, you climbed out of the van and headed for the front door.

Eddie wondered, idly, if he should follow. A long time ago, he would’ve known immediately, would’ve been able to read you without sparing it a second thought, but now he felt crippling uncertainty. He wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk or if you wanted to get rid of him immediately, but he received his answer in the form of an open front door.

Following was a bad idea, he knew that - knew he’d end up sharing every thought he’d had over the last few years, knew that he’d end up breaking his own heart once more to heal yours - but he couldn’t stand seeing you so hurt. So, he climbed out of the van and followed.

There was no changing the past, no undoing what he’d already done, but he knew he could offer you some sort of closure. That was the least he could do.

The path to your front door was one he’d taken a thousand times before - only a little less traveled than climbing through your window, despite your parents’ likely knowledge that he’d slept over - and he kept his eyes on the ground beneath his feet. Glancing at the driveway to his left, the one he watched you peel out of on his last visit, would only intensify the ache in his chest.

Eddie tried not to think about that last visit, tried desperately not to remember the last words he spoke to you - the way he acted, desperate to push you away in some noble attempt to make you happier in the long run. He tried not to remember the ache in his chest as he watched you drive away, tried not to remember the look on your parents’ faces as he walked back to his van and sat for a while, just to gather himself. He tried to forget it all as he stepped into the house and pulled the door shut behind him.

With tentative steps, Eddie wandered through the house. He eyed the walls lined with photos, the living room that had been redecorated since he last stepped foot inside, and deeply inhaled the scent he associated with you - with home. The place he’d once seen as a second home turned into one he’d avoided so much as driving past for years and each step he took felt heavier than the last as he finally reached your bedroom door.

Little had changed about the room he once knew so well. There were a handful of new posters lining the walls, newer photos with friends he’d never met - tacked up in the place his photo once occupied - and he felt a glimmer of warm nostalgia as he took in the overfilled bookshelf.

“That’s new.” He gestured to the duvet, a stark white replacing the old pale pink, as he eyed where you sat at the foot of your bed.

“Old one’s in a box in the attic.”

Eddie hummed, acknowledging your response as he stood in the center of the room. He was uncertain, not quite sure of what to say or where to go, but it seemed as if you had little intention of pointing him in the right direction as you eyed your chipping nail polish.

“Your parents,” he began, pausing to listen for the sounds of life he might’ve missed. “They’re not home?”

“They’re with my grandparents. Took them back to Fort Wayne. We celebrated as a family yesterday ‘cause they knew he’d want to be with friends tonight,” you reasoned, shrugging as you did.

Another hum - this one of understanding as Eddie remembered just how understanding your parents had always been, just how supportive of your lives and how welcoming they’d been when you brought him home - before he sighed and took a step closer to you. “Is this the part where you kick me out?”

It wasn’t - he knew you wouldn’t, even if you had every right to - but he still felt a mild form of surprise when you sighed. “It should be.” A beat of silence passed in which Eddie wondered if he should speak, if he should begin the difficult conversation that he knew you needed to have, but before he could open his mouth, you spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Genuine bewilderment filled him as he blinked. “For what?” Try as he might, there was nothing Eddie could imagine you feeling the need to apologize for. You’d tried, he ran.

“For what I said at the party.” Finally, after nearly an hour of avoidance, you lifted your head and met his gaze for the first time since leaving the party. “It wasn’t fair,” you admitted and he could tell the apology was genuine.

Eddie sighed as he took another tentative step closer, closing the distance a few inches at a time, and shook his head. “But it was true.”

If there was one thing he could do, he could acknowledge his faults. He’d always been a coward, choosing to run rather than face his problems head on - choosing to push you away rather than have a difficult conversation - and he knew that. It was genetic, he imagined, inherited from a father who’d run from responsibility nearly two decades prior, but he hated that you were caught in the wake of it all.

“It wasn’t,” you countered, clearly convinced in a way Eddie didn’t feel he warranted. “But, even if it was, doesn’t mean it was okay to say.”

With one final step, Eddie managed to close the gap between you. When you shifted, moved to make room at the foot of the bed, he carefully sat beside you and sighed once more. “You should’ve said worse. I wouldn’t have blamed you,” he confessed, quiet in the silence of your usually bright home. “I… I was afraid I’d never see you again.” He spared a glance at your hands, watched for a moment as you picked at the remaining black nail polish, and nearly reached out to hold them as he continued, “I didn’t want to hold you back. I ran because I didn’t want to make you give it all up just to wait for me.”

Eddie lifted his gaze to your face, uncertain but desperate for any hint of how you felt. Long ago, he could’ve read you better than anyone, knew from the most minute twitch of your lips exactly how you felt, but your face was impassive as you shook your head.

