a/n: surprise! it's my birthday, and i simply couldn't wait until sunday to post this chapter. enjoy <3 also, fair warning - mentions of drug use this chapter (just weed but still)
"Not happening."
" Eddie . Please."
"No! I hate parties."
"Yeah, I do too, which is why you have to go."
"I have Hellfire."
"I'm sure they'll let you cancel."
"Nope, big campaign, highly anticipated. Can't let them down like that, sweetheart."
Eddie Munson was stubborn his entire life, but when he met Willow Jenkins, he had met his match. She had made sure of that.
She didn't care how long he tried to occupy himself with his guitar rather than pay attention to her sprawled out on his bed, face propped up on her hands at the end of the bed closest to him as she lay on her stomach with her feet kicked up into the air. If Robin was going to manage to drag Willow along to this ridiculous party that Steve was hosting with the intent of playing match-maker for Robin and Vickie, then Willow was going to force Eddie to experience her pain right there with her.
It had all started on Wednesday, when the idea had first become a plan for her trio to put into motion. They were driving home from Steve picking up Robin and Willow at school, and Robin had fallen down another Vickie tangent.
"Alright, I can't take this anymore," Steve interrupted a flustered Robin, "Jenkins, are you with me?"
Willow had no idea where this was going, but nodded furiously anyways, "Oh, absolutely."
"You know what has to be done," Steve added, very serious, and Willow continued her clueless nodding. "A party."
"Ye- Wait, what?" Willow said, caught off guard. Robin was immediately looking mortified.
Steve continued on his explanation to the two girls, "A party! Look, I throw a party, you invite all the band geeks including Vickie, and make your move!"
"Dingus, I can't make a move on Vickie," Robin began to argue, but Steve wasn't having any of it.
"The only thing you have to fear is fear itself," he said, stoically as if it were the most poetic thing that had ever crossed his mind. Willow had to hide her snort.
Robin sighed, "Or becoming a town pariah."
With a little more arguing, and reassurance on Steve's part, they had convinced Robin to agree to the plan. Willow had only stood by Steve's side of the argument because she really did want to see her friend happy, and Vickie made her happy. She was completely on board - a party to force the two together, maybe even pry a love confession from one of the idiots. It felt fool-proof.
Until Robin made the deal that she would only agree to the party if Willow went.
From there, it was downhill. Willow hated parties - it would never be her scene. She wasn't a social butterfly, she wasn't fond of any drugs her peers partook in, and she wasn't a drinker. Nothing about parties felt inviting to her.
And so, now, she was hanging out with Eddie after school and begging him to come and be her saving grace. They didn't even have a reason to hang out. But when Willow had caught up with him in the parking lot after school, no one questioned it: Eddie didn't, Robin didn't, even Steve didn't (vocally, at least).
"C'mon. Please ," Willow tries one last time, and Eddie sighs before he sets down his acoustic guitar, "For me? You can be my getaway car, even. An excuse to leave early."
"If you hate them so much, why are you going?" he questions, leaning forward onto his knees.
" Because , Robin asked me, and I'm a good friend unlike someone I know."
"Oh, let me guess - that someone is me, right?"
"I knew you were smart," she teases, kicking her feet in dramatic effect, "I bet Steve could even sweet talk your sheep into being less angry."
He's wordless as he swivels his chair to face his desk, and Willow can't see around his shoulder for what he's doing for a few quiet moments.
She smells it, though.
The stench of weed fills the room as Willow can hear some tinkling. Soon enough, Eddie is turning back around to face her with a freshly rolled joint in one hand and a lighter in the other.
"I'm not high enough for this conversation," he jokingly explains at her wide eyes before he's placing the joint in his lips, lighting it up in a similar fashion to how he would a cigarette.
Willow wouldn't lie - weed had always peaked her curiosity. Her classmates always talked about it in such a fascinating manner, chattering about how carefree it made them feel when they indulged, the floating feeling that would take over their head and limbs. The first time she'd ever encountered it had been in her very own home, even; she had smelt something pungent coming from the room across her own back in her small childhood home in Pennsylvania and investigated, only to be shooed away in annoyance considering she was eleven at the time.
The smoke uncurls itself from Eddie's lungs slowly, a patient exhale allowing the cloud to slip between his lips as his eyes flutter close and his head tips back. He looks just as relaxed as he had that night at Lover's Lake with his cigarettes, and it lights her curiosity in the exact same way.
She was starting to realize it wasn't a desire to really smoke these things - it was the desire to have an excuse to get close to Eddie by any means necessary.
With anybody else, this childish need would transport her into the feeling of being the annoying little sister, to feel as if she were serving as nothing but a bother to the person. She had experienced that a few times with Steve, if she were being honest. She's sure it had never been his intention to make her feel that way - but he had, nevertheless, and it had left her always worried about being too clingy. To hesitate and be strategic in when she would ask for their group to hang out, for how much attention she would seek out when visiting him at work. Somedays, she'd allow herself to be loud and rambunctious, but there were some days she couldn't - she would force herself to cramp down into a mental box, to swallow down her voice and jokes to allot her friends some sort of space even while in her presence. Robin was the only person she very rarely had to do such with, but even then, Willow lived with a knot of worry that one day, her best friend would grow tired of her.
Eddie had never given her reason to feel this way with him. He was the one to initiate them constantly hanging out, he was the one draping himself across her space so casually it worked. It didn't stop her worry. One day, possibly soon, she was convinced Eddie would grow tired of her.
She's lost in her head, wondering if it had been a mistake to practically invite herself over. Especially after her spectacle on Tuesday night, she was starting to worry herself sick that Eddie was actually turning to lighting up in an effort to ignore the strain her presence was causing him.
