Barrier To Entry

On this year women's day, all we could think about are Palestinian women in Gaza.

Nearly 9,000 women have been killed in Israeli attacks in five months. Another 2,100 are missing and presumed dead, while 23,000 have been wounded and over half a million are displaced.

“Palestinian women, especially in the Gaza Strip, are exposed to the worst humanitarian catastrophe,” Ashraf al-Qudra, the health ministry’s spokesperson, said on Thursday.

Dozens of women and girls have also been detained and face harsh conditions in Israeli custody, including sexual abuse.

Women in Gaza also struggle to find menstruation products and access the necessary pregnancy and post-natal care. The consequences on reproductive health, including a rise in stress-induced miscarriages, stillbirths and premature births, have increased significantly.

Women in labour are undergoing caesarean procedures without anaesthetics, and a shortage of post-operative care such as medication, antibiotics and pain relief further exacerbates the situation.

According to the health ministry, 5,000 women give birth monthly in Gaza under “harsh, unsafe and unhealthy” conditions caused by Israeli bombing and displacement.

There are 60,000 pregnant women in Gaza suffering from “malnutrition, dehydration and lack of medical care.

There have also been repeated cases of Israeli soldiers mocking Palestinian women by posting videos and pictures of themselves rummaging through personal belongings in Gaza homes, making derogatory comments and posing with women’s underwear.

me and the girlies saying hi to each other

Polaroid Pictures | Eddie Munson x F!Reader (Part One)

Synopsis: Pictures say a thousand words - but with polaroid, that means fun.

Warning: Sexy time!, Mentions of sexting/nudes, Language, Teasing, Mutual Pining,

Rating: E - NO MINORS!!

Author’s Note: I recently bought the 1980’s version of a polaroid camera for the summer and it got me thinking - so here this baby was born! It makes me sad that I wrote this on 6/1 and y'all won’t see it until today!

Word Count: 4K

Afficher davantage

hey everyone be careful

I don't know if anyone has talked about this, but lately this has been happening in other fandoms too. There'll be these bot accounts that straight up steals people's posts and adds "expand" "read more" "continue" as a link in the end of the post - DON'T CLICK ON THAT, it's most likely a malware or something of the like.

so if you see a post like this: no profile picture, something that looks reposted (I've seen this happening to artists too) and a link at the end, even if the post has tags, that's a bot. Block and report it.

stay safe, and I hope @staff finds a way to stop these bots soon!

𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 [𝐀 𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐔𝐬]

Summary: Years after Hawkins was saved, Nancy and Steve’s wedding draws everyone back together and with it, you are reminded of the love you lost at the price of fame. [Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader; WC: 17.4k] Warnings: language, exes to lovers, mutual pining/yearning, frightened lil beans in love, heavy angst.

A/N: I worked on this for weeks. I am very nervous to post it, and I hope you enjoy it (excuse any errors, it's time consuming loves).

What is it like to be loved?

There was something in that room that made you question it. The palpable, sudden feeling that permeated around it like a fog; a special dance that so many would be able to feel, yet it seemingly evaded you.

Her dress was beautiful. An ivory lace with sleeves that covered her soft skin. The brown of her hair so vibrant against the spring flowers she held as the chapel’s old stones warmed with the feeling reverberated with the words of the priest.

He was tall and stoic; filled with a slight fear that his true colors would show in his dark suit and dotted tie. He was joyous; he was a radiant boy filling his father’s suit and marrying the girl of his dreams.

Nancy and Steve.

For a moment, while the priest held everyone’s attention in a moment of prayer, it was quiet enough to imagine love physically filled the space before you. Head lightly dipped, the bouquet in your hand distracting you from the eyes of every person in the chapel.

A silence was asked for and responded to with grace. The silence of baseless words washing over the room in a wave of down-turned heads and folded hands. However quiet, however peaceful the room had become, that floating feeling hung from the rafters. You felt your heart sink. That heaviness of sorrow that plagued beautiful moments from a pain buried in your bones that you weren’t even sure really existed. Love. A tragic thing.

All you could ask was:

What is it liked to be loved?

Maybe it was the wedding that made you teary-eyed and soft hearted. You weren’t a hopeless romantic. You weren’t searching constantly for Mr. Right because he didn’t exist. They had shown you that, he had shown you that. Not some Marilyn Monroe waiting for the next man to sweep you off your feet and carry you into a raging bloody sunset in Los Angeles. No. The cards were dealt with precision and meaning; each turned over when the time allowed and burned when the bells tolled.

Love brewed and bubbled; love ached and pained; love existed and diminished; love stood in front of you screaming to break free but the cries fell silent—dead on the cold, stone floor.

Steve’s eyes called to Nancy like a ship lost at sea. The tears that brimmed at the corners whispered to fall after years of trauma and resolution. But they were relieved and elated and somehow, Nancy returned the sentiments with eyes elated. And it hurt to see your closest friends happy when you couldn’t be.

‘And from this day forward they would walk hand and hand into everything that You have destined them to be.’

The words echoed and echoed. The priest as happy to say them as Ted and Karen Wheeler nodded as if it were true from the pews. Steve’s parents had actually shown up too, along with hundreds of other people. Friends, coworkers, and the guests each of them brought.

‘We give our hearts and beings to You now in adoration.’

People like you didn’t give their hearts willingly. Not like Robin, not like Nancy. You weren’t sure about Max or Eleven, but perhaps they gave theirs willingly enough too as they stood beside you up on the alter. And you wanted that. You wanted to give it willingly. As their heads hung and their eyes diverted from above, there was a calling. Probably not from some higher God you weren’t sure even existed, but something—a gut feeling. One that simmered and bristled against negativity and anxiety; the same one that painfully squeezed that arduous organ in your chest. That feeling told you not to bow your head. It told you not to close your eyes and whatever it did, it made you shift your head in the slightest.

The groomsmen were just across the way beside Steve. Dustin helmed them, walking you down the aisle and reminding you that as they embraced adulthood, you were also getting older. Over one age milestone of established adulthood and half of the kids you babysat as a teenager were closer to marriage than you.

Angled perfectly with your shoulder—bare from the design of your green gown. The shape of your nose and chin and the style of your hair falling sleekly into a perfectly haloed outline as though a magician had cast their greatest spell. And when it turned just enough, where the platform was illuminated by the rays of the sun, one other head remained as perfectly crafted as yours, looking back as though the universe said: here it is.

This is what it feels like. 

Those butterflies? Love. The heart bursting panic that set off inside you? Love. The painful realization that you could have it and you could nurture it with passion? Love.

It existed. 

And it did so in the cruelest of forms. 

Because the sheen of your eyes from the beautiful wedding and the widely spoken words of the priest meant more when staring back at the one thing you had always wanted. It was one feeling, one person, and that’s what you swore you couldn’t have.

He had chosen that for you. Six years ago in a tiny apartment on the west side of Chicago, he decided his career was more important.

He was him. He was a brilliant, foul-mouthed metal rock star with impeccable hair and sense of style that made your heart leap for quiet bursts of love. He was complicated and corny and filled with a truth you hadn’t been able to recognize because everyone else clouded life. What life could be and what it could hold.

Eddie Munson was a rock star. Eddie Munson was one of the most famous musicians in the world. Eddie Munson was a friend, a hero, and Eddie Munson was the man who broke your heart and it could never heal itself.

And yet love remained deep down.

It’s regretful nature resurfacing because love was tangible in the chapel in Nantucket.

It was love. It existed. It was real. It was palpable in that room, in his eyes, against the prayer, across the aisle and in all of the pews.

‘And we welcome Your Holy Spirit amongst us. Amen.’

And the chorus filled the room. The pews creaked and heads returned upright. You lost the sight as Steve and the others lifted their heads, but the feeling remained. It sunk to the pit of your stomach where the realization remained.

“Hey,” a hushed whisper sounded near your right ear as your body jolted minutely from the call. Robin’s head tried to follow your direction but couldn’t find the destination. There were hundreds of people in that room. But she should have known. She should have known. 

“Everything alright?”

Her concern was evident. Had you been that rigid the entire time? Was the look of love one of fear? Were the tears in your eyes truly that clear?

“I’m fine, Rob. Really.”

It hadn’t convinced her but you returned your attention to the ceremony instead. Robin waited, glancing over your shoulder again and again to try to find her answer. The sentiment of conflict appearing much faster in times of clear disruption than she remembered. The feeling of the world tilting on its axis for something you couldn’t control.

Her eyes looked for the answer. Searching the crowd with an unfathomable hardened gaze until it landed back to the groomsmen and she felt everything click back into place. You had reassured Nancy and Robin that everything was fine; that you were friends. That there was no animosity nor tension remaining over the years but it had. They just wanted to believe the best, yet all the signs were there. 

The way you stood so still; scared of yourself as emotions took their hold.

Six years of separation meant nothing. Its degrees scorching the earth every moment not together, bound by the universe yet torn apart by wants, not needs.

They had all believed you. They believed Eddie’s lies that he had moved on—the woman looking straight out of a Vanity Fair magazine in the fifth row the one he brought to prove such a tale.

No.

They had all been wrong.

The two of you had imploded the meaning of love because if it couldn’t exist between the two of you, it couldn’t exist at all.

Steve and Nancy wed on a Saturday in March. 

The morning had greeted everyone with golden rays. Sunlight streaming in from the curtains of the Wauwinet’s rooms waking its patron’s with a sprinkle of joy. Early morning glow; warm and intoxicating on a day such as that. 

You couldn’t see the beach from where you laid; the white comforter covering your shoulders high, eyes peeking out from the space between the blankets and your pillow. High above on the second floor, the sky reflected its yellow and pink hues until they faded to blue. Not a cloud in the sky. 

The two days you had spent on the tiny island thus far had been a reflection of that sunrise. An excitable shimmer of beauty and grace only to fade into a familiar blue–a melancholy gloom that you hadn’t expected to feel. You stepped off the plane only to be greeted with every feeling that ran in its opposite direction; Robin and Nancy clung to you with joy, Steve and the boys, who you should probably call young men now, hugged you tightly. 

And then a cloud formed. 

The cloud was ugly, gray, and filled with matter you had buried deep. Years of pretending everything in your life was going smoothly–that you were exactly where you wanted to be–lingering above you like a joke. Laughing, jesting you with the past as happiness was rubbed into a wound like salt. 

He had a smile plastered onto his face the first time you saw him that weekend–the night before the ‘I do’s.’ He was sitting in the wine cellar with Steve, reminiscing about the past as the future was gently placed on Nancy’s finger; sparkling against the shine of the hotel’s lighting as night had long fallen on a Friday evening. 

As the thoughts lingered in your mind as the sun began to rise, it hadn’t been seeing Eddie for the first time in years that had thrown your world off its axis. The woman, clad in the most casual New England fashions, who sat beside him with her arm resting on his, did. 

A petty, jealous feeling at the sight rose within you rapidly. 

You felt there was no right for you to feel that way. 

Six years. Six years had left an open season for both he and you to find new people to love, hate, and screw, but the idea that there was a reality that existed where Eddie no longer loved you was jarring. 

The fear of it became engrained in your bones. Tattooed onto skin that was untouched and permanently stained with words that hurt and stung and ultimately resulted in the reason you had come to that wedding alone.  

Eddie had scarred you–in a beautifully tragic way that you’d never be the person you were at seventeen when he asked you to go see Temple of Doom at a theater two towns over. It was a shame you’d always tie him to that film… because you really fucking liked the movie but all you could think about was how Indy left Marion in the dust and hell, you felt like Marion sometimes. 

He just sat there. A gorgeous woman on his arm and smiling at Steve as though not a day had gone by. He looked older, more sure of himself, and dare you think it, had a bit more style than he did before. Nice, in a ‘formal but not too formal’ kind of way. 

They were all sipping on some hundred-dollar wine. He could afford it now. Red-soled shoes, a jacket with no fringe, and a bottle of wine that cost as much as your monthly rent. 

Nancy had been perched on a stool at the high-top beside Steve. The two had been going over the rehearsal that Eddie conveniently missed as well as the dinner from hours before. From what Robin had divulged, he had a show in Boston and would make his way out to Nantucket after it was over. 

You didn’t think Nancy ringing your suite for drinks would mean he’d be there too. 

The thunder from the cloud above you rumbled when Nancy caught your eye in the entryway. 

Everything, from the clothes you wore to the company of the room, felt out of place. Like you were looking from the outside and into a world that was completely yours but never one you recalled. The people in it–sparingly familiar but strangers all the same. 

Nancy had taken a sip of her wine, swallowing quickly as she perked up and waved at you. The attention drawing each eye away from Steve and to you, unwelcome and afraid of familiarity. Two looked happy, one looked curious, and the other looked like the whole world had stopped. 

A moment in time paused. No calm waiters tending to guests, no heads turning toward him because he was identifiable; it was blank. Two worlds gone completely still because for the first time in six years, you and Eddie had finally converged to one place. 

Some expensive hotel on Nantucket Island for a wedding between two people you both held near and dear to your hearts. It took nothing to imagine that if things had gone right, perhaps it would not be Steve and Nancy meeting at the alter tomorrow afternoon. 

In the stillness, a reunion is not bound by the trivial “it’s good to see you” or “its been too long.” A mind playing funny tricks and sending you back to years before–the way his entire person disappeared beyond the bedroom door only to be followed by the slamming of the front one. An apology sputtered at the end of a fight that had been brewing for weeks. 

The last time you saw Eddie Munson he had come home from a tour with no direction but up. Up to a new place, to a new life, and one that kept the past behind. Questions of love, home, and loyalty tested two people who were holding onto a fine thread before it snapped. 

Now, its lingering shreds brushed together with an easterly wind. 

You don’t know what he was thinking when the words stopped fumbling from his lips. 

“Hey!” Steve cheered happily from his spot as Eddie went quiet. “Come on, join us!” 

You felt like a fool standing there idle. Feet glued to the floor, eyes trained on Eddie a moment too long because as soon as the fifth second passed, the woman by his side asked: 

“Who’s that?” 

Steve said your name, waving at you the same way Nancy had, “She’s Ed–“ 

“My Maid of Honor!” Nancy cut in, giving the woman a smile in reassurance that it was the description most accurate to who you were. Nancy didn’t know why she cut Steve off like that; the side-eyed glance she received from him as Eddie stared back at you should have told her everything. 

Not friend, not best friend, not former classmate, but Eddie’s ex-girlfriend. What a label to have. 

Your planted feet begged you to move. The awkwardness of standing still for lingering seconds in time drawing eye after eye, raising questions as to whether or not you were having a medical emergency or just plain stupid. Your feet took those commands and walked, before your mind could even process that the night had continued to move forward without being truly ready to interact. 

“I told you she’d join us,” Nancy hit Steve’s shoulder lightly with the back of her hand, “Can’t spend the last few hours of us together as an unmarried couple without those who brought us back together.” 

Steve gave her a smile, hand squeezing her kneecap under the table because in reality, there wasn’t an ounce of a lie there. Not that any regular person would understand, but Steve had always dreamed of this moment: the night before he went to sleep one last time as an unmarried man, sipping chilled wine in an expensive hotel with his bride-to-be, his closest friends, and the reason he and Nance were at this stage. 

One piece of that puzzle had gone mute, silent as though they never heard him talk. As you approached the high top that was tucked into a corner by the windows that looked out to the Atlantic Ocean, Eddie couldn’t form words. He had prepared himself for this moment for years and yet his mind had gone blank. Emotions barren from his chest like he was an empty, cavernous being and not a person. He felt nothing–like the world had been obliterated and there was only him in space; alone and helpless to save his sanity. 

And if it hadn’t been so long since he last laid eyes on you, perhaps he could have recognized the same emotions bleeding out of you. That the wound had never truly closed and there was much unsaid floating around the two of you that the air was hard to breathe. 

But against it all, it was you who offered the closed smile and a small: 

“Hi.”

Eddie’s relief that the first words weren’t “fuck you,” or “I still hate you.” Just a simple “hi” that replayed in his mind as the seconds transpired and the ball had fallen into his court. 

But those words were hard for you to even muster. 

“It’s good to see you,” he settled on, not leaving his chair to wrap his arms around you or whisk you away to hear how your life has been since he left. He sat there, as still as you had in the entryway, and let you take the spot beside Nancy because it was the furthest away from his own that you could take. 

Eddie had completely forgotten about the woman to his right. 