“I knew what you were doing, Eddie,” you confessed, still refusing to glance at him as you turned to playing with the rings adorning your fingers. “How could I not? I knew you loved me, I never believed you didn’t. I just… I hoped you loved me enough to get that stupid fucking idea out of your head. That’s why I kept trying.”

There’d always been the question of why. He’d always wondered what kept you pushing, calling and writing letters and dropping by on your few trips home, when he was convinced he’d sufficiently broken your heart. Eddie hoped, desperately, that you’d believed him when he’d shouted that your relationship was a mistake. It would’ve hurt in the moment, he knew, but you would’ve been better off. Believing that he never cared the way you had, he thought it would’ve helped you get over him faster.

But to know that you never believed him, that you knew what he was doing all along, surprised him.

“I love you - loved you, Eddie,” you corrected, quickly, as you shook your head. “But I was never going to give up my dreams. It would’ve been hard, I knew that, but there was never any chance I was staying in Hawkins. We could’ve called, written letters. I could’ve visited during breaks. I… I never planned to stay but I didn’t want to leave you here forever. I wanted you to join me, Eddie. I would’ve waited for you there.”

With every word that left your lips, with every confession you made, Eddie felt the knot in the pit of his stomach tighten. He was so convinced that he knew you, that he knew exactly which choice you would make, that he never thought to ask. The possibility that you would’ve left, anyway, only leaving a lifeline for him to follow after his graduation, never crossed his mind. But, looking back, it should have.

Try as he might, Eddie couldn’t think of any instance in which you’d given him reason to believe you would stay. You talked often of your plans, of the trips home you’d make and the letters you could write. Your parents bought you a new Polaroid, one you planned to use to take photos of Chicago for them - and for him. The plan was always there, out in the open for all to know, but Eddie had been so focused on his own fear that he hadn’t heard you.

When you met his eyes, Eddie’s chest ached as he realized his mistake. “Did you ever read any of the letters?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. I wanted to,” he assured you, averting his gaze for a brief moment. “I couldn’t. I knew if I did, I would’ve wanted to write you back or call you or come see you. I kept them, I just… couldn’t read them.”

“If you had, you would’ve known that I didn’t hate you.” Eddie wondered just how much he’d missed by refusing to read the letters, just how desperately you’d tried to reassure him, and decided that he’d open them when he returned home. “If you’d read them, you would’ve known that I wasn’t coming back to be with you but I wanted you to join me. I promised I’d wait for you.”

“Even after my second senior year?”

An annoyed huff escaped as you rolled your eyes at him. “Yes, you dipshit,” you snapped, anger beginning to overtake the sadness you’d been crumbling beneath. “God, I love you - loved you.” Eddie’s heart pounded in his chest, beat an uncontrollable rhythm that nearly deafened him as he heard your second slip of the tongue. He knew it shouldn’t give him hope, not when he didn’t deserve a second chance, but he couldn’t help it as you huffed one more. “It wouldn’t have mattered how long it took,” you assured him, “I still would’ve waited for you.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie remembered the reasons he’d had for pushing you away. They’d seemed so real all those years ago, so relevant, but your conviction cast his reasons into doubt. He wondered if they were ever valid or if he’d simply been trying to protect his own heart.

Still, he felt the need to explain himself. “You deserved better,” he reasoned, though it sounded weak in his own ears. “Someone who had a future, someone who was in college and going to do something with their life. That wasn’t me. I couldn’t be enough for you,” he admitted, ashamed he’d ever thought he could be.

“Stop fucking pretending this was about me.” You scoffed, pushing yourself up from the bed and beginning to pace at the foot of it. “You knew how I felt. I told you I loved you and you swore you’d never forget it. And I know you loved me, too. I just, I thought you were too afraid to admit your feelings. Now, I wonder if you ever even knew me at all, let alone loved me. Because if you did, you would know that I saw a future with you. I saw your future!”

Eddie watched with wide eyes as you glared at him, gaze sharp and angrier than he’d ever seen. It hurt to hear your doubt, your questioning, because he’d only ever loved you. There was never any doubt in his own mind, never any question of whether his love for you was anything but real, but he supposed he could understand where you were coming from.

That seemed to matter little, however, as you shook your head. “You’re more than you give yourself credit for, Eddie, and I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear enough when we were together. But you were enough. You were all I wanted, the only person I’ve ever really wanted.” You looked at him, then, met his eyes and took a moment to search for the answer to a question you had yet to ask aloud, before you sighed. “You were it for me, Eddie, and I hate it and I hate you.”

Eddie knew that you didn’t hate him. He’d heard your slip of the tongue - twice - that told him you dreamt of him as often as he dreamt of you. He knew that you were simply frustrated, annoyed at the loss you’d deemed avoidable, and couldn’t stop himself from standing to join you.