She doesn't notice Eddie watching her curiously, his eyes tracing each new stress line that forms as her mind runs wild.
"Keep thinking that hard and the wrinkles might become permanent, doll," he finally says, leaning forward as the joint hangs loosely between his fingers.
He startles her with his words, bringing her back down to Earth, "Who says I'm thinking hard right now?"
"Oh, you know..." Eddie's voice is lighthearted as he pauses to take another puff off the joint, slowly releasing it before continuing, "Just your entire face."
As he finishes the thought, his entire face breaks out into a grin. When Willow doesn't reciprocate, her face still riddled in worry, he's suddenly standing up.
"Where are you going?" she mumbles against her hands, eyes watching him closely with nerves. Maybe this was it, he got bored and would venture off to the other room to get away from her. She had finally done it - she had overstepped boundaries with Eddie Munson.
He doesn't leave the room, though. Instead, he crosses the space between them to sit down on the edge of the bed beside her, causing her elbow to brush his thigh immediately.
"Tell me what you're thinkin'," he insists, slowly lowering himself back on his elbows as he places the joint between his lips again.
She would rather die than admit her insecurity. No, the childish thoughts would go to the grave with her. She doesn't have to think too hard to come up with a lie to cover up what was actually bothering her.
"Just my childhood home," she sighs, turning onto her side to get a better view of the boy beside her.
He raises an eyebrow, "And where is that? Is it somewhere around here? Don't tell me you actually grew up in the Creel house or some spooky shit."
"What?" her nose scrunches up as she pictures the rundown house that kids tell scary stories about, immediately shaking her head, "God, no. That place is a safety hazard - and probably has been for years ."
"Okay, then where did you grow up?"
Willow had never divulged Eddie into the full details of her life pre-Hawkins. There had been too many slippery slopes to navigate. If she told him about it, it would bring up her father in a worse light, it would bring up Parker. But Willow had already bared her soul when it came to her now estranged father, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she spilled her guts on the Parker topic. She really had nothing to lose, now.
"Pennsylvania," she reveals nervously, watching Eddie soak in her words.
Another cloud passes his lips. "Where in Pennsylvania?"
"This little town called New Hope. It's about thirty miles from Philadelphia, an hour from the Big Apple."
"Jesus, you grew up that close to all those big and shiny cities? Damn. I guess it makes sense," Eddie chuckles, finally letting himself fully fall back and lay down.
Willow immediately resituates herself, sitting up and flipping so that her face is closer to his, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You've got this city-girl-attitude to you, Red. Kind of seems like you belong somewhere like NYC rather than little ol' Hawkins," he explains shamelessly, eyes boring into hers. The rims were starting to tinge pink, and she could see just how relaxed he had gotten.
"Please," she scoffs, "If anyone belongs in a big city, it's you."
"Yeah?"
"Oh yeah. I can see it now - after graduation, Corroded Coffin is going to take off, and you're gonna leave Hawkins in the dust of your rearview as you make your way up to New York City. You'll probably meet some skeevy music producer in a dive bar, strike a deal, the whole shady scenario. And you'll live in some cramped apartment with at least thirty stray cats that you've taken in because you've got a bleeding heart , Munson," she lets all the words fall from her lips without care. But she can tell that the picture she's painting is pleasing to Eddie by his smile, "You'd fit right into a big city like that, you know? The people tend to be pretty mean, but with your big and scary persona? They won't even think of messing with you."
"Until they find out about the thirty strays," he points out.
She nods, "Until they find out about the thirty strays."
He sighs, and the comfortable silence wraps them up. Willow always had a hard time thinking in the future-tense; whenever someone asked her about college, she'd freeze up. Whenever someone would bug her about what she wanted to do with her life career-wise, she'd shrug and change the subject. She had never let herself look too far ahead. And it worked out fine for her, except that she also struggled to glance back at her past with much fondness. It kept her in a constant limbo, always stuck in the present, never any chance to learn from yesterday or fantasize about tomorrow.
"Have you ever been to the big cities? Since you lived so close to them?" Eddie's question is soft, low and quiet as his eyes flutter shut and he relaxes into his comforter.
He has no idea the ramifications. Willow was pretty sure this was the first time in years she had been able to discuss her childhood with someone in such a carefree tone. But the answer to his question is more than a simple yes. Because, yes, obviously she'd seen the streets of Philadelphia and the smog of New York. Almost everyone in her small town had managed to at some point while living so close-by, even if only just once.
Willow hadn't gone just once. She had gone tons of times, several weekends occupied with going to the bookstores in the big cities, roaming the streets with her favorite person.
It was a sore topic because it was a Parker topic.
But to her shock, she doesn't even overthink the words before she answers him, "Yeah. I actually used to go all the time with my brother."
Eddie's eyes immediately peek open at this, "Brother?"
"Mhm," she nods, suddenly nervous as Eddie is lifting himself to sit up and give her his full attention, "My brother. Parker."
They both stay terribly still, holding their breaths as the words linger between them. The answer to a question that Eddie had politely tried to not pester her with since their movie night.
"Parker?" he finally says in a small tone, looking at her softly.
She can only nod as she also sits up, "Yeah. He used to always take me to bookstores and stuff in town, because New Hope is known for that stuff. But it's all suburban and conservative, and there's only so many books that could catch a ten year old's interest, you know? So one day, after he got his license, he just asked if he could borrow my parents' car. My mom didn't even get to finish telling him that he only could if he took me, because he was already dragging me behind him once she gave him the keys."
Eddie's smile is gentle as his glazed over eyes focus entirely on her, urging her to continue on. She ignores the knot in her throat.