No one had thought anything of the interaction. In two minds, it played out differently because the truth existed somewhere between two people unwilling to face it. For people like Nancy and Steve, there had been one story that had been told yet no one questioned the absence of the other on specific holidays, birthdays, or more. 

“We broke up,” that was what you had told Nancy and he had told Steve. Word for word, the same story. “Distance was getting too hard and we thought we’d take a break. It’s better this way and we’re still friends–we we’re friends before everything so…” 

For every truth, there were two lies. 

Nancy flagged down the waiter, tapping on her glass and holding up two fingers. You shifted in your seat as one leg crossed over the other and glanced at the woman to Eddie’s right. 

She wasn’t familiar at all. Still hanging on Eddie’s arm and fiddling with the cuff of his jacket. In all of your years together, you had never seen Eddie wear a dinner jacket. 

And against your feelings, you extended your hand over the table toward her. Eddie didn’t know what to think of that. You introduced yourself. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he knew the voice. It was the kind someone would use on the telephone if they were talking to a co-worker or boss, not a friend. 

“Veronica,” she lifted her hand from Eddie’s arm and graciously shook yours over the wine glasses; a tiny set of flickering candles beside a small relish tray beneath it. “I hear you’re the Maid of Honor?” 

“As much as one can be,” you told her, eyes looking over her face and form. Eddie could see it now that you were comparing yourself to her, an unfortunate circumstance of choice. “The other bridesmaids have helped a bit with planning and what not… it’s not easy work,” you scoffed, tipping your head at Nancy and the bride shook her head with a grin. 

“I promise I’m not one of those crazy brides,” Nancy jokingly defended herself to Veronica who admired the friendship before her. She knew you all of two seconds and could see how comfortable the two of you were. 

“Yeah, sure…” you trailed off as the waiter returned with two new glasses of wine. You thanked him and took a long, needed sip as the white wine’s bubbles barely had time to settle. 

Steve cleared his throat as you drank, glancing at Eddie before turning to you. “We were just catching him up on what went down at the rehearsal. Told ‘em that Robin tripped down the aisle so he’s gotta hold onto her tightly.” 

You snickered at the memory. Robin Buckley couldn’t walk in heels even if she tried to. Nodding your head, you didn’t make eye contact with Eddie to reiterate the sentiment. 

“She’ll topple over if you don’t.” 

“Will do,” Eddie replied quietly, differently than he normally would have and Veronica put her hand on his arm again, rubbing it up and down as if she knew. For once, he just wished she would stop. 

“We’re going to–“ Steve’s voice drowned itself out as he rattled on about the plans of tomorrows festivities. 

Every now and again when you’d catch a word of Steve’s, you couldn’t help but look at Eddie. Those eyes still telling of his emotions rather than the words he spoke; wide and pupils blown from both the environment and alcohol. 

You weren’t shameless about it when he caught you looking. He couldn’t help it either; it was as though he was drawn to a magnet that kept pulling him in. Just as you had observed him, everything was familiar yet strangely different. The way you held yourself, the clothes you wore, makeup and hair just enough having changed to make him notice that he didn’t know you now as he had then. 

However, he still felt that hand on his jacket. 

Yet he was looking at you. And he felt like a coward for thinking he’d rather have you cling to him like that then her. She, Veronica, didn’t deserve to have a man think that of her. 

“Are you still in Chicago?” He blurted out over Steve’s talking. Like walking in a path of quicksand, Eddie did not want to drown before his life truly began. Steve stopped and glanced at Eddie as though his friend had a stroke. 

“Mhm,” you murmured over the lip of the glass Nancy had secured for you. “Still in California?” 

“Yeah, near Bell Canyon.” 

“Is that…” Of course you wouldn’t have known exactly where that was. It wasn’t like you had a map inside of your brain or tracked his every movement. Based on the question on whether or not he still lived in California, he wondered if you read anything about him at all. 

“It’s near Los Angeles… like suburbs of it.” 

“Ah, alright,” you met his eyes briefly before taking another long sip of your wine. He could see the way you practically folded in on yourself; anxiety and fears bubbling within you the same way they used to. 

“And you still live…” he trailed off in a veiled hope that the implication went unspoken. ‘At the apartment, our apartment.’

“No,” you shook your head, “I moved a few years ago… have a nice view of the lake,” the thought of it brought a small smile to your face. It was nice. It was nearly perfect. 

“No more of the ‘L’ ruining your sleep?” 

He saw the hint of smile play on your lips. 

“It’s pretty quiet now,” for a multitude of reasons he could think of. 

“That’s good,” Eddie nodded, glancing at Steve and Nancy who provided no support to make the situation any less awkward. 

“So,” Veronica began with a perky voice for eleven-thirty at night, “Eddie said you all went to high school together?” 

The model wore these big, curious eyes. She was kind, in a doxy kind of way but her sentiment’s with her words transcended through each of you. This woman, a date, hadn’t been a steady, familiar thing to Eddie. Anyone who knew him as close as a formal, long-term partner did, would have known about the crew from Hawkins. 

“Yeah,” Steve answered as a savior, “But we weren’t all friends then… that took some time. We were all pretty different.” 

Nancy hit his arm playfully, giving a scowl as Steve quirked his eyes at Eddie. The latter had simply taken the labels he was given and ran with them–a transformative play for the man with a lengthy petty crimes list and could out smoke Pablo Escobar. 

“It doesn’t matter what we were like! We’re all friends now and those three–“ Nancy gestured her hand over Steve, Eddie, and yourself, “were in the same class.” 

“Oh!” She beamed. “How cool! I don’t really talk to anyone from my class so it’s nice to see it works for some people.” 

Everyone just gave her tight smiles. Having friends from childhood didn’t make you less of a person. It meant stronger connections and the fact that no one could say why you were all bonded so closely made things more difficult. 

“And the rest of your friends?” Veronica turned her face toward Eddie who shrugged. 

“In their rooms, I’m guessing. I think we got here a little late,” he chuckled. 

“They know you had a commitment,” Nancy reassured him. “Besides, Dustin and the others will be just as thrilled to see you in the morning.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “After the bachelor party, I didn’t think half of us would even make it here so it’ll be a nice surprise.” 

Thank God for Steve and his stupid jokes. It broke some tension, a smile actually cracking Eddie’s face again and one that reached his eyes. The brown, doe-eyed ones that Robin once said made her sad were recalling that party like it was the funniest thing he had ever experienced. 

‘It probably was’, you thought, ‘Steve Harrington always knew how to party.’ 

“So,” Veronica interjected, pointing a finger between you and Nancy, “the bachelorette party wasn’t anything to write home about?” Quick judgement.

“We went wine tasting in the Valley,” Nancy’s eyes lit up at the memory, “and then we went hiking… which in retrospect wasn’t something any of us liked.” 

It was the end of summer when everyone could get together and the heat ate at each of you as the sun rose higher, the drinks flowed more, and the guides took in their amusement of each woman. 

“Went to some museums, ate too much food…” you said additionally. 

“El learned she was allergic to pears and Max got stung by a bee,” Nancy interjected, “and our heroes Lucas and Mike came to save the day when we got stranded in the middle of lake because the engine died on the boat we rented.” 

“I think we’ll stick to spa days and cooking classes next time,” you picked up your glass, a side-eye to Nancy as she quickly agreed. Veronica perked up, still clutching Eddie’s arm. 

“Who’s getting married next? You?” 

She meant nothing by it. Her eyes were friendly and voice high pitched, interested in the conversation to just be a part of something more than a two-person bubble. You choked on the wine, the question startled you because it hadn’t been something you thought of in a long time. 

You put the glass down as your hand went to your mouth, wiping it dry and you, unintentionally, looked from her to Eddie. Steve noticed, Nancy didn’t. 

“No!” You replied a bit too loudly. “Sorry,” shaking the embarrassment from you, “I just–no. Not me. I would put money on Dustin and Suzie once they’re done at MIT… He’s loved her since he was in middle school.” 

She smiled at the idea of everlasting young love. “That’s cute! Sometimes, if you know, you know, right?” And she squeezed Eddie’s arm the same way her hand squeezed your heart at the sight. 

Eddie dropped his arm into his lap after her grip loosened. Her hand fell onto the table and whether she realized it or not, the rejection she felt showed on her face. 

“How did you two meet?” Nancy picked an olive with a toothpick from the small dish on the table. Veronica peered at Eddie to answer but he wasn’t going to. 

“At an event for our agency a couple…three? months back.” 

Three months.

“Cool,” Steve mumbled as he followed Nancy’s lead and took one of the pickles from the tray. “So what are you? An agent? Model...?” 

“I model for magazines, yeah,” she nodded and focused her hands at the base of her wine glass. You watched Veronica tap her white nails on the table cloth before bringing them back to the foot. “Sometimes do commercials or videos and stuff.”

Steve sat back in his chair; a thought pondered in his mind as he watched your eyes divert from the table and out the window to your left. It was dark, you couldn’t see anything beyond ten feet. The arm that had been taken off the table now sat at Eddie’s side with his hand in his lap. He had taken his thumb and twisted at the ring that rested on his ring finger–the one with a dark stone he had worn since forever. 

The groom reflected back to his bachelor party, three weeks ago, and how Eddie made no mention of Veronica but very drunkenly admitted something he didn’t want to see the light of day. 

Buried; six feet deep with the memories he had locked away in Pandora’s box. There was key to unlock them, let them fly away and spread like stars in the sky but it was booze and a little bit of weed that truly let them sing. 

Steve wasn’t sure if Eddie realized what he had told him that night. 

The way he was twisting his rings made him think that if he didn’t, Eddie was at least thinking the same thing now. 

“You know,” Steve crossed his arms as he leaned back, glancing at Veronica first before allowing his eyes to wander to you, then Eddie. “If you asked me a few years ago if I thought that Eddie, Eddie Munson, would be dating a supermodel… I would have laughed.” 

Veronica chuckled, a light blush forming on the balls of her cheeks as Eddie shook his head. It was Steve’s tone that made you turn to him. 

“Not really your type, dude,” Steve said and the woman’s face went flat. The chuckle cease and Nancy forgot how to breathe for a second. Maybe Steve had too much to drink, maybe he was done for the night, and if she whisked him away now, he wouldn’t be hung over for the wedding. 

“Come on, man…” Eddie shifted his head to the side, glaring at Steve to knock-it-off before things crossed a line he wasn’t prepared for. Eddie thought himself a jackass sometimes but he never wanted others to feel uncomfortable. 

“No offense, Veronica,” Steve held out his hand as if saying ‘I don’t mean anything by it.’ “It’s just…” He clicked his tongue, “you want the best for your friends, right? And for the last decade or more I’ve never seen you fawn over the looks of a model.” 

“Steve,” you interjected, providing the same look Eddie had given him because he was trying to open that box. “Stop being an asshole.” 

You turned to Veronica, “he’s just a little drunk, that’s all.” Nancy supported it with a smile and put her hand on Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve laughed at your words like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. “That’s kind of rich coming from you.” 

“I think we should–“ Nancy began but Steve leaned forward on his elbows. 

“You like Lord of the Rings, Veronica? Or ever go to a thrift store and absolutely wreck the clothes you bought? Play D and D?” She looked confused so Steve stopped, “Dungeons and Dragons? Like the game? No? How about drugs? Do you do those?” 

“Steve! Fuck man…” Eddie hit Steve’s shoulder, “I think we’re a little past a buzz, huh?” 

“Tell me, Eddie,” Steve took the whack to his shoulder in stride, “You’re not thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” 

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

“Okay,” Steve drug the ‘a’ out of the word, “fine!” He looked to you, “are you thinking what I’m thinking then? And when I said it’s funny, I meant in you defending her when–“ 

“Jesus Christ, Steve!” Eddie said loudly, “would you just shut the fuck up for once! I was so worried about us getting into it,” he threw a hand up and motioned between the two of you, “but you took that and ran right the fuck away with it!” 

As Eddie argued with Steve, you turned to Nancy. 

“I think you better take him to his room,” you saw how mortified she was, “or I can call up Lucas and Dustin to come get him too?” 

“I’ve got him,” she took your hand and held it tightly. “He’s just up-“ 

“—OH!” Steve’s voice cut through hers, “like you’re not giving ‘fuck me eyes’ to each other! Goddammit! It’s like living with divorced parents! No wonder you switch off holidays!” Steve pointed at you, “was that your idea? I bet it was.”

“Wait,” Veronica cut in after Steve’s ‘divorced parents’ comment, “did you two date?” her eyes flicking between Eddie and yourself. Her question went unanswered as Steve continued his tirade. 

“And Dustin reassured me there wouldn’t be an issue!” 

“There wasn’t an issue until you brought it up!” Eddie said pointedly. You downed the rest of your wine in one gulp and Nancy hopped off her chair as people started to go quiet at the surrounding tables. 

“Please!” Steve lamented, “you got fuckin’ plastered in Miami and told me and the boys that you wished it was you gettin’ married not me!” 

“When the hell did I say that?” Eddie furrowed his brows, voice still loud and defensive. Nancy shrugged on her cardigan that was on the back of her chair, Veronica looked befuddled, and you felt like you blanched. Even if they couldn’t see it, you felt it. 

“At the shitty strip club!” Not something he should have shouted in a place like this. “You got all weird and drank yourself to pieces because, and I quote,” Steve said crazed, “the wedding makes you fucking sad and you didn’t know how to handle it.” 

“Oh fuck you, man,” Eddie soured, rolling his eyes at Steve as Nancy grabbed his arm gently.

“Steve, come on,” she coaxed him, “we better get going.” 

“If you want to convince people you don’t still love each other,” Steve chided, “then maybe stop acting like the world will fall apart the moment you walk into a room.” 

“Wait,” Veronica added again, shaking her head in misunderstanding, “still love each other? When did this happen?” 

“We don’t love each other,” Eddie answered for both of you without a second to spare. “And it won’t fall apart! Look! We’re here now!” He motioned his hand between the two of you across the table again but didn’t look at the way you listened to every word like you had when you fought in the kitchen that horrible evening.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded as if he didn’t believe Eddie in the slightest, “Swear on Dustin? On your… shit… I don’t know, guitar!? Say that to her face and tell her like you didn’t just tell me you make a fucking mistake years ago.” 

Mistake. 

There were two paths of a mistake. 

One, where his choice to follow his career without you was a mistake because it wasn’t as it seemed or it wasn’t complete without you; or two, that being with you entirely was a mistake because it clouded his wants for his future. 

Eddie sighed, head bowing as he ran a hand over his face and through his hair before coming up again. 

“Do you really want this to be how you remember the night before you get married?” Eddie asked Steve as the groom sat there with his bride clutching his arm in a pleading motion to exit the wine cellar. 

“Do you want this to be how you remember the day you chickened out on being a man for once?” 

Steve knew it cut deep. The wound open and bleeding for all to see as Eddie’s face scoured into the in-between of pissed off and irate. 

“Go, Steve,” Eddie said flatly, “Big day tomorrow. Don’t want to be late.” 

Nancy gave you a supportive, closed lip smile as Steve finally got off his chair and walked to the door. She let him leave first. 

“I’m sorry about him…” She laughed with embarrassment, “He’s just overwhelmed with everything.” And Nancy wasn’t telling you or Eddie that, but Veronica. 

“It’s alright,” she told her kindly in reply, “wedding’s aren’t wedding’s without a little drama, right?” 

For that, Nancy was grateful. She looked between you and Eddie–still separated by the table yet the string still bristled. 

“Be in the bridal suite by nine, okay?” She told you, “and I think the guys are getting ready at like ten so, don’t sleep in.” 

“Got it,” from Eddie and a “yeah, okay,” from you. 

“Sorry again,” Nancy apologized, leaving to go scold Steve as the table now sat quiet and awkward. 


The flames flickered as the noises from other tables now filled the void of conversation at your own. Veronica tapped her glass, yours sat empty, and Eddie was still facing the empty seat where Steve had been. 

“So,” Veronica pursed her lips, “you two dated then?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek. It provided her the answers of why Eddie had been acting the way he had and the conciseness of dialogue that existed amongst you. The way he gazed, the way you diverted it; his own curiosity and knowledge of the sound of the elevated train that impacted your sleeping and the way the admittance that Eddie now lived in a suburb sent you the wrong way. 

Even then, you glanced at Eddie to see if he’d answer. She was his guest, after all. He turned back around in his seat–back flush against the chair, shoulders slouched. 

