#wayne munson mvp 🗣️🗣️🗣️

[ghast1yghosts]

i wanna see old musician wayne. someone eddie always thought was cool (when he still had all his hair) growing up. someone who ended up with this sad little kid who needed an outlet and teaching him the basics. the kid falling in love with music.

watching him be something he never could’ve done, he wasn’t good enough, but his boy is good enough, his boy is going places. be it music or otherwise, his boy has a passion he knows it special.

then spring break happens. and his boy’s spark is dimmed, flickering, hanging on by some miracle.

wayne notices. he sees it not just eddie’s aching body, bandaged gashes and sore stitches. he sees it’s not just injuries. his boy doesn’t want to play, not just because he can’t.

he gets a flinch in reply to a question about a guitar. he gets brushed off when he asks if he’s itching to play. he gets sudden distant eyes, and a static reaction when he sets up his record player.

his boy doesn’t heal as fast he should. his boy avoids going out. his boy struggles to get his feet under him, let alone to stand back up.

watching his boy become a husk in front of his eyes. monotone and vacant, he seems checked out without the narcotics.

once brazen and defiant, he’s watching it get snuffed out. and by god if he’s going to stand idle any more. he’s not letting his boy give up on himself like he did.

he avoids the more typical eddie style, and sits down with his acoustic. wayne snagged it when that harrington boy dragged him out of the house the other day, eddie didn’t even notice it’s absence.

it’s been years, far too long, having let eddie take the reins of tight strings over frets all those years ago. he plays something mellow, something by ear, something by heart, something eddie will know.

he’s only playing for a maybe a minute before a curious head peaks out from around the corner, and then a whole body leaning against the wall.

“can’t believe you still know how to play.”

“sound that bad, huh?” eddie snorts, shaking his head slightly, uncrossing his arms and making his way to join on the couch across from wayne.

he starts again from the beginning, playing the old tune from his favorite album, the last one his sister listened to—the last one eddie’s mom listened to.

making room for eddie to join him, he doesn’t hum along, just plays the melody.

the first few seconds go by quiet, just the two of them listening to the gentle strums. eddie starts to mutter the words, tapping his knee to the beat, like he’s unable to kept himself away from the lull of music.

steady rhythm, eddie closes his eyes, bashfulness at softly singing or falling right into wayne’s obvious trap it doesn’t really matter. his boy starts to bounce his foot, body thrumming with the noise.

“but listen carefully to the sound,

of your loneliness,”

he looks at home, a nice picture to the empty shell he seems to be. he’s still there, just hiding himself, feeling far too exposed, to open. it’s not the first time wayne’s had to crack the shell he locks himself away in.

a bit rusty and corse, wayne joins him.

and for what it’s worth—the small smile that breaks across his face—it’s worth millions to him.

“thunder only happens when it's rainin'”

he’ll keep playing if his boy can’t. he’ll keep playing for his boy. till his fingers bleed, till he’s at deaths door, it doesn’t matter.

and whether eddie adds more kindle to his flame or not, wayne isn’t letting it get smothered any time soon.

[ghast1yghosts]

little Eddie asking Wayne if he can paint his nails after some kids made fun of him. Wayne lets him and when he’s done, he fixes up Eddies with which are chipped—Eddie holding his hands out “we match!”

Wayne would set the world on fire for his boy.

[ghast1yghosts]

do you think baby eddie would try to put a bug in his mouth on first encounter. bc i do.

wayne: and this here is a grasshopper opens hand to show him

eddie: immediately grabs hold and puts it in his mouth

wayne: 😦 NO.

~later~

wayne: and this here is a butterfly. squints don’t put in your mouth son. opens his hand

eddie: looks i awe.

then grabs hold and puts it in his mouth

wayne: 😦 BOY. SPIT IT OUT. YOUR MAMA IS GOING TO KILL ME.

[hancocksbitch]

Ouch! Right in the feels, that one. 😭

little Eddie asking Wayne if he can paint his nails after some kids made fun of him. Wayne lets him and when he’s done, he fixes up Eddies with which are chipped—Eddie holding his hands out “we match!”

Wayne would set the world on fire for his boy.