"Philadelphia always had the best museums and bookstores, so when we were feeling that, we'd go there. But then he finally asked if he could take me to New York, and my dad almost had an aneurysm. I mean, he was their golden child, so they said yes, but they gave us so many rules. Parker just wanted to go because he wanted to try New York-style pizza in New York, though."
She calls back on that trip with fondness, remembering it clear as day.
"No, no, no! You have to eat it like this ," Parker stressed at Willow as he dramatically folded the over-sized slice of pizza he held in half, "See?"
"Why?" a young Willow scrunched her nose, glaring at her brother across the rickety outdoors table they were seated at, "That's stupid."
"You're stupid," is the only comeback Parker mustered before digging into his food.
Despite Willow's insult, she still copied him - she folded her pizza and tried to not complain about all the grease that drained over her hand as she took her first bite.
Her brother had been right, of course. The pizza was better in New York. Any pizza with that much grease was sure to be a hit with a ten year old. She was never going to tell him that, though, and she didn't have to.
She got the feeling he already knew by the prideful look he held as the two finished their slices silently.
Willow doesn't realize that she's teary-eyed until Eddie's hand is suddenly cupping her cheek.
"Sorry," she whispers, snapping her eyes shut and willing the tears away. She refused to cry in front of him again, "I just- I haven't talked about him to anybody in a really long time."
"It's okay," he immediately reassures her. The joint is no longer lit, probably because Eddie hasn't moved to take a single puff of it since she started to spill her guts regarding her childhood. His next question is what does it for her, though, "What happened to him?"
She immediately shakes her head, a single tear finally breaking from her waterline despite how tightly she cinches her eyes shut.
Eddie doesn't pressure her, his thumb raking over her cheek in a soothing manner, "That's okay. It's all good. We don't have to talk about it. A story for another day, yeah?"
"Yeah. Another day," she agrees, finally opening her eyes to look at him. At those doe eyes, glistening with nothing but concern for her. All she wants is to move on from the monumental moment for herself, but Eddie has other plans.
She isn't sure of what he's doing as he suddenly leans and places the joint in one of his ashtrays on his bedside table, fitting what's left into one of the slots on the side. Once his hands are free, he scoots himself up his bed and props himself up on his pillows, shifting as he gets comfortable before opening his arms and looking at her expectantly.
"C'mere," is all he whispers to her.
"What?" she tries to laugh it off. She didn't want his pity - no, she just wanted to pretend that she had never brought up the topic of Parker. She wishes she could reach out into the air and grab the words back that were hers, to shove them back into the crevices of her chest and never let them escape again. It had been foolish and vulnerable.
"Did I stutter?" he drawls, leaning his head to the side as he stares at her, "Come here, Willow."
It's the use of her name that has her suddenly moving. Because one second, there's still a chance for her to joke and bring back the light-hearted airiness of the room. But the moment he says her name, she breaks. She tries to blink away any tears that were still burning in the back of her eyes, but it's useless as she climbs her way up and presses her face into his chest. His arms waste no time engulfing her.
Her cries are quiet - nothing like the way she had cried about missing her brother before. There were no violent sobs, no gasping breaths, no disgusting snot or shakes that unsettled her bones. All she could allow were the tears to slip freely down her cheeks and onto Eddie's chest, her breathing only hiccuping mildly from time to time as the occasional whimper would fall from her lips. Eddie simply held her. He allowed her to press her cheek to his Judas Priest t-shirt and form a wet spot as the smell of cloves and cinnamon became her grounding factor. He smoothed his hands down her back, letting his fingertips eventually begin to draw shapes and words over the back of her neck as he brought her into him even closer.
"I'm sorry," she finally musters, sniffling slightly as her tears slow.
"For what?" Eddie asks her quizzically, the movements of his hands only faltering for a second before continuing on. She tried to focus on what he was spelling out on her bare skin, but came up clueless, "You're allowed to have emotions, Red. Especially here in la casa de Eddie."
She laughs weakly at that, finally weakening the grip one of her fists had on his shirt over his chest, "I'm a mess. Thank you for putting up with that."
"Want in on a little secret?" Eddie is whispering into her hair as if raising their voices would break the moment, the serenity that was finally coming down over them.
"Please," she begs just as quietly.
His left hand trails its way up to the back of her head, fingertips pressing softly into her scalp as he says, "I'm a mess, too."
"Yeah, but at least I knew that when I signed up for this," she giggles into his chest, shifting to look up at him through wet lashes, "That's not much of a secret, Munson."
He huffs dramatically, arms still tight around her, hand still playing with her hair and soothing her, "Fine. No more secrets for you."
"What? No ," she reacts to him just as dramatically, letting go of his shirt and propping her chin up on it. There's a wrinkle from her once viper grip, but neither makes a move to smooth it over, "I want all of your secrets."
" All of them?"
She nods against him, "Every. Single. One."
"Even the dirty ones?"
"Even the dirty ones."
"Okay, well, when I was 15, there was a whole six month time frame where I couldn't get an erec-"
"Nevermind!" she calls mercy, scrunching up her nose and cringing as he cackles at her. His laughter only grows when she continues to process what he was about to say, a blush firing up across her cheeks as she suddenly buries her face back into his chest. It eggs him on further. His hands never stop rubbing shapes across whatever bare skin they fumble across, even as he takes the pleasure of embarrassing her. After a while, that's all she can focus on, his laughter dying out completely and being replaced with deep breaths.
She had meant it. She knows that they made a joke out of it, turning to the comfort of mocking each other, but she meant what she said - she wanted to know all of Eddie Munson's secrets. The last three weeks hadn't been enough, would never be enough, to let her into his world the way she craved.