“Yes,” he treaded carefully, “we did.” 

“For how long?” It may have been worse that she said none of it with malice. 

Eddie flicked his eyes from where they were trained on the table top to you. And fuck, they sucked you right back in and spit you right back out. 

“About eight years…” You told her, ready to flee. 

“That’s a long time,” she nodded to reaffirm her words. “And you lived together?” 

“Mhm,” Eddie hummed as if he didn’t want her to know every detail of his life. He looked down at the table. “For four years of it.” 

“More like three,” you mumbled passively, pushing your wine glass forward on the table. 

“Four,” Eddie said firmly and his eyes shot back up to you. Sensitive subject, you suppose. He remembered every word you had said to him that evening and the comments about his time spent at home stuck. “Four,” he reiterated. 

“Tell me, when was the last time you were excited to come home?” 

You didn’t forget your words either. 

Your expression pinched; eyebrows shooting up for a brief second before your head cocked to the side with silent words. You weren’t going to embarrass yourself or this table any further by getting into a spat with Eddie over something as trivial as years spent in a shabby apartment in Chicago. 

The wine glass was already pushed; two chairs empty as bed appeared to be the best option to end the night. A soft, hotel pillow to help you replay every image your mind could remember from what you had, what you lost, and what had just happened. 

You hated that. But it was better than arguing with someone you didn’t want to argue with. 

Breathing in a deep, sharp breath, you retracted your gaze from Eddie and gave Veronica the softest one you could muster. 

“It was good to meet you,” you told her. It wasn’t her fault Eddie took your heart and ran away with it. “I hope Steve’s little scene didn’t scare you off. He can be a drama queen when he drinks.” 

“All good,” she gave a tight smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Happens to the best of us.” 

“So it does,” you replied, giving her a nod before sliding off your chair and letting the space return to two. Eddie’s sigh was loud; the way he closed his eyes in frustration hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

As you passed on her side exiting the corner table, you put a hand on the table when your feet came to a stop. Veronica looked at you curiously and waited for another ball to drop on her toes but it didn’t. 

“Don’t let him smoke a whole pack, alright? Won’t do any of us good if he does.” 

And then you walked away. 

Veronica had only been romantically linked to Eddie for three months. She hadn’t seen any side of him that resembled the man sat beside her before and from what she knew, Eddie was not a smoker. The only comment that had surprised her more than the outburst from the groom was when Steve admitted Eddie had become hammered from the booze and weed at his bachelor party. 

But before you could escape the wine cellar fully, Eddie turned around in his seat and shouted your name across the restaurant. 

In a full, obnoxious manner that reminded you of the boy you had fallen in love with in high school. 

“I quit. Six years ago.” 

When the sun rose to its blue hue and the reminder of the night before replayed in your mind like a fresh, unadulterated film, there was a conflict brewing within you. 

The idea of love. 

Love was precious; an almost a forgettable thing when the daily grind became too much for simplistic thought yet it was what people craved the most. To love, to be loved. On a day like that–where there was not a raincloud in sight and when two people were joining each other in matrimony bound by the tethers of love–it was hard not to think about how the feeling evaded you. 

It touched you once. 

It gripped its claws into your flesh and left fatal wounds in its wake, yet you desired it so. Love, the splendid little thing that meant mountains but fell to cavernous trenches. 

You don’t know which part of Eddie you had fallen in love with first. Juvenile, childish love was innocent at seventeen. As you grew older and the complications of adulthood and circumstance of living in Hawkins transformed life, the reasons for loving him changed too. 

It wasn’t always about how he could make you laugh or the way his eyes were so expressive; the comfort he brought or the way he helped you love yourself through him loving you in return. 

It was doing the dishes together at the end of a long night. Falling asleep on the couch because making it to the bed after one of his gigs was too exhausting, but he’d wake up in the early hours of the morning and make sure you’d both end up there anyway. How Eddie made time for everyone and everything until life stopped allowing him to do so. 

It was moments where you and Eddie would be waiting for the train at Clinton station and he’d link his finger with yours because winter gloves constricted full hand movements. 

Those times made you hate what love often resolved itself with: pain and bitter resentment that life was cruel. 

And the clock ticked away as you thought of it. 

When Nancy put her veil on, Robin was the first to cry. Then Max, then Eleven, and Karen was close behind them all. You stayed for a few minutes before excusing yourself to the hallway because the sight painted you blue. 

You felt horrid for feeling bitter when Nancy’s fairytale was not an hour away. 

In the hallway, there was a series of doors that led to varying rooms. Ones that held the groomsmen and Steve, one for the flower girl and ring bearer’s families. It was decorated with seaside decor of light yellows, blues, and whites. A table down ten feet and across the way had a mirror hung above it cased in gold. 

The woman in the reflection was one you neglected to see for a long while. The apparent dissatisfaction of your own circumstance on a day filled with joy riddled on every feature. A necklace clutched in your palm feeling the brunt of sweat and aggravation as Eddie filled your thoughts again. 

You wanted to love him, to be loved by him. You tried to hook the clasp. Missed. 

Why couldn’t you just move on and be happy with someone else? Again, the clasp dug into your finger. Missed. 

Could you even remember what it truly felt like to be loved? 

The clasp evaded you. It was mocking, laughing as you struggled in the hallway mirror and began to sweat the idea that you’d never be able to secure it. Heaving a deep sigh in the mirror, you clutched the necklace in your hand and leaned against the table with two fists. 

“Get it fucking together,” you told yourself quietly. 

Regaining your posture, you tried again, ignoring the sounds of a hall door opening and closing down the way. Your fingers trembled as the clasp caught air once more. 

“You need help with that?” 

You stared at your reflection and pretended not to see where he had stopped. Jaw tense, you shook your head and attempted the connection for the tenth time. 

When you missed again, he scoffed. 

“Give it to me,” he held out his hand palm up, ready to take it from your timid fingers and do it for you. “Come on,” Eddie egged on.

“I don’t need help,” you told him.

“Yes, you do,” he said pointedly. He could see the indentations of the small lever on your index finger. “Just let me help you.”

He wasn’t going to leave. Your eyes met in the mirror and he rose his brows expectantly. More hesitantly than he wished, you held out the necklace and let it ring into his palm. A nod from your head gave him the assent he needed.

In the silence of the hallway, you felt squeezed—both your mind and heart. Eddie moved to stand behind you and you could barely breathe; the simple gesture of helping you put on a necklace far more harrowing than previously realized. He was so close. So close. His fingers trailed to the back of your neck, brushing away the hair with his fingertips and letting it fall where it would not infringe the task.

You couldn’t bear to look at him. Focused on the sconces beside the mirror, you tried not to enjoy the feeling of his hands on you for the first time in half a decade. You tried not to remember the way his touch intoxicated you; every stroke and graze intentional as his eyes watched you struggle.

Eddie lifted his arms above your head and let the jewelry fall onto your collarbone. You wondered if his heart was beating as fast as yours.

“How does she look?” Nancy. His voice was low, quiet in the hall to not disturb the others getting ready. You hadn’t even taken him in yet.

The suits Steve chose were all black, form-fitting with ties instead of bow ties. The pocket squares were filled with a white handkerchief, and the shoes were a clean, shiny black. On his lapel, a single rose was pinned.

“She looks beautiful,” you replied but still wouldn’t look at him. You heard the clasp make it. The necklace sat firm but his hands did not move. They lingered, tracing the line of the back of your neck to the tops of your shoulders.

“You look beautiful.”

You didn’t want him to say that.

“Don’t say that,” you replied morosely. 

“Why?” Eddie’s fingers brushed the necklace’s golden chain. “It’s true.”

The bottom of your lip trembled dangerously.

“Because you can’t say that.” 

“But I did,” he sounded hopeful which dug into that wound a bit further. 

“You brought a date.”

“Why won’t you look at me?” He whispered, fingers still gliding. He said your name softly, “look at me, please. Talk to me.”

You felt your heart constrict, sending a shuttered breath through you and your eyes blinked rapidly. There was no way in Hell you would let Eddie see you cry. He had moved on. He brought a date. A goddamn runway model that, in your opinion, ran circles around you in every way from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

“I need to go,” you stepped away from him, shaking your head and jetting off down the hall. “I’m sorry.”

He called your name once, twice, but you ignored him. You grasped the golden handle with a heavy hand, breathing unsteady as he stood in the distance in your peripheral. As though the world stood still again, Eddie felt that he had broken through. You would turn, talk to him, and let him relish in the company of you. 

Yet, you grasped that handle tighter. 

But, you did turn. 

And when you opened the door back to the dressing room, it wasn’t only you whose memories transported you back to the night in Chicago that plagued your mind, but Eddie too. Straight back as he made his way to the men’s dressing room in the opposite direction. 

“Stop being such an asshole!” You stood in the kitchen, hands clutching the sink as the anger seethed out of you. Eddie paced in the living space just beyond the island to your right. 

“What do you want me to say, huh?” He threw his arms up in defeat. “For once in my life things are finally looking up and people just don’t get signed to a label and expected not to do—” he fumbled his words, “everything that comes with it!”

“I’m not asking you to give up music, Eddie!“ 

“Then what are you asking me?” He craned his head to the side, hands on his hips and breathing hard. “I can’t work from here. I have to go there and the least you could do is come with me.” 

The least you could do. The least you could do. 

You tossed the dish rag that had been strangled in your grip into the sink, focusing on the window positioned across from it and scoffed. A view of the goddamn ‘L’ train tracks you despised.

“Well I can’t just get up and move,” you said as calmly as you could. “Why is it so easy for you to ask that of me but when I bring up what I want, it becomes a problem for you?” 

Eddie shook his head, hair mused as he ran a hand over it. “I don’t make it a problem, baby.” 

“Yes, you do!” You laughed exasperatedly. “You just fucking said—“ a frustrated groan left your lips and you bounded off the sink and faced him from behind the counter. “It’s not like this is Hawkins; it’s goddamn Chicago and I’ll be dammed if there isn’t a music producer in one of those skyscrapers.” 

“They’re not like they are out there. If we want any chance to make music–actually make music of our own that sells platinum records and wins awards–those producers are out there,” he pointed to the door as if it signified a world beyond this one. 

“What? So, it’s all about money?” 

“No! But hell, if that isn’t a major part of it I’d be lying!” 

“And what about our home here?” You put your hands on the counters ledge and the nails on your fingertips motioned against it with rhythmic clicks. “Everything we’ve built here goes to shit because of one possible record deal?” 

“It’s not just one deal,” Eddie groaned your name in frustration, “It’s the only deal and this… this here,” he motioned around the apartment, “was only ever temporary.” 

News to you. 

“Like Hawkins was. This isn’t really home.” 

“Not home?” You furrowed your brows at him. “Then where the hell do you think it is? You bolted from Hawkins the second you got the chance and as far as I am concerned, this is my home. You see those pictures on the wall?” 

You tipped your head in the direction of the wall that the couch sat up against. Above it was a collage of frames that held so many memories. From Nancy to Max, from Steve to Mike, everyone was on that wall. 

“Those people helped us find this one.” 

“Well,” he shook his head, “they can help us find another in California. There are people out there, baby. Real goddamn people that know just what we need.” 

Not you, Corroded Coffin. What they needed. 

“It’s not going to find us all the way out here.” 

“Tell me, when was the last time you were excited to come home?” 

He had been traveling the world with Corroded Coffin for a year and a half. In all of that time, he had come home for approximately two months. Eight weeks out of seventy-eight. This wasn’t the first fight about it; he had changed. The stronghold fame was suffocating him and was the very thing drawing you apart. 

“Hm?” You hummed as he diverted his eyes to the apartment door. 

“I’m here now.” 

“That wasn’t my question, Eddie,” the ground rumbled beneath you. The way his eyes darted to the door as if it were calling him to leave. Foundation cracked and crumbled, fragmenting as the words threatened to tumble out. “Do you even want to be here?” 

“If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be here, yeah?” He looked annoyed, lips nearly flattened. That’s how you knew he was angry. Angry at life, at you, at the world. 

“Eddie,” you pleaded softly in one last attempt to salvage the broken platform, “stop lying to me.” 

“I’m not lying.” 

“Yes, you are!” You breathed in deeply, thinking of the unthinkable questions that pondered in your mind. “I’m not asking you to stay because I don’t want you to follow your dreams—you twisted my words—but why can’t I be the selfish one and want to stay here? You’ll have more money, you can visit and we— “ 

Can work it out. It was already over when he said he had been signed that godforsaken deal. 

He said your name dejectedly. It hung there in the air as if saying ‘stop trying.’ You felt a lump form in your throat as you looked him, already decided in what he wanted because he was going after his dream. Halfway there, this was his out. 

The tears gathered at the sides of your eyes, “you don’t even try.” 

Eddie always had something to say but he couldn’t form words in that moment. 

“What?” You steeled your wet eyes on him, “can’t even say that you had? Or that you were? Eddie, I’ve been doing this alone for so long that I don’t even remember the last time you told me you loved me and you meant it.” 

That set him off. He pointed a bitter finger at you. “I always mean it when I say it. Don’t play that card.” 

“Card!?” You cried, “I’m not trying to guilt trip you into staying but you don’t mean it! Eight weeks! Eight weeks in a fucking year and a half and you expect me to get up and throw my life away for you?” 

“I was on tour! Halfway across the goddamn world!” 

“Exactly!” You exclaimed, turning away from him and trying to escape to the bedroom but you could hear his heavy feet following. 

“Stop it,” he said your name over and over as you gripped the door and tried to close it. He pressed his palm against it with a hard slap and pushed it against the wall with a deafening thud. “Would you just stop!” 

“For Fuck’s Sake!” You yelled, “I can’t move! I don’t want to move! I have a lease, a good job, and I want to stay here and build my future!” 

“You can have that in California!” He yelled back. 

His eyes were wide, trying to pretend the antithesis of the fracture was anything less than his career. 

“No, I can’t!” 

“Why not!?” 

“Because of you! You don’t want what I do!” You screamed at him, voice breaking as you cried and realized that this was the end. Eddie would move out to California and you’d be left in a tiny apartment in Chicago alone. 

“I want a family, Eddie. I want to raise kids here or in the stupid suburbs, and grow old here. You want to be a—” you swallowed hard, cheeks wet and eyes getting puffy, “—rock star and those lives don’t mix. They just don’t.” 

He was only twenty-five. He didn’t really know what he wanted from life. 

“You don’t want to be here. That’s why you haven’t come home and I get it, I do. The band is growing, you’re popular, you have a million women to choose from, but I can’t keep pretending that my wants have to be ignored for you to succeed.” 

“Are you saying I’ve ignored you?” 

“You tell me, Eddie,” you shrugged, “how would you feel if the person you loved most was gone for months only to be reassured that everything was fine by a phone call every few days?” 

He let his head tip to the floor, eyes closed because although many of the cracks stemmed from his choices, this wasn’t what he wanted. Eddie wanted to be happy, to be in love and be loved. But he was at the precipice of being what he always wanted and decisions had to be made. 

Callous and resentful decisions. 

“Do you hate me?” Eddie’s eyes spurred something in him. A hatred for himself, a despised feeling growing that a part of him that had always been missing—family—was being ripped away for a dream. 

“I don’t hate— “ 

“Yes, you do,” he looked up, giving you a knowing look as his bottom lip trembled. 

“No, I don’t. But I’m hurt and I don’t think you see that.” 

“So,” he cleared his throat, breath hitching in his chest, “this is it then? We’re just going to give up?” 

“I didn’t give up, Eddie,” you needn’t say the rest to indicate that he had. “We just want different things.” 

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” you shook your head, sitting down on the edge of the bed with your face turned away from him. “Right now we do and it’s not doing anything for either of us.” 

It was quiet for a few minutes. Minutes. A thick fog fell over the room; marinating in every picture, the clothes folded away in the dresser, the shampoo in the shower, the two dinner plates half-cleaned in the sink. Domesticity wasn’t enough. Love wasn’t enough.

You weren’t sure how long it had been, but Eddie’s socked feet moved from the spot he stood in and approached the bed—carefully and freely. He knelt down, hands on the outsides of both your thighs and his thumbs rubbed the tops of them gently, the pressure soothing when it shouldn’t have been through your jeans. 