With shaking hands, he reached for you. There was no resistance then, no fight left in you as he pulled you into his chest. Your hands gripped fistfuls of his jacket, leather putty in your hands as you buried your face in the worn fabric of his Metallica shirt. He could feel your shoulders shake with quiet sobs, soft little noises that cracked his heart in half, and he blinked hard against the light to keep himself from following suit.

For years, Eddie thought himself a martyr. He thought he’d sacrificed his own happiness to ensure yours. He felt certain, somewhere in the far corner of his mind, that he was making the right choice in pushing you away. There was no future with him, not one that you deserved. He was convinced he’d only hold you back, an anchor around your waist that kept you tethered to a life less than you deserved, but he could see that his attempt at chivalry was misguided.

Though some small part of him hoped you’d missed him, hoped you’d loved him, he hated that that was the case. He hated that you’d felt this way, hated that he could’ve kept from hurting you - kept from hurting himself - if he’d only been brave enough to have the conversation with you. He hated that the pain you’d both suffered was his own fault and all he could do was hope you’d forgive him.

“Sweetheart.” Eddie lifted a hand to your cheek, attempted to guide your face forward - searching for your eyes - but you turned your cheek.

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice cracking as he attempted to keep his breathing even. “I should’ve… you deserved better.”

“We both did.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” He wondered if you’d believe him, if you’d trust that his intentions were true, as he sighed. “I hoped that making you hate me would make it easier for you to get over me, let you find someone better for you. I didn’t… I thought I’d just ruin your future.”

For a long moment, you remained quiet. Eddie wondered if you were contemplating his confession - wondered if you were trying to decide if you would forgive him - and busied himself with brushing idle patterns across your shoulders.

“I don’t like it,” you finally whispered, “but I understand.” That eased a bit of the ache in his chest, made it a little easier for him to breathe as you admitted that you at least understood his rationale. “I would’ve liked to be part of that decision, though. I appreciate you trying to do what you thought was right but it was a relationship, Eddie. You can’t just choose what happens and expect it to be okay.”

There was never a clear definition of love for Eddie. He never had an understanding of what it meant to be in love and be loved in return. In his mind, love was about sacrifice. You gave of yourself to make sure the other person could thrive. It was a decision to be made alone, one that did not warrant a conversation - as a conversation would dissuade him from doing what was right - but as he thought, he realized you’d spent your relationship teaching him otherwise.

The relationship you shared was one filled with compromise, not sacrifice. Though you shared so many interests, there were moments you disagreed. Eddie never wanted to spend Friday nights at basketball games, watching from the bleachers as people who tormented him leered at you, but he dutifully sat in the stands and watched you cheer just to support you. You never loved The Hideout but you sat in the crowd and cheered louder for him than he ever heard you do for the basketball team.

Eddie knew you’d rather spend your weekends watching a movie or hanging out with friends but as the semester wore on, you’d spent night after night tutoring him on classes he still couldn’t manage to pass. And though he knew you loved him, he still found himself surprised by every date you turned down.

For nearly a year, you showed him that love was about compromise - giving just as good as you got - and he’d forgotten it in a moment of fear. Now, he only hoped he wasn’t too late as he attempted to lift your face to his once more.

“I should’ve talked to you,” he agreed, glad you finally met his eyes once more. “I… if I could do it again, I’d do things differently.”

“You can’t change the past,” you reminded him, gently. “But you can do things differently in the future.”

Eddie blinked, brows furrowing as he searched your face. He wondered if you were implying what he hoped you were, wondered if you’d be generous enough to give him a second chance, but he couldn’t help himself as he mentioned, “Your boyfriend…”

“I don’t love him. I wanted to,” you sighed, “I tried to. I just… don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

It was hopeful, softly optimistic in a way he hadn’t been since he last saw your face. And when you rolled your eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Eds. I know people suck but you’re smarter than that.”

“How long are you in town?”

Eddie knew that your relationship wouldn’t be rekindled immediately - he was a realist, after all - but he hoped that he’d have enough time to at least remind you of why you’d fallen in love with him in the first place. So when you smiled, offered him a glance from beneath your lashes, he felt a glimmer of hope.

“I’m here for the summer. My roommates graduated so we broke our lease. I couldn’t find anything for the summer so I’m picking up a new one by myself in August.” You smiled then, shrugging. “Rent might not be so bad if I had a roommate, though.”

“I hear Chicago’s nice,” he agreed, tentative but hopeful for the first time in a long time.

“I think you’d love it.”

There was more to be said, a conversation to be had, but Eddie felt a glimmer of something warm in the pit of his stomach. He could see a future once more, one in which you were again by his side, and promised that this time, he’d do things right.

_____________________________________________________

Author's Note: I spent so long on this. I'm kinda glad it's finally done. I included a few old anon requests so. Sorry it took so long. :) Also if my Modern Baseball anon is still around, here's a Modern Baseball inspired fic. :)

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#eddie munson x reader #fic rec #v my love

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