Maybe he senses it, or maybe he feels the need to return the favor of baring his soul for her. "I'm sorry-"
"Please, don't coddle me, or, or- just don't pity me, Eds," she interrupts in a small and begging tone. She could see where this was going.
He shakes his head and she looks up at him once more. He looked beautiful in the afternoon sunshine. It was unfair; boys like him shouldn't look so pretty, especially so casually. "You didn't let me finish," he tsks at her, and she doesn't interrupt this time, instead signaling with her wide, attentive eyes for him to continue on, "I was going to say I'm sorry that you never get to talk about it. I get that, and it's unfair. It's... it's how I am with my mom. Never talk about her, never even with Wayne. I was always scared to make him feel bad about the situation we got caught up in. He can't bring her back, you know?"
She's about to open her mouth, to work in reassurances that he could talk to her about it if ever felt the need to. To let him know it was okay, that they could lay side by side and show each other their matching scars as they ponder back on the wounds they once were.
She doesn't get the chance, because he puts up a finger and presses it to her lips in order to shush her.
"My point is, I get it, and I'm sorry that I'm the one who you got stuck talking about it to. I know I'm probably not the first choice or anything."
She moves to sit up at these words. Eddie isn't expecting it, reluctant to loosen his grip as he watches her in fascination. "Stop that."
"Stop what? I promise, I'm not trying to do that weird pity thing people do-"
"Stop doubting yourself. Stop doubting that you're my friend as much as I'm yours," she stresses, feeling genuine distress. Since they'd first met, she'd known Eddie didn't have a lot of confidence beneath his tough exterior, but it still broke her heart every time he let his insecurity rear its ugly head, "If I didn't want to talk to you about my brother, I wouldn't. I never told Steve. I hardly talked about it with Robin. And I've known her for years . I told you because you're my friend, Eddie. You're my friend, and you... you make me-" she pauses, scared to admit this. She isn't quite sure why, but her next words are even stickier than the ones about her brother, even more vulnerable. Her brother was the past - Eddie Munson was the present. He was right here in front of her, tangible and waiting in silence for her, "You make me feel safe . You are a first choice. I chose to hang out with you today, I chose you to be my fake boyfriend. Stop thinking that you're my backup plan. You're not."
He wasn't. Maybe when this had first begun, he was a last resort of sorts - a last resort to get the object of her affection, Steve. But that mentality hadn't lasted long. She's not stupid, she's a hopeless romantic and isn't blind. If he was her backup plan, she wouldn't be investing so many private moments. She wouldn't crave his secrets, share her vulnerability, dream of his lips on hers.
She liked Eddie Munson. She liked him. God , she liked him.
And she knew that it was messy, and selfish, and irresponsible. Her feelings were crosswires, and so many were tied up on Steve Harrington still. But suddenly, she could see the one golden thread that had so delicately unraveled from him and found its way around Eddie.
And she couldn't tell him that. She had to swallow down her feelings, because none of it would ever be fair to Eddie. And he would never return those feelings.
All she could do was be his friend. And that? That had to be enough for her beating heart.
"You sure know how to make a guy feel special, Red," he attempts to tease her, but she can tell her words got to him.
"Good," the word comes out as a sigh as her stare on him continues intensely, "Good, you should always feel special. You are special."
There's a moment there, for the taking. A moment ready to occupy Willow Jenkins' mind and heart ferociously. To make a home in her chest of memories between them.
He won't allow it as he breaks it, mumbling as he turns to retrieve his joint and lighter once more before sitting up beside her on the bed, "Shut up."
"I mean it," she quips back. He wants to let it go, but she's stubborn. She won't let it go. She'll scream about it from every rooftop until he believes her.
The weed serves as his distraction as he lights up what's left of the joint once more, and the smoke once more films over his features. She can still see him behind it all, though: his pursed lips she wants to kiss, the soft slope of his nose, the fluttering doe eyes that had her under a spell every time they met hers.
He mistakes her staring for something else. Not for what it was, admiration, but instead curiosity.
"Have you ever smoked before?" he asks suddenly, holding the joint up only a moment before he suddenly puts it down and is laughing at himself, "Wait, no. Don't answer that. You never even smoked cigarettes before. I shouldn't corrupt you."
"Corrupt me?" she scoffs, pulling her legs up to her chin, "Please. You wish you could take credit for that."
He's changing the subject, just as she had so desperately craved to when she'd torn her own chest open and let her heart bleed across his sheets. And while Eddie Munson had the strength to not allow her, to force her to sit in her wounds and let him bandage her back up in the aftermath, she couldn't muster the same determination. She wished she could. But she simply couldn't.
"I've always wanted to try it," she admits as she sees him relax, the attention no longer on him or his feelings of insecurity.
"Yeah?" He teases her around a mouthful of smoke. She can only nod eagerly, "Considering how badly the cigs went, I'm kind of hesitant to let you smoke again."
She pulls a face, about to reach for the joint when he puts up a hand to preemptively hold her back.
"I do have an idea. But only if you actually want to try it."
"Hit me with it," she doesn't hesitate. She would do anything he suggested of her.
"Shotgunning."
Another word Willow was unfamiliar with. It fills her with the same embarrassment as when she had been confused as to what pillowtalk was (which, spoiler alert, the moment Eddie explained the concept to her, she realized it was still something she wanted with him. Go figure.).
"What's that?" she asks out of genuine intrigue now, their moment long forgotten. There would be other days for moments . There had to be.
Eddie smiles softly at her innocence as he takes another hit slowly before explaining, "Basically, instead of you taking a hit, I take a hit. And then, when I exhale, I'd.... Well, I'd exhale it into your mouth. It makes it smoother. Less likely to cough."