“I want you to be happy…” he swallowed thickly as he chose his words gently. There was no point in trying to stop you from crying when he couldn’t do so himself. “I want you to have what you want, sweetheart… and if I can do that… someday… we’ll find each other again.” 

“Eddie…” Your heart ached as you shook your head. Hope was the killer of it all. 

Hope that perhaps one day you’ll find each other again; that you’d both be free to choose the paths that crossed while maintaining your own personalities and careers without giving one up. Hope that a future existed when the flame was extinguished on a cold evening in Chicago. 

“I’m sorry,” he rubbed your thighs tenderly. 

“Me too.” 

“I love you,” he said softly as if were one last confession. The tears were quietly flowing when you leaned forward, cupping the back of his head with your hands and resting your forehead on his own. 

Just to hold him one last time. 

“I love you too.” He left the apartment an hour later and it was the last time you had seen him. No contact, no cards, and no one, in the group of friends you shared, brought up the other on purpose.

The reception was noisy. 

Like a zoo full of animals that were awakened by a whistle only they could hear; sounds of song’s you hadn’t heard since high school played from the small band the Wheeler’s had insisted on just beyond the designated space for dancing. Dustin, Lucas, Mike, and Will were losing it on the floor since the second a Michael Jackson song emitted its first few strings. 

Steve and Nancy were hand in hand greeting guests at their tables as others made their way to the bar, dessert table, or chatted with drinks in their hands. 

At the head table, El and Max were positioned at the end talking in whispers about the people in the room and you sat like a lone duck near the center of it. An abundance of flowers in white and yellow flanked the table before you, empty dishes and scattered bags and goods littered its table top. Mike left a pack of cigarettes in his spot while Dustin’s best man speech was crumbled in a quarter-fold beside his sweating glass of coke. 

Time had left you behind; sitting solemn at your best friend’s wedding while everyone else put on their best smiles and grinned their way through the evening. And maybe that’s what observation had led you to believe, that you looked as though you were wallowing in self-pity for an absence of love in your life. Loveless at an event so full of it. 

You fiddled with the necklace absent mindedly. 

The room of excitable tunes slowed. 

Couples–married and not, grabbed their partners for a dance. Robin and Eddie were standing near the center of the room beside the table that all the parents were at when Veronica slid next to Eddie, her hand slinking down his arm and into his palm as she nodded to the growing group on the dance floor. 

Hours ago, you had looked back at him when he pleaded with you to stay. Now, as his hand was gripped by a woman he wasn’t sure why he had even invited, Eddie looked back from the center of the room and to the head table where you sat. 

Veronica pulled him away before he could make a choice. 

Robin leaned against one of the chairs, watching as Eddie trailed behind the woman in orange. She did not realize Joyce and Hopper were still sitting at the table she rested against. 

“What the hell was that?” Hopper voiced, hand pointing in Eddie’s direction like a finger gun. He had a mustache that was perfectly trimmed and highlighted his frown well. Joyce crossed her arms with scrutiny.  

Robin shrugged, sighing as she turned around and pulled out a chair to sit at the table. “Two idiots in love, I think.” 

“Jesus,” Hopper scratched his forehead, “I knew it was a bad idea…” he mumbled as he watched Eddie pretend to be interest in what the woman was telling him as they danced. 

“What?” Robin shook her head, “What was a bad idea?” 

“Them breaking up!” He said as if it were obvious. “I got a call from one of the bartenders at The Hideout that there was a scuffle goin’ on one Friday night a few years ago and when I got there, Eddie was there just fuckin’ bombed on the sidewalk.” 

Joyce nodded along to his words because she had heard the story before. Robin listened intently as Hopper continued. 

“I couldn’t understand a word he was sayin’ so I put him in the truck and offered to drive him to her parents’ house because that’s where they always stayed when they came to town and he just… cried. Drunk and sobbing his goddamn eyes out in the front of my truck.” 

“Was this recent or…?” Robin pondered. 

“No,” Hopper shook his head, “years back but he was goin’ on about how he was a bad boyfriend and they broke up and he was moving to California in a few days… I just thought to myself ‘shit, man, I have never seen someone so bent out of shape from a breakup.’ Those two… If it weren’t Steve and Nancy gettin’ hitched, I would have bet money on it that it was them instead.” 

“Every Tuesday he’d pick her up from Melvald’s and take her out. He had flowers for her every time,” Joyce recalled. “I asked her about it once,” she nodded and looked at how you watched Eddie with the other woman, “she said that he never had a good example of what it meant to be a good boyfriend. I guess his dad was a piece of shit,” Hopper hummed a knowledgeable assurance that she was right. “And he wanted to be the only example he could think of–be that good guy that she deserved.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Robin said quietly. 

“I told him he needed to fly back to Chicago and fix things,” Hopper added, “but I guess he was too beaten up about it; probably thought she’d slam the door in his face.” 

“Doubt it,” Robin snorted, “I don’t think they’re idiots,” she corrected herself, “I think they know exactly what the other one is thinking but are too scared to get hurt again if it doesn’t work out.” 

Hopper scooted his chair back, adjusting his pants and jacket as he stood from the table. “Well, then we’ll just have to make it happen–or,” he clarified, “get them in the same spot.” 

Robin swiveled in her chair as Hopper rubbed Joyce’s shoulder as he passed behind her, heading straight for the head table and directly to you. 

Jim Hopper wasn’t a man that could be missed in a crowd of hundreds. His bulky frame that towered over guests and moved about the room like a boulder in grass drew your eyes to the movement immediately. He passed by Max and Eleven at the end of the table, never missing the opportunity to pat the girl he raised into a wonderful young lady on the head. 

It was a nice distraction from Eddie and Veronica swaying to a melodic tune. 

“Hey kid,” Hopper pulled out the chair beside you labeled with a table marker for ‘Robin Buckley.’ 

You gave him a closed smile. “Hi Chief.” 

“I guess I can’t really call you ‘kid’ anymore,” he groaned, chuckling as he sat down with an ache all older men his age did. “I blink and you all grow up… makes me feel like a real old man,” and then he gave you that sly, side grin that made you wish Hopper was your dad instead of the one you had. 

“You’re not old, Hopper,” he managed to pull a small laugh from your lips. The dejected film washing away for a brief second in time. 

“Well,” he cleared his throat as he put an elbow on the table and adjusted himself in the seat to face you, “that makes me feel a little better about my age. So,” Hopper gave a pointed look that answered the hundreds of questions as to what Robin was chatting to him and Joyce about, “what are you sitting all the way over here for? Don’t want to chat or dance?” 

“Just tired,” you told him, “Nance didn’t pick the most sensible shoes.” 

“Robin took hers off; I’m sure you can do the same.” 

“And walk barefoot on this floor?” You snorted. “Never.” 

He shared the amusement before turning his gaze to the groups of people beyond the tables as they danced. A goddamn direct view. ‘Cruel,’ he thought. And surpassing the stone of the church from hours before, the beach where it trickled rain as photos were snapped for scrapbooks forever, and the smells of delicious food filled his belly before reaching his mouth, Jim Hopper felt the love that filled the room. 

It touched him, as it had you and everyone else on the wedding weekend of Steve and Nancy Harrington. 

Joyce was attempting to occupy Robin in conversation but every time Jim’s eyes met hers, he knew they were both far too curious and nosey to not be gossiping about longstanding drama that befuddled even the most romantically inclined. 

The woman that restored his faith in the prospect of love and devotion had witnessed the earliest of your own. Tuesday’s at the local mart, the way Eddie would hold the door for you and attempt to steal magazine’s off the rack just to get your attention. How Eddie drove you around when your car was in the shop and eventually, would take the little rascals of Hellfire with for soda and snacks before their campaigns began–but also because he wanted to see you if even for a minute. 

Although people often judged the idea of love at a young age, Jim and Joyce both recognized its honesty between Eddie and yourself. It was pure, unadulterated, and basked in a light that only belonged to the longevity of companionship. 

“You know, the moment I knew I loved Joyce, I thought I’d never get her.” 

Hopper could see Eddie and his date having their own conversation, whatever it may have been, because a blank face melted from one of an increasing lack of emotion, to one of strife. 

“And when I did, I thought she’d see a different man than the one I believed I was.”

“She would have been blind not to see the real you, Hopper,” Joyce smiled at you as you caught her eyes. “You always tried to help us be the best versions of ourselves and she did too. If that’s not a perfect match, I don’t know what is.” 

“Are you the best version of yourself now?” He questioned, tapping his finger onto the white tablecloth of the table. “Weddings can be… sobering… but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person look as distant as you.” 

“Flattery never was your strong suit, Hopper,” you grimaced, “and I’m fine,” you weren’t fine. “You didn’t have to come save me from myself.” 

“So, there aren’t a million thoughts swimming around in that mind of yours? I know I’m not the most intuitive dad there is but believe me when I say I’ve been trained to know when somethin’ just quite ain’t right.” 

“I have hundreds of thoughts racing through my brain. ‘Why is the cake so far away?’ ‘Rob and Joyce can stop staring at me any second now,’ and perhaps my favorite thought, ‘why does Jim Hopper care about my state of mind?” Combative. He knew the signs. 

“Maybe Jim Hopper knowns that the girl deep down inside of you just needs to heal,” he said honestly. “But there is only one way to heal what’s been lost and let me tell you, it’s not going to come waltzing on down here as you sit and mope.” 

“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” You scoffed at yourself, “that this wedding has only made me jealous about what I don’t have.” 

“I don’t think you’re jealous, kid,” Hopper deflated, “I think you’re realizing a mistake was made somewhere along the lines of your own life.” 

Mistake. It was that goddamn word again. 

“There’s been no mistake,” you shook your head at him, “everything has played out the way it was meant to.” 

“And you really believe that?” 

“There had been nothing in my life to prove me otherwise.” 

“And lying was never your strong suit, kid,” he put on his ‘dad’ face. “You don’t have to talk to me, fine, but if I asked to be the first person to ask for a dance tonight, would you say no?”

How could you deny Jim Hopper, Police Chief and hero of Hawkins, Indiana? You couldn’t. Even if you were flailing for support in an ocean of heartache, sparing one dance for the man was cinch. He rose from the chair, holding out his arm in hopes that you would link yours through his and entertain him one dance as Steve and Nancy added themselves to the pairs on the dance floor and swayed gently to a new song. 

His stature would block a view you’d rather not see. 

“You may be the only person to ask me to dance,” you joined him on your feet. “I can’t say no to you, Chief.” 

“That’s the spirit, kid.”

“Why did you bring me here?” 

Veronica’s voice cut through the music as couples and pairs settled onto the dance floor with the melodic hum of a song playing through sets of speakers. Instead of dancing like an adult, she had flung both her arms over Eddie’s shoulders and linked her hands behind his head. He had no choice other than to put his hand at her waist; the fabric of her orange dress was coarse under his fingertips. 

“I asked you to come,” Eddie replied. “I thought I told you that last night.” 

Ah, yes. Last night; where Steve made a scene about Eddie’s lingering feelings of letting another woman go while she sat beside him with the best intentions.

Veronica did not know Eddie Munson–the guy who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks by fate, the one who had a strange group of friends that shared varying interests and ran in different social circles, or someone who threw everything he had into a career he realized wasn’t as glamorous as the cameras and magazines made it out to be. 

He cursed those Rolling Stone magazines he scoured when he was a bit too early for closing time of Melvald’s. 

“Yeah,” Veronica said as if that hadn’t mattered in the slightest, “and here you are, barely even touching me or sparring me a second look. You know I had to sit by some stoner guy for dinner and they didn’t believe you could bring someone like me.” 

Eddie narrowed his eyes, taken aback by her comment. “What’s that supposed to mean? Those are good people. And I was a huge fuckin’ stoner once too.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” she shook her head, “I mean, they didn’t see me with you. Not because of who I am or who you are, but because it wasn’t right.” 

“You know,” Eddie lowered his voice when he caught the eye of Dustin dancing with Suzie not two feet away from him, “you’re sounding an awful lot like someone who’s about to dump someone else.” 

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Her eyebrows quirked as she tipped her head to the side. “Why waste more time on me?” 

Even if his heart raced in another direction, the sound of someone saying that to Eddie was bothersome. 

“Please don’t say that,” he said, “you’re not a waste of time.” 

“But for someone else’s love, I am,” Veronica’s lips extended into a thin line. “That’s not a bad thing, Eddie… It just means I’m not the one for you.” 

The chords of the music sobered him. 

Across the room, sitting desolate at the dinner table, his heart called. 

“Afford me this dance,” Veronica continued, “and when the time comes, do what makes you happy, however difficult that may be. She may not run into your arms as she once did,” as the motions swayed the pair, she faced the table as Jim Hopper approached. “That doesn’t mean love doesn’t exist.” 

She felt Eddie’s shoulder’s deflate from the tension he had been holding in the entire day–nay, two days–since the prospect of you had become a reality. 

“I abandoned her,” Eddie admitted quietly to her, “like a fucking ragdoll for some dream that really isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.” 

Veronica did not know every detail. She did not know the exact history, nor did she fully grasp the levity of a near decade of love being tossed to the side for a pipedream. But she did know what it was like to leave an abundance of life behind to chase a want. 

Yet the model had never seen a group so peculiar as the one he belonged to. The tightknit communal that leaned on each other like family even though many were from different corners. She had seen the binds of friendship like never before. She had seen a broken love bonded by pain from across a candlelight tabletop and wondered why she had ever been invited if that would always have been the outcome. It was as though two ships hadn’t sailed passed one another but docked; lengths of a life finally running out of individual ink before relying on two for competition. 

“You both hurt each other,” she settled, “that is what separation does. But…” she chuckled, “I have been in love before and I’ve never witnessed such a feeling when being in the presence of the two of you–and I don’t even know her…” 

“She won’t talk to me,” Eddie confided. “I tried, earlier today because she was on the verge of a breakdown over a necklace and she could barely look at me.” 

“Don’t you think it may be because if she did, she’d fall all over again?” 

The song was coming to a close. 

“There is nothing wrong with pain, Eddie. Feeling pain, wanting to be healed, and being scared of that healing… and maybe she’ll need time. She loves you. I know she does because when women know, they know.” 

Jim Hopper stood from the chair. 

There was a comradery he felt in Veronica. Romance beside itself, the woman was a chakra. She had looked into a future he could barely imagine himself and pulled the heroic card before it was dealt. These cards overturned like quicksand settling between his toes. 

“You know,” Eddie gave her a sly, friendly grin, “you sound an awful lot like those odd fortune tellers that sell their services on the strip.” 

Veronica laughed; whole-heartedly, warmly. “Maybe in a previous life I was,” she played, “but in yours, there has always been one path and I guarantee you, from one romantic to another, loneliness was never an option for you. It’s what kids dream about–that ‘fairytale…’ Even if it is a little bit messy.” 

You linked your arm with Jim’s. 

“I’ve always been a little too messy,” Eddie said sheepishly. 

“I can tell,” Veronica groaned, “You don’t have to be perfect for her. Imperfection seizes our hearts faster than perfection… it’s enough to haunt us when perfection tears that apart.” 

“El isn’t dancing with anyone.” 

Jim Hopper held one hand in his and the other on the upper half of your back. It was as though he was dancing at an elementary father-daughter dance than anything else, stiff in his hulking frame. The music did nothing to silence your rapidly forming thoughts that Eddie and Veronica were feet away; Eddie’s eyes caught yours as Jim helped you to the floor, an anguish in them acted as a puzzle waiting to be pulled apart. 

In the eyes that watched Veronica rip the persona he had gathered for himself in the years past, Eddie could only imagine you. He waited for them to turn into your own, for her laugh to morph into yours, for her hands to run through his hair as yours once did, and the comfort of her presence to become you. Looking for that glimpse, Eddie found it inside of his imagination; searching every corner of it to find a home for his torment–self-inflicted and its mortal consequences bleeding life from him like a sieve. 

“It’s those sensible shoes…” Hopper joked. “Her feet are killing her. A couple blisters later, she’s sworn them off forever.” 

“I don’t blame her,” Lucas and Max joined the pairs beside you. The red-headed girl rested her head on his shoulder, eyes closed in the utmost content state she could be in. True love. 

“How many dances do you have in your feet?” 

“Why?” You questioned. “Am I a better partner than Joyce? She was always rather clumsy.” 

“No,” he laughed but could not disagree, “I just think those boys won’t end the evening without asking you. I think Dustin’s always had a little crush on his former babysitter.” 