He's blushing, and almost looks regretful. Willow is silent, but not because the idea doesn't sound like something she wants. Quite the opposite. It sounds intimate, like an excuse to be ridiculously close to Eddie, to have his lips possibly brush hers - it sounds like something she might want a little too much.
"Oh," is all she can reply.
"It's a stupid idea, sorry - forget it. If you want to just take a normal hit, you can, just... let me get some water and be prepared for when you nearly choke to deat-"
"I want to try it."
Her words stun him mid-sentence.
"You do?"
"I do."
His mouth is agape as he stares at her for a few seconds too long, but she soaks in the attention greedily.
"O-Okay," he stutters out, suddenly shifting closer to her, looking impossibly nervous. Willow has no idea why she isn't the one shaking with anticipation, "Okay... You sure?"
"Positive, Munson. Let's do it," she insists a bit too eagerly. She sits with her legs criss-crossed and her knees bump his thigh, causing him to jump a bit, but she won't comment on it.
She leans forward as Eddie starts nodding, muttering something unintelligible as if he were psyching himself up.
"Alright, you stay there. I'm going to take a hit, and then... and then I'm going to lean forward, okay? And when I do, you just have to open wide for me and breathe in. I'll let you know when. Give you some warning before I exhale, okay?"
She nods, forcing her mouth to work only to echo him, "Okay."
With that, Eddie brings the joint to his lips. He inhales for a while, giving Willow plenty of time to become distracted with his hands. The way his fingers curled around the joint, the veins trailing between his prominent knuckles, the shine of his rings blinding her. A very distracting sight.
She must have been too far gone in her head to notice when he stops his inhale, holding his breath and looking at her expectantly. She completely forgets to lean in. Once it's become obvious to him she's lost in thought, his hand comes up to grasp her face gently. It shocks her, at first, but one look at his gentle gaze has her melting. She's putty in his hands as he leans forward and guides her to meet him halfway. He stops when there's still a few inches of space between their faces, eyebrows bounding upward as if to question if she were still okay with it. All she does is nod against his grip.
He moves even closer. Her eyes have fluttered shut, the tension palpable for her. One tap, two taps, on her jaw from his finger indicates for her to widen her mouth.
When he'd explained it to her, she knew it was intimate. That didn't mean she had been prepared when suddenly, Eddie's lips were grazing hers as their open mouths met. She almost forgets to breathe in.
His lips. His lips were on hers. Every logical instruction and thought left her.
"Don't forget to breathe in," he chokes out before he's exhaling, and his gruff voice does her in. It's not his reminder causing her to inhale suddenly - it's the shockwaves sent through her body because when his lips had moved, they'd brushed hers.
She was on fire. As the white smoke leaves Eddie's throat in a controlled manner, she can only gasp it all in, trying to display as much control as he was and even out her inhale.
His lips are on my lips.
She doesn't cough. Once she inhales, he lingers for a second too long, and Willow has to hold her breath to contain herself from pushing herself forward, from saying 'fuck it' and forgetting the weed. She didn't need the weed to get high - Eddie's proximity had done the job.
Just as suddenly as his lips had been brushing hers, he's pulling back to give her space. Space that she doesn't want, she couldn't possibly want. A whine leaves her throat along with the smoke as she finally exhales.
Her mind is fuzzy. She has to convince herself it's from the drugs.
Her eyes remained closed, and it hit her that she whined when he pulled back from her. Embarrassment doesn't even scratch the surface of what she felt.
My God, I just made it weird. I've just outed myself completely. Holy fuck, he's probably staring at me like I'm an idiot. Why did I have to whine? Where the hell is my self-control? What a complete fool-
"You good? Sorry, it might kind of burn or feel weird. It's still smoke," Eddie is suddenly rambling. Only then do her eyes snap open, realizing he had misinterpreted her whine.
He thought she was whining from the feeling of the smoke, not the loss of the feeling of his lips.
"I'm fine," she croaks. The smoke had left her throat and mouth feeling terribly dry, "Just... Huh. Weird. But I didn't choke to death!" she jokes, forcing a smile to widen her features. She was a mess. She knew she had apologized to Eddie earlier for being a mess, but she really was a mess now.
She was fucked. She was so fucked.
How was she supposed to go on with life knowing his lips felt like that ? Just in passing ? It hadn't even been a kiss, but it had made her head spin all the same. And now, she had to go on with the day and the years to come, pretending like she hadn't just been so close to kissing Eddie Munson. Pretending like it hadn't sparked something within her terrible. Pretending it wasn't going to drive her insane till the end of her days.
"You feeling it already?" Eddie puts a hand on her upper arm, a grin despite the concern in his tone, fingers gripping her bicep and squeezing soothingly.
No. I'm fucking feeling you.
"Yeah, I think I am," she lies through her teeth. Maybe if he thinks she's high, he'll excuse any weird behavior, any lingering stares.
He's kind and gentle as ever as his hand strokes up and down her arm, nodding thoughtfully, "That's normal. If you want to take another hit, we can, just... let's give it a minute, yeah?"
And a minute they gave it indeed. What started as a lie twists into an interesting truth as Willow feels time begin to slow for her. The seconds crawl into minutes, and the minutes somehow become years for her. Everything is blurred around the edges, as if there were a soft hum in her mind taking over. Just as everyone at school had described, she felt as if her limbs were absolutely weightless. When Eddie finally offers her another hit, this time taking it on her own rather than shotgunning, she catches a glance at the clock to see only ten minutes have passed. She coughs a bit more when she inhales the smoke on her own, but it's better than trying to mimic the brushing of Eddie's lips on hers once again - she knows herself, and in this fluid state, she would kiss him. She'd throw every caution to the wind to feel his lips on hers properly, to have his tongue down her throat, and his hands gripping her hips as he used her as he pleases.
The high has to be what gives her the courage, something like liquid confidence but instead fueled into her with smoke. If she were sober in the patch of afternoon light that filtered its way across Eddie's bed as they relaxed, she would have never suggested what she does.
But he takes another hit, finishing off the joint, and he still looks so goddamn pretty.
"Eddie, can you teach me how to kiss?" she blurts out before the final cloud of smoke has finished passing his lips.
He immediately begins to choke.
Even with heavy limbs, she attempts to spring into action and sit up beside him, hand coming down on his back in circles. Normally, she'd be shaking, but her hands are steady as they pat him down and she leans in close to make sure he doesn't choke to death.
"What?" he gasps out once the smoke has completely cleared from his lungs, eyes watering as he looks at her stunned.
She doesn't show any sign of how nervous she should be, completely calm as she repeats herself, "Can you teach me how to kiss? I haven't done it before, and I figure at the party, most couples will be kissing. We have an act to keep up, you know."
Her words don't so much as slur. Instead, they're clear as day, albeit said in a slower tone than she normally would. She knows what she wants, and she's letting the weed do the talking.
Besides, if she's casual with it, maybe he won't sense that the whole concept of 'practicing' is just a cover-up. She just wants an excuse to kiss him right now - she's wanted one for days now.
"Red..." he starts, and she can already hear the rejection. The weed is the only thing that could possibly keep her from bursting into tears from embarrassment, "I already said I'm not going to the party."
"Please?" she doesn't know what she's begging for right now - is she begging him to come to the party with her, or is she begging him to just kiss her?
He stares her down for a good moment, eyes rimmed red and glossy just as she's sure hers are. "You don't want your first kiss to be me. Trust me."
"I do trust you! That's why I want it to be you," she's nothing if not persistent, rocking slightly as she widens her eyes for emphasis and doesn't break contact with him. Feelings aside, she knew someone like Eddie Munson would be a good first kiss for anyone . He was a gentleman, he was caring, he was cautious enough when he needed to be.
She wants Eddie Munson to be her first kiss so badly it aches.
"No, we can't. At least, not like this ."
"Like what?"
"High. You're under the influence, sweetheart."
"You are too. We both are. What's the big deal?"
The rejection is starting to sting worse.
Does he not want to kiss me?
His words from in the rain slide back into her consciousness. That he would only kiss her in her dreams. Suddenly, she's blushing, feeling like a complete idiot. Of course he wasn't going to kiss her. He didn't want to, high or not.
Her current state makes her lose her filter, and she slips up as she whispers, "You don't want to kiss me, do you?"
She's too stoned, a light-weight in the truest sense, to catch the heartbreak across his face. "It's not that! I mean - it's not like, I don't - Listen, your first kiss should be with someone you care about, when you're sober, when the moment's right. Not when you're getting high with your fake boyfriend in his gross room after school."
There he goes again. Dismissing how much he means to her, how much she cares for him. If she could manage to personify his insecurity, she'd be throwing right hooks like no one's business. It's an actual thought, a proper image, that passes through her buzzing mind despite the seriousness of their conversation.
He watches her from where he's propped against the pillows at his headboard as she quickly shakes her head of the image.
"It's just a kiss. Who cares who my first is? It's embarrassing enough, anyways. Like, okay, being a virgin at eighteen? Whatever. But never being kissed at eighteen? That's just-" she's about to make a noise of disdain and disgust when he interrupts her.
"I care."
"What?"
"I care who your first kiss is. And I'm telling you, it shouldn't be me."
She can't even think of a very good argument in her inebriation. All she can do is huff, glare and cross her arms like a child. "You don't get to make that choice for me."
"You're not going to give this up, are you?" he finally sighs roughly, throwing his head back in frustration as his eyes pinch shut, "You're not going to drop it, are you?"
"Not until I'm sober!" She's brutally honest with him, which is fine. Until she becomes a bit too brutally honest, "But even then, I'm still going to be thinking about it."
"Thinking about kissing me?" He's hesitant as he asks her this, eyes only opening slightly to catch her right as the weight of her words register to her.
Fuck.
She wants the attention off of her, and she wants it off now. It makes her skin crawl. Sober, she is sure to be furious at remembering this moment; she can only guess which part she'll regret more. Will it be the way she's pressuring him, which she should know better than to do? Or will it be the massive slip up of admitting that she thinks about kissing him, even when sober?
"We don't have to. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be pressuring you," she begins to ramble and backtrack, mind clearing up just enough to knock some sense into herself, "I'm sorry. It's stupid. You're not okay with it, and I just... I'll drop it. I'm sorry."
How many times can I say sorry in a thirty second span?
"It's not that I'm not okay with it," he corrects her immediately, and his eyes are finally open again. Wide, brown, doe eyes. They take her breath away - they always take her breath away, "I'm more than okay with kissing you. What I'm not okay with is... is you regretting it. You sobering up in a couple hours and hating me."
I'm more than okay with kissing you.
Fuck.
"I won't regret it, Eddie. Like I said... we need the practice. We can only fake date for so long before it gets weird that no one sees us kiss," she carefully reassures him, her mind only getting clearer by the second. She doesn't want him to know it, but she's slowly starting to sober up. Little by little, the haze the weed has caused her is slipping, and in its place only remains a want.
She wants to kiss him. Not just for practice. Really, the thought of having to cover this all up with the guise of it being fake kills her.
She wants him, for real. She doesn't want Eddie Munson to be her sporadic fake-boyfriend who pisses off Steve Harrington anymore. She wants Eddie Munson, her boyfriend, period.