“I don’t think,” you tipped your head at him, “I know he’s always had a crush on me.” 

Dustin Henderson had always been a cute boy. His pure child-like imagination and motivation had inspired you to explore your own interests without fear. You had watched him from five until his mother decided he didn’t need you anymore, but you were lucky to call him a friend now. 

“But he’s got Suzie,” you could see the two giggling as everyone danced around them. “And I can’t think of a more natural person for him. I think they’re next,” your eyes moved themselves around the room, “to get married.” 

“Too many childhood sweethearts in my opinion,” Hopper’s gruff voice was certain in that. “Not everyone is meant to be with their first loves.” 

“I think they are… just like Steve and Nancy, just like Max and Lucas.” 

“And you and Eddie.” Not a question, a statement. 

It was the scoff that left your lips that made his hopes for you feel weak. “That chapter ended, Chief. He’s moved on, so have I.” 

“No,” he clarified, “you haven’t. You wouldn’t have been moping around your best friend’s wedding if you were.” 

“I wasn’t moping,” you defended, “Jonathan was moping. I’m pretty sure he cried and had decent reason to but I was just… people watching.” 

“Person watching. You were watching Eddie and there’s nothing wrong with it,” he asserted. “You love him. There is no shame in it.” 

“Why is everyone so interested in how I feel?” Your face put on the mask of a scorned lover. Eyes drawn narrow and brows forming a crease in its center. “This is Nance and Steve’s wedding, their only wedding if they’re lucky, and I’ve had person after person question how I feel about something I no longer have.” 

“Maybe it’s because for once we all see the truth of it all…” He had seen the truth as a washed-up Eddie cried in his truck. “That the pain of the past isn’t worth the loneliness of the future.” 

“A true poet,” you mumbled, “but I’m fine. I promise you, I’m fine.” 

“I’ve said it before,” Hopper chuckled, “and I will always say it to you, but you’re a terrible liar.” 

“Lies be lies, Chief. But there’s no point in trying to make me feel better about feelings I can’t control.” 

“No one is asking you to control them,” you turned your head away from Jim’s and clocked Lucas eavesdropping. He gave a strained, tight smile before resting his cheek onto Max’s head. “That isn’t what we’re trying to do… I want the kids I watched grow up to be happy and you’re not happy, he’s not happy. I don’t know if the answer to that equation is the two of you finding each other again but I’ve never been a man capable of understanding the love you had. And that sound ridiculous coming from someone as old as your old man.” 

“I can’t even be in the same room as him without feeling like breaking down,” your voice was quiet, a mere whisper of what it was because the prospect of Eddie still having feelings for you was frightening. You didn’t want to end up becoming a ghost again. 

“It’s like I’m a nobody in a room full of somebody’s and they can’t see me.” 

“Someone will always see you,” his eyes were gentle. “He saw you when he couldn’t see himself.” 

“Then why did he leave?” 

And the way Hopper’s body stood taller, his gaze no longer meeting yours, and turning you cold told you the world was ending. This love, imploded if it couldn’t exist between the two of you, was bubbling to the surface like a volcano. Here, on the island of Nantucket, a tsunami couldn’t save you from emotional ruin. 

“I think that’s a question you’ll have to ask him.” 

Veronica’s hand extended into your peripheral vision. She held it out to Jim like a lifeline. 

“Do you mind if I steal him?” Her body came into view and you needn’t know the conversation the two had to know she had led Eddie back to you. “I need to hear all about this ‘hero of Hawkins!’”

“I’m not the hero,” Jim said rather sheepishly. “That’s all him.” 

You could feel Eddie’s presence in a room of hundreds of a room of one. It enveloped you into a cocoon against your fighting mind. 

“Those are strong words coming from you, Chief.” His voice rung out against the music. Eddie had been on the poor graces of Chief Jim Hopper for many a year before the man had seen Eddie for what he was: a good, kind man with a fierce complex.

Jim looked to you. “You got this, kid. I’ve got another partner now, so do you.” 

He took Veronica’s arm and linked it through his arm like an elderly man who needed help walking. He wasn’t that old. She took him away without a glance back at the one who had asked her to come. 

“Now,” Eddie cleared his throat from behind you, “I could ask you to dance or,” he had put on that voice like there were more options than he had, “we can go outside, sit down, and maybe you’ll talk to me.” 

‘Look at me. Why won’t you look at me,’ his words echoed in your mind. 

When you turned around to face him, he got his wish. 

Eddie looked hopeful, as if it were the permanent face he wore. His eyes were the smallest bit glassy, hands stuffed into his pockets, and the shine of his shoes to the wear of his tie was different than he had ever worn before. He was still him, yet so different all the same. 

“If we talk,” you felt like you swallowed a frog, “no lies. I don’t want to hear any lies.” 

“Wouldn’t think of it.” 

The night was cold. 

Springtime enfolded the shores of Nantucket; cattails and tall grasses billowing, soft sounds of ocean waves lapping muted the music from inside. Adirondack chairs lay vacant, pillows dewed and their wood smooth. 

You couldn’t bear to sit down. 

Allowing the night air to take you, Eddie shut the door behind him and felt the scene before him play at the edge of a cliff; every piece of you blowing away against a yearning to stay. He began shrugging his jacket off and you held out a hand in front of you. 

“I’m fine,” the frost bit at your voice. “Keep it.” 

“You’re freezing,” Eddie continued to remove his piece. “I’m not going to be an asshole and let you freeze to death because you’re stubborn.” 

You scoffed. “I am not stubborn. I don’t need it, end of story.” 

He tugged it off, folding it in his hands before tossing it on one of the chairs that separated the distance between you. His tie was long undone, the two buttons at the top of his shirt undone but the cufflinks remained. You wanted to take the jacket. You wanted to recall his scent and warmth but your stubbornness in protection vexed you. 

“Fine,” he huffed. 

“Fine,” You replied in kind. 

Only the note of waves filled the stillness. You both looked at one another as though a million years had gone by in the blink of an eye. Not unlike the seconds passed in the wine cellar the night before, the world seemed to dissipate to a single existence of two former lovers. Two people, in spite of themselves, who haven’t felt whole since a single moment six years before. 

Goosebumps raised on your skin, the jacket appeared delectable yet an item of fear as it sat, calling to say ‘put it on,’ only to be followed by a whisper of ‘forgive me.’ 

“I can’t imagine that small talk is what you wanted to discuss,” you started. 

“I don’t believe it’s what you would want either,” he countered, “and we both know that would get us nowhere.” 

“So, what?” You lightly shook your head. “You want me to ask how your life has been and catch up on all I’ve missed? There’s a reason I don’t read gossip magazines anymore… I don’t need to see beautiful women rubbed in my face or success showing me that my pain was worth something more.” 

“A lot of those things are lies,” Eddie walked his icy path with steady feet. “You don’t need to read them, no. But I would hope you still cared enough to ask about me when you visit Rob and Nance, not to mention Steve never brings you up to me.” 

“Oh, you mean the literal effort they all put in to never mention you around me?” You gazed at him as though the reason you never asked about him, or they never spoke about him, was obvious. It hurt too much. “It’s not exactly a cake walk, Eddie, to hear about your fantastic life when I could barely hold my own together.” 

“It’s not fantastic and if you asked, you would have known that.” 

“And it’s my responsibility to learn that? Did you want me to reach out, ask how you’ve been, and get lunch like you didn’t fucking break my heart?” You gawked. Eddie took his hands from his pockets and put them on his hips–a Steve move he had taken upon after establishing their friendship. “If I couldn’t talk about you, I don’t know how the hell I would have talked to you.”  

“Then maybe I should have called,” like an easy solution, “and maybe instead of… what was it Steve said? Trading holidays liked a divorced couple, we could have been civil and spent time with our friends together.” 

“Was that when you were traveling the world or recording records?” You pursed. “Or when you moved out to California and visited once a year? Tell me, Eddie, is a hypothetically cordial relationship something you really want with me? I can barely feel the world turn as it is when I’m in your presence, I doubt I would be able to have a good time with our friends.” 

Eddie laughed savagely. “I didn’t know all the fun had been sucked out of you.” 

You took a step back, careening your head out toward the ocean as you bit your cheek. He had gall. He was bold and unflinching, but his eyes told the truth. His own pain and suffering at the consequences of his actions had let the light leave him for so long. When pain overtook a person’s being, anger and callous language followed. 

“If you’re going to be an ass,” you looked back to him, “I don’t want to talk to you.” 

“It isn’t the truth, though? I’ve at least tried to have a halfway, goddamn decent time at this wedding and every time I looked at you, you’ve been nothing but bitter.” 

“No one asked you to look at me, Eddie. You brought a date. You should focus on her.” 

“How could I!?” A dam had broken inside of him. He couldn’t not look at you. “Every time I think I’ll give someone else a chance, it’s like seeing a fucking ghost in my mirror! I have to look at you. I need to look for you.” 

“No, you don’t!” You exclaimed with as much passion. “You lost that when you walked out! I am sorry that I am so shitty for being sad at a beautiful wedding. I am sorry for wishing that this time, maybe it was me walking down that goddamn aisle. And for fuck’s sake, I am so sorry that I am fearful that you’ll finally move on and want to marry someone else! Jesus fuck! It’s been six goddamn years and I still think that you’ll come walking through the door and say you made a mistake but I don’t want to hear that tumbling out of Steve’s mouth. I don’t want it to be based in lies because you feel bad I am sad at my best friend’s wedding.” 

“I love you,” he blurted out without reason. 

“Don’t say that!”

“Why!?”

“Because it isn’t true! IF I was, you never would have left! You wouldn’t have asked me to throw my life away and follow you to the ends of the fucking earth! If I wasn’t just some body, maybe somebody would love me enough to stay,” You argued loudly. 

“I do love you,” He argued back with the same ferocity. 

“You did. You don’t anymore.” 

“I do love you. I do. I haven’t fucking stopped loving you since I was seventeen and I don’t think I ever will stop. I will always love you, I have always loved you, and I know that when I am dying, I will die loving you,” he was breathless. Angered and pent up with emotions he had buried deep where his eyes were fiery and his tone was firm. 

“You can’t say things like that…” Fuck the tears that loved to threaten to fall.

“Why!? Tell me why I can’t tell the truth. You asked me not to lie and I wouldn’t do that to you!”

“Becau–” you stammered the word as your mind racked itself for answers, “because it’s not fair to me! I can’t live another day knowing that someone else out there loves you in a way that I do. I can’t keep waiting around in my shitty, fucking life for someone who walked out of it for something bigger than me.”

“And it was a mistake! I will never forgive myself for it but please, even if it’s the last thing you do, please believe that it was. I never should have asked that of you, I was selfish. I knew what I wanted in life then because it hasn’t changed. It existed deep down but was scared to come to the surface and I needed to be pulled under to see that. I love you. I love you so goddamn much that every day without you has been the most unbearable few years of my life. I want you, and only you.”

“Don’t lie to me,” your lip trembled, face hot. 

“I’m not lying,” his own eyes watery. “Please, I am not lying to you.”

“I don’t think you know how much you hurt me, Eddie,” you shook your head at him. “There are times when I don’t feel like myself because you took that away from me. I don’t depend on anyone; I’d never say that I lost everything when you left but you cracked me open, slaughtered me in the place we shared because of a dream. And believe me, really, that I am so happy you found that life but how can I know that my suffering was worth it? 

“You don’t think I suffered too?” He exclaimed loudly at the sky. “I went to Hawkins, you know, after everything because I didn’t have anywhere to go.” You didn’t know.

“I got so fucking drunk at a bar that Hopper had to come scrape me off the sidewalk and from what I remember, I exploded in the truck when he tried to take me to your parent’s place. Do you know what he did? Let me sleep on the couch and when Eleven got up the next day, she held my hand and told me that I’d be okay and I haven’t been okay. I’ve never been okay without you and I’m not scared to admit that. You are my lifeline, sweetheart. I have tried to replace that feeling but I can’t.”

“Do you know how long I wished for you to walk through that door?” You pointed to the door you walked through as if it could transform itself into the one of the apartment you shared. “I sat there, waiting for you because I barely remembered a life where you weren’t part of it and that was hard enough to imagine when it slammed in my goddamn ears,” you huffed, eyes nearly ablaze as his committed declarations of love echoed through every vacant place inside of you and right back to the moment he left. 

“There is not a day that goes by where I don’t question why you let it go so easily.” 

“It wasn’t easy,” Eddie stressed your name exasperatedly, “nothing about that choice was easy.” 

“You made it seem like it was.” 

Eddie felt the grounding he had built in his mind with his vow of love was strong. He felt the ghosts of the past begin to grip his feet; haunting and pulling him to the depths of his former despair to face a choice chastened by ambition. On the cold, concrete sidewalk and the airy Nantucket patio, it ruptured in spouts. 

Pain, longing, abjection tied to every word; you had tried in obstinate strength to keep the fortress from becoming invaded. That somewhere in your heart there was a knowledge it was stronger than the force of the man that had left you to bleed but it wasn’t. It felt his bullets like bandages. They neither wounded nor massacred its path forward, binding the holes left behind with attestation.

“When I said we wanted different things, why didn’t you tell me what you wanted?” You asked in a voice wavering. “I thought you wanted this life,” a hand painted his figure against the night, “he one with the glitz and glamor and women like Veronica. If you wanted what I did, why toss it to the side?

Eddie shook his head, backing away from you and throwing his hands on top of his head in a connected grasp. He looked out to the water so dark he couldn’t see yet heard. “You remember what I told you about my parents?”

After a second, he returned his gaze to you and in return, you nodded. 

Eddie’s perception of self was deeply rooted in the disjointed childhood he had been forced to experience. Every feeling, every action questioned by himself as to whether the receiving party had viewed it as strange, difficult, or simply heartless. He kept his heart on his sleeve, however, he kept it tethered there. When someone tried to hold it in their own palms, Eddie pulled away. 

It had taken years for him to be comfortable enough with himself to be willing to be someone he liked. 

“It doesn’t just go away with time,” he sighed. “I will always doubt myself. I always fear that I’m one step away from becoming him even if I know I’m nothing like him.” 

For a child of a loveless marriage, a brutal life, the most fearful thing they could imagine was not whether or not they could be loved later in life, it was turning into the people they hated most. 

“It’s not every day that someone comes to your concert and wants to sign you without so much as a demo session… and that overtook me. I know that now, and I knew that the second I walked out the goddamn door. I will apologize for the rest of my life if it means you know how I feel.”

Eddie let that sit. 

“You can hate me forever, I don’t mind. But don’t convince yourself I never cared enough about you.”

“I don’t hate you. I never hated you. And I’m sorry if I made it seem that way.”

Perhaps he would have to convince himself that you never hated him just as you would that he loved you.

“Even when I left?”

“There was not a piece of my body strong enough to feel anything more than empty when that happened.”

“I felt it too, you know,” his eyes shimmered in the lamplight. No joy, no hilarity–just hope that you knew the truth. 

“I do now,” you told him. 

“I’m not asking you to give me a second chance,” Eddie shrugged his shoulders lowly. In a nearly defeated sigh, he took the words he replayed in his mind for two thousand, one hundred and ninety days, “but fuck… I told you I’d find you again if the time was right and the minute I saw you in the archway I knew that was my shot… you’re the same but different… I loved you then and I love the you that you are now. And I’m sorry that it took me that long to realize it.” 

“What did you feel in that church today?” 

A cosmic connection, a fleeting moment he wished to hold onto forever. 

“Eddie,” you took a step forward, closing the distance, “tell me what you felt.” 

“I felt…” He paused. Breathing in deeply, it was not his admissions of love that proved to be most difficult. It was the regret of letting it go that scarred the deepest. “I felt… bitter.” 

“Bitter?”

“Because I don’t have what they do,” he threw a lazy arm toward the door. “Or I did have that and I let it go because of a silly dream.” 

“I don’t think your dream was silly,” you admitted, “it worked out of you in the end.” 

“But at what cost?” Eddie took a step closer to you; the chair with this tuxedo jacket the space that separated you. “Why do those dreams take everything away to make them happen? I didn’t want to do that, this, alone. Not without you.” 

“I felt helpless,” you disclosed. “In that church with the sun streaming in… like a fucking… higher power was saying to me that the way I loved you still existed inside of me. It hasn’t ever truly gone–as much as some moments I wish it was–yet it stays.” 