The yearning was easy with Steve because part of her always knew she never stood a chance. But with Eddie, it was different. He was never on a pedestal. Eddie always kept himself in her reach, always letting himself be completely tangible to her. She wasn't yearning for the idea of something that she'd idealized before bed - she was only craving more of what Eddie had already given her. Steve didn't dance in the rain with her. Steve didn't know about Parker. Steve didn't spontaneously swim in Lover's Lake with her. Steve had never walked her to her classes with an infallible pride. But Eddie did. Eddie did all of that, and more. And she wants to convince herself that maybe it's because he feels the same way she does; maybe he lies awake at night because she runs around his mind so fervently, maybe he's waking up from dreams of her that haunt him in every shadow of the next day.
She doesn't like Eddie the same way she likes Steve. And she doesn't have the mind to work through all those details quite yet.
"I could never hate you, Eds," she finally adds when Eddie stays silent, "If that's what you're worried about, then it'll never happen. You're my friend, top of my list, and... That doesn't change. Fake relationship or not, practicing kissing or not. You have made it impossible for me to hate you."
Not that I mind , she wants to add. She doesn't.
"Fuck it," he mutters, shaking himself out of his own mind. She wishes she could read it like a book, to know every thought running through it right now, "Come here, you fucking minx."
"Minx?" she snorts, not expecting what she can't decipher as either an insult or compliment.
"Would you prefer siren?" he asks as she makes her way up the bed to him, sitting up on her knees beside him, "Considering you're just luring me in right now. How can I be sure you're not going to viciously murder me and that this kissing business isn't just an excuse to get close enough to?"
"I'm not going to murder you," she rolls her eyes, heart pounding in her throat.
Oh my God. This is it. We're going to kiss.
He pats at his lap as his legs flatten out, immediately holding out a hand for her to balance herself with as she stares, "Minx it is, then. Your seat awaits, m'lady."
When she doesn't move, Eddie takes one of her hands gently in the one he had been holding out for her, "Hey, we don't have to do this. Again - I don't want you to hate me. If you've changed your mind, you say the word, we don't do it. Not every couple sucks each other's faces off in public."
Her confidence is waning, but the ache of want isn't. His hand in hers only spurs her on to carefully move where she settles a knee on the side of each of his thighs. She hovers at first, not letting her butt fall onto his knees until his hand slides from hers, and both of his suddenly land on her hips. His encouragement is gentle, softly pushing her to sit comfortably.
She's in his lap. She's going to kiss him.
If she thinks too much into it, she's going to faint.
"Good? Comfy?" he asks, wearing a nervous grin. She can't even smile back at him - all she can do is nod as she swallows hard.
"Very. Where'd you get this seat? Lazy boy?" She tries to joke back, but her voice is squeaky and cracks. He doesn't mention it.
"Goodwill, actually. Kind of run through, if you ask me," he joins in on her teasing with ease. This is familiar - the teasing, the joking, the taunting. Their back-and-forth that has had her hooked since day one.
She only laughs in return. It relaxes her a little, letting her settle even more comfortably in his lap.
For a while, they just stay like that. Eddie's hands remain on her hips, thumbs softly playing with the hem of her shirt but never slipping under to make contact with her bare skin. She looks everywhere but his eyes; her hand that plays with some of the curls next to his face, looking down at the hollow of his neck to see the guitar pick necklace he dons every single day, and eventually she looks at his lips. She knows he's watching her because the moment she does, his tongue peaks out to wet them. And so finally, she lets her hazel eyes meet dark brown ones. They're just as she expects them to be, wide with blown out pupils out of the same anxiety and anticipation she felt. If she had the time, she would get lost in them. She'd let herself be deeply buried in their trance for a lifetime.
"You ready for this, Jenkins?" he asks when her eyes focus instead of avoiding. She's terribly still, almost not daring to breathe.
Even in this moment, even with his casual tone, she can see his gentleman poking through. The way he always has to make sure that she's okay, that he isn't crossing any boundaries.
"As I'll ever be," she breathes out finally, and they both move to lean forward. They move slowly. The suspense is terrible - she hopes it will last.
Right as his forehead is beginning to press into hers, when his nose bumps hers and both their eyes flutter close, she says words that are clearly damning.
"Just practice."
The moment those words leave her lips, Eddie's once relaxed body stiffens beneath her fingertips. She can feel it from where her palms rest on his chest.
She hadn't meant to say them outloud. They were meant to be silent words, in her mind, to try and soothe any anxiety bubbling up in her. They were meant to hold back the floodgates of her feelings for him. They were meant to serve as a reminder - she wanted this more than he did.
It happens quickly; Willow goes from being mere centimeters from finally kissing the boy she's been dreaming about, from sealing her fate for something she was in over her head with, to suddenly feeling Eddie's hands gripping her hips and lifting her off his lap.
"Wait-" she starts as her eyes pop open in a flash, hurt and confusion taking over her features too quickly for her to hide them. And Eddie sees it, her face mimics his own, as he places her down on the bed beside him.
"I'm sorry," he starts, looking at her as he heaves, "I'm sorry, Red. I can't. I'm not going to that party. I'm sorry. I can't do it like this ."
"Like what?" she immediately snaps back, starting to feel her defenses gear up.
She was so close. They were so close.
"Like this . You deserve better than this ," he stresses vaguely, and she swears his eyes have gone glossy. And it's not from the drugs. If she was a fool, she'd say it was from tears.
He doesn't say another word as he suddenly stands up, and makes his way across his room to grab his wallet and keys. She's left sitting on his bed, head reeling and heart breaking.
"What?" she feebly asks, but she figures he can't even hear her from across the room. Her own eyes begin to well up, but she won't cry.
No, she won't cry about the fact that Eddie Munson won't kiss her. She won't cry that he doesn't feel the same. She's got the message, and she's been here before - with Steve, with the useless pining, with the hopeless heartbreak. She's been here before. She knows the ending. She won't do it again.
"I should take you home," he finally stops his frantic pacing as he stands across the room by his door, refusing to meet her broken gaze.
She doesn't fight him. Not this time.
So she lets him take her home. They drive in silence, not saying a single word to each other. He doesn't even open her door to the passenger side like he normally would. And maybe he's just as lost in his own head as she was, but she was too focused on staring out the window and not looking as disappointed as she felt to spare him a glance and confirm it. He's driving carefully for once, and if this were any other day, Willow would poke fun at him for driving like the elderly, his speed possibly dipping below the limit on multiple occasions.
When they pull into her driveway, he puts the van into park and she listens to the engine clamber idly. There's a million words on her tongue, and not a single one slips out as she finally tears her eyes from the window and looks at him for the first time since she had sat down in the van. There's not a single emotion on his face.
He's a blank slate, voice matching as he flatly says, "Have a good night."
No Red , no sweetheart , no doll , no princess , not even Jenkins . He doesn't even spare her a glance.
She knows he wants to call off the deal. She knows he probably wants to end it all here, right now, to pull off the bandaid. And she feels like she should say something, that she should mention it and finish off the job so he doesn't have to. She pushed him too hard, too far, too fast - she flew too close to the sun, and now she was going to burn as a consequence.
"You too," she matches his monotone, finally looking straight ahead rather than at him and wasting no time grabbing her backpack and the door handle.
She'll call him tonight. Do it over the phone. It'll be easier for both of them that way.
The slam of his van door behind her echoes into the world around her as she storms up her driveway. The knot in her throat is worsening. She just needs to get inside, to the safety of her room. Once she's alone, maybe she will cry about it before she calls him. Maybe she will let herself mourn the loss of one of the best damn friendships she'd ever managed to catch herself falling into. Maybe she'll even tell her mom, or Robin, and they'll share a pint of ice cream just like the movies-
"Hey, Willow!" Eddie's voice interrupts her just as she shoves her keys into the front door. She has to take a deep breath to brace herself before she turns to face him.
This is it. He's going to call it off. I won't even get to start the mourning process before he rips off the bandaid.
"What's up?" she keeps her voice monotone, as it had been in the van. "Did I forget something?"
He's walking towards her at a determined pace, face completely smooth as his eyes stay focused on her. It's intimidating, fraying her nerves even more the closer he gets.
"Yeah, this."
She doesn't have the chance to question him or even display any proper emotion.
The moment he reaches her, his hands are cupping her face, and his lips are on hers.
She doesn't move at first as his lips slot between hers, her eyes even buffering in fluttering close. He has her frozen in place as he kisses her with everything he's got.
After a moment, after the reality sets in as to what's happening, she melts into it. But it's too late. He's starting to pull back and her eyes immediately open to find his already looking at her. He opens his mouth to say something, but Willow won't have it.
She presses onto her tippy-toes and chases his lips, locking him into another kiss, this time one that they both reciprocate. She has no idea what she's doing as his hands stay on her jaw, and her hands are alien things that she finally has to bring up to wrap around his neck. Her fingers tangle into the curls at the base of his neck as he takes the lead again.
There's no tongue. It's not hot and heavy. It's not the kind of kiss that fogs up window glass.
It's soft. His lips are like honey, stickily pulling away in the slightest only for him to surge forward again and find home between hers. It's the kind of kiss that steals your breath and heart in the same second. It's the kind of kiss worth waiting for.
She's dizzy when it finally ends, eyes still closed as she feels him pull away with finality. Neither remove their hands off each other, instead pressing their foreheads together.
He laughs. It's gentle and breathy and fans over Willow's face, and it's the best goddamn sound she's heard in years.
"Let me guess," she starts before he can, sounding just as breathless as his laugh did, "I deserved something like that ?"
"Nah, you still deserve better," he corrects her, and they let their eyes flutter open at the same time. He's smiling so wide, her own cheeks ache. Or maybe it's her matching grin. She doesn't care as he says, "But for the record, I always want to kiss you."
His voice is near-silent when he says this. So quiet, she thinks the words aren't meant for her. She has to be imagining them, because there's absolutely no way that he has wanted this as much as she has. There is no chance that Eddie Munson knows that familiar craving in his own gut, that own insanity clouding his own mind when she walks into a room.
"You really can't come to the party tomorrow?" she finally whispers, letting the imaginary words he'd just said evaporate, her entire world right now just being the two of them. His lips are still wet, even a bit swollen. It takes everything in her not to initiate another kiss.
"I really can't," he confirms, voice as quiet as hers.
"Okay," she nods. Her eyes look at his lips again, foreheads still connected.
He catches her stare. And he's wordless as he takes her off-guard and suddenly leans between the spaces to peck her on the lips once more. It's not as intense as the first kiss, but it sends a fire racing down her spine all the same.
When his hands finally fall from her face, she lets her own hands return to her sides as he takes a step back.
They're both still grinning in disbelief. If this were the movies, she'd probably have a snarky quip to send him off with, but she's too happy for words right now.
"Have a good night, Red," he repeats his words from earlier, but he's added his nickname, and the flatness in his tone is long gone. His steps are slow as he keeps his eyes on her, all the way until he's back at his open driver's side door, waving her off shyly.
"You too, Eds."
She likes Eddie Munson. She likes him. God , she likes him.