“Helpless because you love me?” 

“Helpless because I can’t have you.” 

“And why can’t you have me?” Another step closer. “Why do you, the only woman I have ever truly loved, feel you cannot have me?” 

“Because someone else does,” your eyes flashed toward the doors as if Eddie’s proximity and both of your vulnerabilities were forbidden. “Because someone else loves you.” 

“She doesn’t love me,” Eddie’s fingers eclipsed your own. Fanning in a light flutter, it was discovering touch again. “She isn’t mine and I am not hers.” 

He stepped closer again and every one of your senses went spiraling. Eddie leaned his head forward and rested his forehead on your own. Two sets of eyes closed at the sensation. 

“You have all of me. Every part of me since the moment I saw you.” 

“And what do you want?” 

‘I want you to have what you want, sweetheart,’ his words were distant from the past.

“What do you want now?” you asked him, breaking away as your eyes shone to his. His free hand cradled the back of your neck gently, he rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “I know what I want, but I need to hear it from you. No lies.”

“No lies,” he repeated, a quick glanced down at your lips had him soaring. “I want you, baby. I’ll only ever want you.” 

“Good,” you whispered, lips barely tracing his for the first time in six years. “Because we’re not letting this go this time.”

“Never.”

And he pulled your lips to his.

To answer the question the chapel had asked you, ‘what is it like to be loved?’, there is only one answer: 

This is what it feels like. Pain, beauty, and joy. There is no bind without strife, nor is there passion without sacrifice. 

And in the years in between said sacrifice, the tethers of a string brushed together until they found one another again on a little island off a blustery coast for the wedding of Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler.

A/N: As always, comments, reblogs are kindly encouraged :) thank you for reading!

Don’t yell at me tumblr, there’s no nips or dicks.

Come get your Steddie fix. This took forever.

Why does the reader always is white with long blond hair and in short skirt ? Aren't they supposed to be everybody ?

Merry Christmas !

Ghostface x Gn!reader

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

TW/CW: reader has a mother, breaking in, brief mention of kys

Merry (late) Christmas to those who celebrates it and even those who don't. Also happy new year, I hope this year will be full of money and health for you all. Also if you have any projects I deeply hope it'll realize.

I have the unpleasant feeling this work is sloppy and that I'm regressing and losing vocabulary. Also Ethan gave me the ick here, I made him a total loser.

I literally wrote so many different things and yet I can't finish any of them, this is pure torture.

05/01/2024 (7 409 words)

You're not one to go all out for Christmas, most of the time, it's just a pretext for family to gather and eat and share some juicy gossip. And you love it ! When they're not pestering you with question about your love life or job or study or just anything boring.

This year, you all gathered at your aunt's house. She's a single mother of one, they live alone in this huge cottage far away from the city you're used to. It's nice living here but it's deeply disabling being obligated to use your car to just buy some bread.

In New York, you either walk or use public transports.

It's still fun to be here on vacations, it changes from your daily life. Your mom is going back and forth between the car and the house to empty the car boot, you on the other side, are stuck with your aunt and cousin. Your aunt is telling you how glad she is to finally see the whole family together, saying how much you've grown and bla bla bla.

"Come help me with your stuff !" your mom calls you from outside.

Not making her repeat herself by fear of regretting it later, you hurry to the alley outside. Your mother is already emptying the car, throwing your bags on the ground and frenetically searching for what you assume are her phone, in your pocket.

Walking to her side, you hand her her phone which owes you a thanks before she pulls you to the car trunk. Sighing, your hand grab the bag you brought with you full with clothes. You're staying here for a week after all ! But you can't even take out the bag entirely from its confine as something lower catch your eyes; the tire. It's all deflated.

"Mom, is it me or our tire's flat ?" you make her know instantly. She turns her head to you and frowns.

"Shit you're right." she double check."That's weird, it wasn't like that when we parked here earlier." A small silence filled with bird's singing and light wind replace her words. "It's just our luck, she sighs. We'll change it the day of our departure, your aunt probably has a spare tire."

Your mom doesn't let you answer as she grabs her bag and leave to the house. You're left alone before the open car boot, thinking about your bad luck. Here, it's a necessity to have a working car ! The nearest grocery store is hours away from here by foot and thirty minutes by car.

Crouching down, you put your hand on the holed tire to examine it. You don't really understand, that's some really bad gash, what the hell ? What did you even drove on ? The hole is as big as the length of two of your index fingers. Surely even driving over a nail wouldn't do that.

Are animals frequent in this area ? Or maybe it was already holed at home but the long road worsen it. Just your luck, from every car in the country, or even just the ones here, your car had to be targeted. The world hates you. You hope you won't often need to use your car.

Grabbing the handle of your bag, you slam the trunk door of the vehicle and head to your room. Damn, you kind of missed this place to be honest. You have pretty good memories from here !

The house is quite separated from the other, forest being the only thing present here. You remember climbing up trees, playing in the snow or watching TV before the chimney. And this exact room in which you're staying for the week already hosted you, with its heavy blankets that more often than not itches but are too warm to let go.

You know this place all too well.

What changed ? Life was so cool before, so simple. You did not have to go to a school you don't even like, you never even had to think about later. Your later was asking yourself what would be your next snack. And yet, here you are today, thrown in adult world. And you're deeply lost, everything is so slow and fast at the same time.

You fear you might lose your friends by changing University, you fear to start everything over again, you fear to stay forever stuck in a job you don't like. This room offers you a moment of peace, a portal from your childhood reminding you how everything was easier before.

Shame hits you because you know you'll have to come down to greet everyone when you have nothing to talk about. You're not excellent at school, nor bad, just in the fair middle. You don't have any partner, but you have a few friends. Your life's just boring and you don't want to tell it to everyone. Each one of your cousin always find something to be proud of, you don't have much, nothing to brag about.

To light up the mood, you turn on your phone to send a message to one of your friends; she seems busy as she's not answering. Same for the few others friends you have, some you're not even that close to, only friends at school.

Delight cross you in seeing someone writing you, only for the name to disappear immediately before you're able to see it. Man, you could have finally erased the boredom.

After some time mourning in your corner, your mom yelled at you from the living room to get down to greet the family. Sighing, you turn off your phone and rise up from your bed.

A faint music was heard in the background already, small snacks could be seen scattered a little everywhere on every surface and your aunts, cousins and uncles were greeting each others warmly.

Your mom tells you to come beside her by a sign of the hand, going down each stairs slowly, taking your time, you think about your bed which you already miss.

Greeting every person on the way, smiling, taking news from the family you dare ask yourself what have you done to deserve such a big household. By the time you reach your mom, she grabs your arms and put you right before one of your aunt, the conversation quickly drift to you.

"So ? What do you do now ? How's your new school ? Did you make any friends ? your aunt asks.

You reminded her that you were now in University and not in middle school in a teasing tone, to what she gasped before asking you your age and proceeding to moan about how time flies.

-Last time I saw you you were still so small !

-Show them the picture you have with your friends." your mom almost order you. By her tone and eagerness, you couldn't tell if it was pride of what her child has became, or fear of judgement from the others. As if they were going to shame her for having a kid who did nothing with their life, scared of them thinking you were a loser.

You take out your phone, scroll in your gallery to find the group photo of you and your friends. Your smiles are fake and awkward because the teacher is the one taking the picture. A few months ago, all of you handed a quite big model of the building for a homework, you honestly chose the University's building by lack of better idea. But your teacher was delighted, to everyone's surprise.

He insisted on taking a picture of you all with it to mark this moment forever, congratulating you and complimenting your skills and everything. Did you deserve all this ? No. Did you complaint ? Neither.

Your aunt seems to light up at the mere idea of you having friends, and showing her. It probably makes her feel part of your life. One by one, you present her your friends. Throwing a few anecdotes here and here. She tells you who she thinks is the meanest, the kindest, the prettiest.

Finally, everyone was presented. Smiling lightly, she tells you that she's proud you're working that hard and you turn off the phone. You wanted to leave and grab something to drink when your aunt seize your arm with a frown.

-Where do you think you're going ?

Damn, what is it this time ?

-I don't think I met everyone. Come back here.

The woman practically forces you to turn on your phone once more to show her the picture. You don't outright understand what's the matter as everyone was already introduced, it's when she uses her pointer to show you someone that it clicks.

-And who are those men ? And this girl ? What are you hiding ?

-This photo was taken a while back now, my friends and I don't really talk much to them anymore.

Her eyes glint with a funny mischievous light when problems are mentioned. She slaps kindly your arms, pushing you to tell her everything. You laugh.

-The one with the sleeveless shirt is Chad, the girl next to him is Mindy, they're siblings. The guy all to the left and next to me is Ethan.

-What happened ? They all seem nice !

Well, they are in a way. It's just stupid disputes that destroyed everything. Chad tried flirting with one of your friends, it did not lead to anything as he suddenly went with a certain Tara. When he was faced with the problems he created himself, he said that flirting wasn't equal to a relationship, that he owed you guys nothing.

Your friend was hurt, Mindy wanted to comfort her but, well, she's good friend with Tara and she's Chad's sister so it was complicated. You still talk occasionally with Mindy by the way, she was really nice and never did anything against you. It's just awkward now. But it's not her fault.

So yeah, you stopped hanging out together.

Your aunt was nodding throughout your story, listening carefully, sometimes throwing in some anecdotes of her, sometimes giving her opinion on the matter.

-And the other one ? she asks and for a moment you're confused who she's talking about until she points her interest on your phone.

Right, Landry. You completely forgot about him. He's on the picture since he was working with you as well but to be honest, you're not really close.

He's the only one who stayed with you despite the whole flirting argument. According to him, he likes both groups and is close to both side and it's okay, he's not the one who cheated on someone. But, yeah, it's strange.

No, scratch that, not it, he's strange.

He's in love with one of your friend. Well, you think he is anyway. They're often talking, on the phone and outside. He's always taking part in your group hangouts, buying foods, cinema ticket to whoever forgot money. You could've liked him if he talked to you, because he never.

Every time, and it's not even exaggerated, literally every time, you are all together, Ethan does not glance your way. Even for a second, you could talk to him and he'd answer with short words in a curt tone without looking at you to your face !

And you asked everyone, you're the only one with whom he acts this way.

While he's all lovey dovey with your closest friend. Closest not because you rate your group of friend, that'd be mean, but because you've known her for the longest time. He's following her, she's always the one to bring him to your parties and he'd mostly talk to her. Damn, you're a group, if he doesn't like you what the hell is he still doing here ?

Plus, your friend always talk your ear off about him, how he's so sweet, cute, smart and whatever. Sometimes you feel like she's trying to sell him to you the same way blender or vacuum cleaner are sold on TV.

Anyway, Ethan's weird and he's not your friend.

You simply told your aunt he was the boyfriend of one of your friend, that is partially false as he probably has a huge crush on her, to which she smiled and finally let you go.

You like your family, but you don't feel like telling this all over again to everyone here.

You spent the whole evening chatting with the kids and taking news out of the oldest. Them, on the other hand, kept asking you about a potential partner, school, grades and future. It was tiring but in the middle of it all were laughs, tears and anecdotes you would never forget.

The night has long arrived when everyone start talking about a children Christmas's show happening in town. From what you understood, there would be giant muppet. Some were reluctant because of the driving time and the sun setting but the kids were now overexcited at the idea of seeing muppet dancing.

Honestly, you didn't want to go but they've decided to go out all together now, you didn't have much say in it. Even if you hoped you wouldn't leave the house for tonight.

You weren't feeling it, already tired from the trip and the day. You lied about having a bad headache to stay in. You could rest and enjoy that big house all to yourself that way.

It was hard to survive the strongly disapproving stare of your mother and her dark look but you made it ! You still don't know how, usually, your mom is quite severe on the whole family reunion and she wants you to be there all the time, something about you being disrespectful.

She tells you not to get used to it but while leaving, you hear the others tell her that since your car can't drive because of its tire, there wouldn't have any seat left for you anyway. To what some answer that there'll always be a place for everyone (but you chose to ignore that). Just your luck ! Maybe the world doesn't hate you. This flat tire reveals itself to be a gift.

Slowly but surely, the house empty itself. Each member of the family zip their warm jacket to the very top, preventing the smallest wind to pass through. Your aunt, the owner of the house, comes talk to you with a smile.

"You're not gonna try and sneak your lover in, do you ?

You laugh nervously, still not used to this kind of attention. No, auntie, don't you worry. It's not like you have someone in your life. You assure her that no, you won't sneak anyone in here. Plus, it's kind of gross to do dirty things in the family house but you did not tell her that.

She kisses your cheek, zip her jacket as well and leave the house. Standing before the window, you wave at everyone entering the multiple cars. A few minutes later, the vehicles are gone, only the tire's marks on the frosted dirt are left. You sigh, listening to the quiet wind outside the house, feeling safer than ever.

Finally, peace.

No children running, no parents yelling, no messy conversation screamed; just silence. You can breath and hear yourself think. Without the agitation of everyone, you truly feel the cool atmosphere of the house for the first time.

Should you light the chimney ? Not now, it's not that cold yet. You have time. You smile thinking about it. Yes, you have time ! In fact, you have the whole rest of the evening just for you ! Beaming, you run to your room to change in comfortable pajamas.

Your aunt probably has food in her kitchen but even though she's family, you're uncomfortable at the idea of taking stuff from her without asking. So you grabbed your own snacks. It's weird considering she always offer you to eat all you want.

When in underwear, you think that a good bath would actually be better than just changing into other clothes. And that's what you did, you turned on the water, put your music as loud as you could and slide in the bathtub, enjoying the warm water in these freezing days.

A good hour has gone since everyone had left, silence filled your ears. You were fully ready to sleep in your bed and rest. Well, that was your plan anyway until something crashed into the house startling you like never.

You curse, trying to ease your speeding heart. What the hell ? The sound came from above and then it was just next to you. Did something fall from the roof ? The sound crossed the house !

Of course, with a sound so precise, you immediately thought of the chimney. Did something just fall from it ? Like a tile or something bigger ? A brick, or more ?

Well, you're a little too old to believe in Santa Claus by now, but uh, you're not dreaming, right ? Okay, it's late, you're alone, it's creepy but that sound was probably from animals outside or decoration falling ? Plus, that house's old, it creaks sometimes. It's nothing, right ? Okay, it's clearly not creaking sounds but still.

You wait as still as a statue, contemplating your options. It's nothing, probably, as no sound can be heard anymore. So yeah, a brick that is.

Why does this kind of shit has to happen to you when you're alone ? Your whole family was literally here one hour ago ! You wouldn't be so paranoid if they were still with you !

Slowly but surely, taking your sweet time to get down each steps, you feel your phone vibrating in your hand in the process but aren't interested enough to look at it, eyes boring hole around you.

But when you set foot in the main room, you're terrified to discover ashes scattered on the ground from the chimney and further away in the room, reaching the kitchen, like something had spread them, leaving some kind of footprints. It wasn't human foot shape, fortunately, but it wasn't any animal's paw shape either.

What the fuck ?

Something entered ? What the hell ? How did it even went in the chimney in the first place ? Okay, you're creeped out now. Only, there's no sound in the house. It does not help you feel better, you have no idea if an animal's here with you, and if it's an animal, what kind ? It has to be heavy to do such a sound when falling and trailing that much ashes, on the other hand, it is able to climb a roof, apparently. You dearly hope it's not a bear, well, it's hard for a bear to enter by a chimney but, you know.

Quietly, you get out of the house without even bothering to take a jacket with you. There is absolutely no way you are staying in this haunted ass house. Alone in the snow outside, your eyes are fixated to the windows to search any kind of suspect movements, there's none.

You are absolutely freezing when you take out your phone to dial your aunt number. You need to ask her if there's any weird animals lurking in the area.

But of course, now that you're outside, there's no internet. Okay, you have to go back inside. It's okay, it's probably a bear, yeah, a baby bear. All cute and soft.

But the more you think about it, less you're convinced it's an animal.

Because how the fuck would it be able to go on the roof ! You saw videos on internet showing bears opening doors, it's quite impressive actually, but rooftop ? No, if one of them wanted to enter, they would have passed by the garage or one of the numerous doors of the house, not the damn chimney.

Is Santa Claus going to kill you ? That's the worst death ever.

Freezing your ass off outside, you decide to stay on the terrace right before the front door to get internet without needing to enter. But of course it doesn't work, it's like the lines are cut. Plus, you were scared whatever was inside would be able to punch through the window to grab you, but it's the numerous horror movie you saw talking.

You honestly have no idea what's safer; staying outside in the cold or staying inside with the intruder.

If the phone don't work, you at least need to join your family in town. You don't remember correctly where is it but there's literally one single straight road so you can definitely manage. Looking over your shoulder, your eyes lay on the broken car in the alley.

Yes, one of the tire is flat but it still is able to drive, right ? You don't have any choice anyway. The closest city is something like thirty minutes in car away, so at foot ? Probably one hour. And without jacket in such an angry wind ? No, certainly not. You just need to get the key and you get out, simple.

They key, which is inside.

Okay, okay, you can do this. The key is directly to the left of the entrance, it's easy. You breath, hyping yourself up before you push the door open. It's creaking, your heart beats faster, but there is no sign of anyone having heard you. It could have tricked you into believing you imagined everything but the heavy ashes footstep are very well present.

Keeping your eyes on the house, trying to hold the perimeters safe and assuring nothing would come towards you, you throw your hand on the furniture supposed to held the key without looking at it. The door is still open wide behind you and you'd rather die than to close it even if it meant you were risking to catch a really bad cold for the rest of the holidays.

Only, after a few minutes, indicated by the stinging of your eyes after not blinking for so long, your hand remains empty. A quick glance to the furniture's way confirms you the worst: the keys are missing.

Of course, nothing's easy. Your mom probably took them to her room, to your despair. On the other hand, there's still no sound in the house, except for the strong wind coming from the open door behind you, which makes you cringe. If someone's here, the noise is definitely going to attract them to you. Though, you still don't want to close it.

What if it's a burglar ? What if they are burglars ? You pray it's not a group, hell, you hope no one's here ! But if you have to choose between being mugged by one or multiple people, the choice is already done.

Backing slowly, you start feeling watched and fear whatever's inside might come get you by behind thanks to the back door. You have to hurry, you go upstairs, you take the keys and you bolt outside. Yeah, it's easy, it's an easy plan.

Do you run ? It'll be quicker but you might be heard. Shit shit, what are you supposed to do ? You can't even pinpoint in which room, which area of the house the intruder is ! With your luck, you'll stumble on them in the hallway or even your bedroom.

You won't run, you're too terrified to do any sound. Removing your shoes, you put them between the wall and the door in order to block it if it ever comes to close while you weren't there. There's multiple carpet, your socks won't do too much sound and if you're too scared to put the shoes back when leaving you can still drive in socks, dangerous but you'll deal with that later.

One step at a time, you approach the creaking stairs, ears ready to isolate the slightest sound that could signify a presence near or far from you.

You would have much rather not use these stairs but they're the only way upstairs, even if they're noisy.

The first step is silent, just like the second and third, however, your weight on the next ones cause them to cry, making you wince and stop in your track. In total, this staircase is composed of fifteen steps. You know it, you've counted everything at least once here.

Fuck it, you already made too much noises. Whoever's here know damn well your position. Taking a big breath, you suddenly sprint every stairs, each one creaking in the process, not talking about the sound of your feet heavily hitting the wood. Stopping wasn't an option anymore, not being deterred, your legs finally bring you to your room where you lock yourself in, shutting the door with every locks available.

You sigh, falling to the ground and grabbing your shirt where your heart is. Your head is buzzing, your ears are ringing and your body screaming for help, everything is too hot for you, you can't think but you know it's not the end, you can't rest now.

So you get up and head as quietly as possible to the different furniture of the room. In your head, your pray that the intruder can't tell in which room you went. It's not long before you find the keys, your mum placed them beside your bag. And now ? It was a real trial having to come up here, and now you have to confront it all over again to go down ?

Okay, you're not mentally ready yet, you at least need to protect your back. You grab your phone, now having internet, and lowering the light as much as you can, you go to your socials to text someone.

You can't call the cops by yourself, it could mean talking and you can't allow that right now. However, your different social media won't even load. You're pretty sure a number for deaf people exist, but can't recall what is it. You try to type it on internet, but the page doesn't load as well. Of course, you don't have 4G since you're the one paying your subscription, that thing's expensive. Now, though, you really hate yourself.

To get out of this, you spam your friends phone in order for them to answer to make them call the police for you, the few of them that gave your their phone number at least. While doing so, you notice that Ethan Landry sent you a message a few minutes ago but deleted it. Weird, but he is so no surprise.

You don't stop spamming everyone, friends or family, it doesn't matter. But of course, your mum and the other are busy feasting staring at the show in town.

When you finally get an answer five minutes later (the longest minutes of your entire life), you feel relief flood your body, only for it to disappear when the name displayed was not the one of your friend, but of someone completely different.

Ethan Landry. Again. You retain a snort. Of course, him of all people. He doesn't have any damn social life, it's obvious he'd answer. He's typing, you wait impatiently for his message to be sent, it takes a few others seconds.

"Hey ^^" your screen displays. You want to explode your head on the nearest wall. Who's using those emojis ? "You're spending nice holidays ?" he adds.

What it that opening ? And why him ? Now ? He is not your friend, and isn't he busy ? Working too much for his class to stay the best of the best ? You don't want to talk to him. You're pensive, do you really have a choice in this situation ?

"I see you saw my message but haven't answered, are you ignoring me ?" And as if to light the mood of his already quite pitiful message, he sends you a small "lol".

No wonder he's still a virgin.

He's still online and you can't call anyone, if you talk, they're going to hear you. You don't like him but if he's the only one responding right now, you won't miss this chance. Just as you came to this conclusion, a noise of something falling echo through the house. You almost died on the spot, your heart not designed for this type of scare. Slowly, you hide under the bed, the huge blanket falling from both side of it protecting you from outsider's sight.

"Call copsfor me send them to m yaddress I beg you." you sent him, with a few mistakes as you're shaking, rushed and not watching the screen as you type. When sending him your address though, you watched cautiously the screen, feared he might send the cops somewhere else. To briefly explain him the situation, you sent him one simple word; intruder.

"Oh shit." he says and you never hated him more than right now. Why was this stupid idiot still typing when he should be calling the police ! Doesn't he understand the problem ? You really can't count on him.

He's stupid, you think. You have the keys now, that's all that matter. All is left to do is for you to bolt down to the car and leave. Steadying your breathing, you slide from under the bed, holding tightly the keys in your closed hand. You stand, walking towards the door; no sounds.

With a shaky hand, you grab the handle and open the door. Not getting out instantly, you're careful to check every corner of the hallway before leaving. You know how it is in horror movie, the protagonist often dies right before they can escape. You are not risking it. Your device is vibrating in your pocket, it's probably him again.

Reaching the main stairs, you put your foot in the air, ready to place it on the first step when your breath get stuck in your throat by the vision in front of you.

The main door is closed.

A cold chill run down your spine, raising up each one of your body hair. Why is it closed ? You specifically put your shoes between the door and the wall, preventing it from closing. And in the worst case, if the wind or the force of the heavy door still close, it would slam and alert you. But it didn't. How it is closed ?

You look around the room, not daring move anymore until you finally understand what happened. You're able to see both of your shoes, delicately placed side by side outside, on the freezing terrace. Someone moved them. Someone fucking took your shoes and deliberately put them outside, right in front of the window for you to see. If that's not provocation you have no idea what that is.

Either way, you are not trying to open it. Something is telling you it's completely locked. The wind is growing up by seconds, snowflakes flying everywhere. Fuck, it wasn't snowing earlier, you need to get out of here before you're completely stuck inside. That was your plan before you heard the back door downstairs shut and the dangling of keys, anyways.

Not waiting anymore, you get back to the safety of your room.

You can't calm yourself, you heard keys ! The intruder has keys and is locking you two together ! Shit, shit shit what do you do ? You have to get out of here, quickly before it's too late. If you end up completely locked up, all would be left to do for the intruder is to simply visit the different room until you're dead.

Think, think, how can you escape ? Your eyes end up on the window which you rush to. Opening it, the freezing air outside penetrate the room, slapping you in the face with it's now pouring snow.

You're something like 10 meters/32 inches up from the ground. It does not sound like a good idea to jump from here but do you really have a choice here ? Maybe you can wait a little until the snow reach a good height, so falling in it won't hurt.

No, the negative temperature and extreme weather would cause you to die of hypothermia. You close the window, still keeping the idea somewhere in the corner of your mind. You won't jump now, but if things get too complicated, you are not hesitating.

Maybe you can keep it a tad open, just in case. So you don't have to struggle to open it. You regret not having tried to open the main door earlier, sure the shoes were put away but maybe it wasn't really locked. You thought so but your fear were really what was driving your mind at the moment, you have to try.

There is this old broken glass clock on the wall, you could use it as a weapon. If the intruder comes at you, you explode the glass on their head. You cheer yourself up, stretching your limbs. You can still run if you can't fight.

You can do this, you can do this.

You still didn't encounter anyone after all, maybe you're fine. Standing up, a new found determination filling you, you head to the door. You try to think of a better plan but options are not running to you. It's not like you have a better choice.

You lay your hand on the handle, ready to fight your fears but you stop in your track when light musical notes start invading the silence of the house. You're confused, frowning your brows, you try to think of any reason for it to happen.

There's music coming from downstairs and that's when you know you're done for. Someone's here and is definitely toying with you. By music, it's not even a scary song with lyrics to help you understand what's going to happen to you, or a creepy music deepening the tense atmosphere, oh no. It's Michael Bublé singing his dumb 'It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas'.

Great, perfect, a festive music for a festive death, right ? Are you going to get killed on rhythm of it, too ? For a moment, you thought about it being a whole joke from one of your cousin, but it would be too elaborated. The best jokes are the shortest, and this one's endless.

Not having anything better to do, you hide once again under the bed and turn on your phone. Ethan sent you a message earlier but you did not look at it. You frown upon seeing it.

"Can I tell you something ? It's a secret tho. I'm a little ashamed of it."

Does he really fucking think it's the perfect moment for him to confide his secret to you ? "Police" you simply send him, wanting to remind him of the goal of this conversation, hoping he'd understand. After all, he did not even confirmed having called anyone.

But he never answers your reminder and instead send you a photo. It's blurry and at first you don't understand what it is until you recognize the house, your aunt's house. The house you're currently in. It's a picture of you from earlier, when you first went outside after discovering the ashes everywhere. You're outside, before the window, checking your phone while hugging yourself to try and protect you from the cold.

"Where are you ? I want to talk to you." he sends right after.

Your blood runs cold, suddenly the painful and awkward position you're in doesn't bother you much anymore. Ethan Landry, took a picture of you here. Ethan Landry is here, right now. What's happening ?

"We need to talk." he insists.

Is that man the one who entered by the chimney ? Is he the intruder ? You're not typing anything and it must stress him as he adds a stupid "Please answer". How did he even know you were here ? Did he follow you ? How ?

"What do you want" you typed, wanting to know why he was here. You were desperate for answer, you never talked to this guy, he never talked to you ! What does he want now ? Is it linked with your friend ? Did she ditch him ? Maybe she did, and he thinks it's your fault.

But against all odd, it's not at all the answer gives you.

"It's about us."

What ? What 'us' ? What is he talking about ? "Us" as in you and him or "us" as in him and the whole group ? Because either way, you have no idea what he wants. And even if you did, you doubt there's a problem big enough that requires him to fucking break into your house.

"I have a gift for you as well." No, it does not sound good at all. You keep spamming your friends, begging them to answer. You're telling them you're hiding under your bed and that they need to call the police right now or you'll end up dead. At one point, you start to write another message to your friend when you receive a notification from Ethan.

"They won't answer." he says. And for a second, you dare think that he may be connected to your phone. But you quickly push that thought aside, only for it to come back as fast when you're typing "Ethan s insde my hhouse" and "Don't do that" is sent to you before you press send.

He's bluffing, you're sure. You send your message anyway, if you die, at least they'll know. However, to confirm your doubts, you write two question marks in the blank space to check if he's able to see them. To your horror, Ethan sends you two question marks as well.

It's just a coincidence. It has to be anyway because that'd mean Ethan knows where you are. Who are you kidding ? He knew from the very start where you were. He's just tormenting you. Testing yet again, you type "what" in the chat space, and of course Landry sends you "What what ?".

That's it, he has access to your phone. Your body is boiling from the inside, nothing makes sense anymore. How did he hack into your phone ? Why and when ? Since when ? You swipe the notification away from the screen and turn your phone off. Laying it beside you, waiting for another person to answer.

He planned everything, controlling your phone, following you, getting you alone and vulnerable.

It's probably time for you to use the window. You have the keys after all. You'll jump. Get to your car or something. Besides, maybe you won't break your ankle. maybe you'll be able to escape, run in the forest and found a shelter somewhere, wait until the weather is good enough to come back and find your family.

Maybe you'll fall, break something and wake up only to realize that it was all a dream, that you're safe and sound. Ethan did nothing, he is still the weirdo from your class, flirting with your friend and you'll spend a beautiful Christmas with your family.

Your body start to move in order to leave your hiding spot, but each one of your muscle stops dead when slow and steady footsteps are heard in the hallway, and seconds later, the door of the room creaks open. And then you remember with horror that Ethan found the keys, and that locking the door won't protect you.

He knows you're here. You try to recall everything you did that could've hurt him, if one day you insulted him, mocked him but nothing. Why, why is he doing this to you ? Tears fill up your eyes, but you have to dry them. If you have to escape, you need to have hundred percent of your vision. Fleeing with blurry eyes will slow you down.

Ethan doesn't budge. You're too scared to change position and see where he is, but he sounds like he is at the end of the end. You probably could've saw his feet if you tried, but you didn't want to.

Your phone stirs, reporting a new notification. You know who that comes from already. Every muscle in you is tensed, refusing to move. But he waits for you to do so. So you turn it on, checking his message.

He sent you another picture, one which absolutely freeze you from head to toe. It's a photo where only a bed is visible, the exact one serving you as hiding spot. What's horrifying however, is that a large knife is displayed on it, along with a printed photo of you two. You recognize this cursed picture, the one your teacher took of you with the model.

He cut out everyone else, only you two are left. It's the only photo you have of him, and it's probably the same for him, the only picture he has of you. You're never beside each other after all.

You don't give a fuck about the photo, he has a knife. You're alone together in a room and he has a knife.

"Are you mad at me ?" he texts but you can't do anything except try to keep your cries quiet. You knew he was weird, but fuck ! Not that weird !

You hear him chuckle, and seconds after the ruffle of his clothes alarms you. What is he doing ? He's moving, but why ? You don't know what he's doing until his hand firmly close around your ankle and pull you out of under the bed, you scream, try to fight back, throw your legs at his face but you can't even see it; he wears a mask.

Not only a mask, in fact, he is completely disguised.

Window is all you can think. You have to jump out of the window. Never slackening your attacks, you finally inflict him pain, his mask twisting on the side in the process. He falls on his back, holding his, likely, jaw.

You are not waiting for him to get over it as you jump on the bed, slide and grab the open window. You pull it wider and leap head first. You did not think this through, only acting out of pure survival. But at the same time, maybe you would've done the same thing, choosing between breaking your legs or arms, in this situation, you'd chose to break your arms.

But Ethan is as determined as you, before your body can completely fall, he grabs both of your tibias with strong hands. Blood is already falling to your head, you feel it heat up despite the freezing atmosphere.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing ?" yell the man holding you.

Hanging upside down, only held by the legs by a crazy man clearly wasn't part of your Christmas plan. You wiggle your body, trying to make him let go or at least slip out of his grip but you never saw someone as mad as Ethan. You lay your hands flat on the outside wall before you, outstretching your arms to grab something allowing you to fall, to pull yourself down but it's no use.

You already feel yourself being lift up. Slowly, Ethan's hand pull you up, leaving your ankles to grab just below your knees. One of your foot hit his face but he never relents. You yell in the wind for the world to hear, you struggle, fight but Ethan's something else. Ethan won't let you go.

The more he pulls you up, the more his hand grabs of you. While your feet are back inside, your hands never let go of the window border, refusing categorically to let him engulf you inside. You don't stop yelling at him to let you go but you quiet down a second when two other person enter your vision, both in the same disguise as Ethan.

They're outside, braving the harsh snow, just below the window. Exactly where you would have fallen if Landry didn't grabbed you. The smaller of them has a sign in hand, and when you read what's on it, you think you should have jumped and killed yourself.

"Merry Christmas, in-law.

Welcome to the family"

FEED ME!

EPILOGUE: BABY FOOD ↬ sevika x pregnant!reader | 3.3k words

SUMMARY: Snippets from a less lonely life.

TAGS: mentions of postpartum depression, PTSD recovery, hurt/comfort, domestic sevika, a LOT of fluff

NOTES: my knowledge of children boils down to babysitting my niece her whole life so blame her if i got anything wrong. also thank yall SO MUCH for the love on this story it's been absolutely insane and i still cannot believe it :'3

-> READ ON AO3 | SERIES MASTERLIST

I. THREE MONTHS

Parenting is hard work.

A fact of life that just about everyone knows, but it’s different actually living it. Days are long and nights are even longer, and Sevika can’t remember the last time she’s gotten a proper sleep. But you have it worse. As soon as she closes her eyes for the night, the kid starts crying, and you sit up with a tired groan to turn on the bedside lamp. Every three hours like clockwork, the same routine: remove Stella from her crib (that Sevika commissioned from a local wood worker) beside the bed, sit a pillow in your lap, pull up your shirt, and feed her.

Sevika tries to stay up with you, to keep you company, but you tell her over and over again that there’s no sense in both of you being useless come tomorrow. You have a good point.

But she does her part in other ways. Changes cloth diapers like a professional, spends more time cleaning up water messes around the tub than actually bathing the kid, rocks her to sleep then puts her in the crib.

It’s all routine now, in the strangest change of fate. Being in love, receiving love, waking up in an actual home and a soft bed—not alone anymore. She has two people now that she would go to the end of the world and back for, and she still can’t believe that the circumstances are real.

Stella always smiles at the sight of her, and Sevika always smiles back.

Weird. Terrifying. Perfect.

“We're going to Lyra’s tomorrow,” you say, adjusting Stella’s weight in your arms as she feeds, tiny hand curled against your chest. “Don’t forget that.”

Sevika cracks open an eye, head lolling on your outstretched leg to look up at you. Naked beneath your red robe, all dips and curves from the pregnancy weight you gained, fresh marks stretching over your belly and hips and inner thighs. Motherhood is a good look you.

But that’s her hindbrain talking. The part of her that would still love you no matter what form you took (but she likes this one a lot).

“The check-up, right?” she asks, turning away from Stella’s kicking foot that connects instead with her temple. “Ow.”

You bite back a laugh, smooth a hand over her hair, then tuck the baby’s legs under your arm. “Yeah. She just wants to make sure everything’s okay.”

“That’s good.”

Tomorrow comes and Stella is less than thrilled about being handled by a stranger. Lyra’s gentle with her exam, but the kid still fusses and wriggles around on the blanket-covered table. When Lyra turns her over onto her stomach, she wails, and you take a step forward before Sevika curls an arm over your chest, gently coaxing you back.

“She's fine, Mama.”

Your head thumps against her shoulder, hand curling over her wrist for comfort. Voice wavering and watery as you mutter, “I know, but I can’t stand to hear her cry.”

Lyra turns to you with a soft smile, cradling a babbling Stella in her arms. “It’s part of your new instincts, dear. But baby’s alright.” A soft pat to said baby's back. “Just fussy.”

With a sigh, you step over to the pair. “She probably needs fed.”

A quick exchange, and Stella’s back to her old self, cooing and smiling in her mama’s arms. Over your shoulder, Sevika catches her eye. Twists up her face in a way that always makes her giggle, and this time’s no different.

She still can’t believe that this is her life now. Too used to inciting fear in the heart of the Undercity, and now a three month old baby looks at her like she’s her world. A big part of her doesn’t believe she deserves it after all the bad she’s done—the people she’s killed, the strife she helped sew throughout the city.

But the kid in your arms doesn’t know that part of her, can’t comprehend it even if she did. Maybe that’s a good thing. At least you saw something inside her worth investing in. Sticking around for.

Still can’t believe it.

When you arrive home, though, the air thickens in a way that leaves her hackles raising. You set Stella's bag on the floor beside the couch and flee to the bedroom, the girl gasping and gurgling in preparation for a crying spell.

“I know, my love. You've had such a long day, huh?” you coo, voice muffled by the wall separating you.

Sevika waits on the couch as you put her down for a nap (she’s always been difficult to get to sleep, her growing brain just too active to shut down). You sneak back into the living room a while later, shutting off the overhead light as you pass, and she scoots over to give you room to sit. You exhale a breath, head thumping against the cushion at your back.

For a long moment, the two of you sit in silence. You need to decompress, and she waits for you to tell her what's wrong.

“Why are you doing all this?” you whisper, gaze trained on the ceiling.

There it is. The reason behind the sudden chill to the room, a tangible shift in your mindset.

“What do you mean?” She doesn't touch you no matter how badly her fingers itch to cradle your hand in hers. Wants to give you space to process whatever it is you're feeling.

“Nothing's keeping you here. Stella isn't even yours, and you still–” you scoff, tears pooling in the corner of your eye, “you take care of her like she is.”

“I don't understand, honey.”

With a quiet groan, you scrub at your face. “Fuck, I—I'm so sorry for involving you in this. We're not your problem, and I just… gods, it's not fair to you.”

“Isn't that for me to decide?”

“But you're already dealing with too much.” The tears fall when you squeeze your eyes shut, disappearing into your hairline. “I feel like such a burden, and I feel even worse for telling you about it.”

Your crying brings her back to that night, to the aftermath when you sat in a chair in the back of Silco's club, covered head-to-toe in blood, sobbing into your hands. She felt helpless then, and she feels helpless now. Doesn’t know how to make the pain go away.

So she does the only thing she can think of to help ease the ache. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into her side. Rests her cheek on the top of your head as your chest racks with quiet sobs. She lets you cry until your eyes dry up with an empty ache to her chest.

“If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be,” she whispers, squeezing at your arm. “I can make my own decisions, alright?”

“But you said we're your responsibility—”

“I also said I didn't mean it that way. You're a lot more than that. Both of you.”

If only she had the words to tell you, to explain how much the two of you mean to her. The love that swells her chest to the point of bloating, so overwhelming she chokes on it at times.

You sniff, wipe your nose on your shirt. “You promise?”

“I swear.”

You look up at her, puffy-eyed and pitiful, lips twitching into a weak smile. “I'm choosing to believe you.”

She presses a wet kiss to your cheek. And another, and another, and another. Doesn't stop until you're giggling and fidgeting and turning your face away.

II. SIX MONTHS

Sevika might go insane.

The kid finally learned to crawl a week ago, and she hasn't stopped moving since. Wakes the both of you up late into the night by climbing over your heads to attempt an escape off the mattress. Crawls after you as you walk to and from the kitchen, shouting and gurgling for attention. Pulls herself up onto shaky legs as Sevika sits on the couch, little fingers fisting the fabric of her pants to steady herself. So active and curious that the two of you run yourselves to death just trying to keep up with her.

Sevika would never tell anybody this, but the first time she had to raise her voice at her to keep away from the heavy cabinets, she hid in the closet nearby and cried as Stella napped in her crib. You had come home from the market, seen her puffy eyes, and pulled her into a reassuring hug.

She just doesn't want to be her father's daughter. The parent her parents were. It's a fine line to walk. Terrifying at times.

Over the last few months, Sevika's pulled away a bit from the danger of the Lanes, and in turn, Silco. A shift in priorities tends to alter the brain, and her little family is now at the top of the list. Always at the back of her mind. When she leaves on jobs that she can’t put off on some grunt, she always brings gifts home. Your favorite food, a new onesie, little figurines that remind her of either of you (always the poorly-made ones that make you laugh yourself to tears, but the one she bought featuring a very smashed-up mother and baby cat proudly sits on the table in the entryway).

You’ve got a good part-time job going, cleaning houses for the elderly either too sick or too feeble to do it themselves. It pays in cogs, but you’ve found purpose again. Lyra insisted at your last check-up that you consider activities outside of being a mother. A new hobby, giving back to the community, meeting new people.

Well, you don't really have time for new hobbies and you're still wary of people after the whole Joker thing, so the logical next step was looking for a job. A way to build up a bit of money so you aren’t relying on Sevika all the time—at least, that’s what you told her.

But today, both of you are free to explore the Undercity with Stella in tow. It's the first time you've expressed interest in visiting your favorite bakery since that night with Joker.

A big, important step for you. Your hands shake the whole way as you follow the familiar path of the street, Stella swaddled against your chest. Sevika offered to carry her, but you probably need the comfort. Her point proven when you rub your nose against the wispy hairs on her tiny head as the shop comes into view.

Behind the counter, Tayla gasps when you step inside, squealing at the sight of the baby cradled to your chest. “Oh, I missed you so much!” She strolls up to you then grasps your hands with a beaming smile. “I was so worried after you left that day and I hadn't seen you around. Gods, how are you?”

Ever curious, Stella turns her head at the sound of a new voice then cries out in frustration when she can't see Tayla’s face. The woman in question steps up to your side and takes the baby's hand.

“Hi, baby. It's nice to meet you.” Then she turns to you. “What's her name?”

“Stella,” you say, voice dripping with pride. “Sevika picked it out.”

“What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Sevika stands off to the side to let the two of you catch up, meandering along the displays of bread and cakes and cookies. The whole shop smells amazing, fresh and sweet, and the handmade furniture and soft lighting give off a coziness uncommon to the Undercity. No wonder you spent so much time here.

When she turns around, Stella is balanced on your hip, grabbing the bits of fresh bread you offer from your palm with thumb and forefinger. Tayla celebrates after each bite with words of praise and a soft clap, and Stella beams. Sevika doesn't want to interrupt the sweet scene, too afraid that her presence would break whatever blissful bubble surrounds your little group. She has nothing to say to Tayla, and this is a big moment for you. One of reunion and reclamation.

Where does she fit in?

You answer her question when you turn around, eyes searching for a split second, and panic gives way to warmth when you spot her. You invite her over with a coaxing nod of your head, lips stretching into a smile.

“She loves the bread,” you say upon her approach, and the baby reaches for her with a scrunched nose and a big smile—her two bottom teeth an adorable contrast against her gums that leaves Sevika's lips twitching upward.

(She remembers when the kid first started teething. A lot of sleepless nights and tears and chewing on wet washcloths. Fingers indented with marks, pricked with blood. You cried more than Stella did, utterly helpless against curing your baby's pain.)

She holds the baby in the crook of her metal arm and wipes the crumbs from her mouth. “Mama's made a mess of you, hasn't she?”

You giggle, squeezing Stella's chubby leg as she babbles away. “She eats like somebody else I know.”

Sevika chooses to ignore the very pointed glare aimed her away.

III. ONE YEAR

Her bubble of happiness shatters shortly after Stella's first birthday, when the gates are knocked down between the Undercity and Piltover, and war is declared. A fight for the world and the two people she loves most in it.

You cry the entire way to the trolley, holding two packed suitcases and the remnants of a broken heart. Stella wriggles in the bend of Sevika's arm—old enough to pick up on the doom in the air, but too young to understand why.

You round on her when you finally reach the door of the car. “I swear to Janna, if you die, I'll track down a mage and revive you so I can kill you myself.”

She holds you close, presses a goodbye kiss to your forehead. “I don't plan on dying.”

“That's what my dad said, and look what happened to him.”

“Good thing I'm not him.”

Your frown deepens as she passes Stella to you, gaze locked onto the cloak hiding her missing arm. “You aren't even able to fight.”

She exhales a breath through her teeth. “You underestimate me.”

“I worry about you. Is that so awful?”

Yes. It's irrational, and the image of your wet cheeks—tear tracks caused by her—sits wrong in her gut. A kind of guilt she's never really experienced. But before you, she never had something important to lose, nobody sitting at home waiting for her to come back safe. Now she has two.

Which is why she has to do this.

"I'll be fine."

You resort to begging, arms wound tight around the baby. Please don't go. I'll do anything. I can't lose you. Please. Please.

She can't let the heartbreak in your voice affect her, not when everything is at stake, no matter how badly she wants to cradle you both in her arms and take you home and damn the world to its fate.

It's the first time she says I love you. A phrase that burns acidic on her tongue, that rushes out in a whisper as you accept one final hug before climbing into the car.

IV. TWO YEARS

The kid's a damn menace. Two years old now, yanking the leash of the world in her chubby little fist. Can barely talk yet (you understand her better than Sevika does), but she always has something to say. Always running around the house.

Like now.

Sevika steps out of the kitchen and intercepts the girl with her lone arm. Pulls her to her chest as she squeals and laughs and kicks her feet.

She can’t help but smile. Says, “I don’t think so, kiddo. You have to put your clothes on.”

You walk from the bedroom with a shake of your head, a pair of matching pajamas in hand, eyes sunken from the long day finally behind you. “I have no idea where she’s gotten this energy from. You, apparently.”

“…Me.”

“I've known you three years and I've never seen you sit still.”

She doesn't know how to tell you that she's not, in fact, the dad (no matter how much she wishes to be), and has no bearing on the kid's genes. So she just nods along and agrees.

Watching this girl grow into herself—become a person with interests, likes and dislikes, a personality that gets stronger with each passing day—has been nothing short of amazing. Already, she's grown an attitude. Talks with the cadence of someone who's dealt with a lifetime of bullshit (Sevika's influence, no doubt). Morphs her face into a direct mirror of your scowls and glares and grins (she looks so much like you sometimes that it's almost uncanny).

The three of you had spent the entire day at a ceremony celebrating Sevika's seat on Piltover's council. Nothing more than a shallow show of solidarity and hospitality that she would rather not subject you to, but you had insisted. I won’t let you do this alone. It’s a sweet sentiment, but she doesn’t expect anything to come of her new status—as if she’d actually take them up on their offer to move her family out of the Undercity.

She’s just putting up with this shit for the confidential information anyway.

You had been excited, more optimistic about the future than her. A chance for change, for progress, to give Stella a better world to grow up in. But the kid will reach the stars one day, with or without her influence. She can feel it.

Sevika sits down on the couch with Stella in her lap, keeping her still so you can finally dress the kid after her bath. But she can't blame her. Who the hell actually likes wearing clothes?

"You can go on to bed," you say, sidestepping the giggling toddler when she runs past. "I'm gonna get her a quick snack."

When the two of you return from the kitchen, Stella that Sevika reads her a story. Climbs into bed with the same pop-up book you've read so many times the pages started cracking, and plants it on her lap.

Sevika shakes her head, mouth twitching into a frown. “I'm not good at telling stories. Not like Mama is.”

Really, she just… can't. A sacred line she hasn't yet dared to cross. She thinks of her mom flipping through those picture books, how animated and enthralling she made each story, and knows she could never do it justice.

(Shit, she's forgotten the sound of her mom's voice.)

You stroll in a moment later, feet dragging along the ground, before collapsing into bed with a relieved groan. "What are you two talking about?"

Sevika sighs, thumbing the edge of the worn book. "She wants me to read to her."

"Mommy, book," Stella says again, patting the cover to get her attention.

The look you give her is one of understanding, reassurance. "I think it would be nice."

"I can't do it like you." Like her mom used to.

"You don't have to."

With a huffing breath, she opens the first page, and Stella curls up against her side, tiny arm slung over her chest. Sevika reads along in a low, calm voice, adjusting her tone for different characters and asking questions about each picture. Halfway through the book, she gets no response, and when she looks over, both you and Stella are fast asleep, curled up beneath the sheets.

She sets the book on the nightstand, turns off the lamp, and shifts Stella around to carve out a spot for herself on the bed. Smiles soft and sleepy when your hand finds hers in the darkness.

Locker Room (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Masterlist 

Eddie Munson x Reader (She/Her)

Warnings: Swearing

Tag list: @Mikinyi @justaproudslytherpuff @angelicjinwoo @k12baby @spiderman-berries​ @ruhro7​ @justanotherhappyidiot @dontcallmesavvy @kenzi-woycehoski​ @gh0stm3g​ @lagataprrr @spencersbookbag @ygrworld @ambernicole90 @alwaysbeenfamous @angelsarecallin @voteforevilthoughts @iameddiemunsonshair @hellf1reclub DM me if you wanna be on the Eddie tag list!:)

Synopsis: When Y/N realises that Eddie was hiding in the girls locker room, she has the decision to out him or believe him that it was all just a big misunderstanding

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