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kquil · 3 months

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JAMES POTTER | LIKE LOVERS DO

REQUEST : hiiiii :) if/when u can, smith like this with james or remus lupin? @bobs-fav-cat

(art is by gyung_studio on instagram)

SUM : you and James Potter are just friends —friends that act like they’re in a loving relationship.

TAGS. : modern au ; muggle au ; idiots in love ; james loves giving you princess treatment ; and you love returning his affections ; just friends being friends ; hehehe~ ; they’re in denial ; domestic fluff ; selfcare session ; biker james? ; james being a sweetheart ; reader being absolute wifey material! ; james and reader being so in love it’s sickening ; the type of sickening that makes you puke rainbows, glitter and love hearts ; mutual pinning! ; slightly based off a tiktok i saw once ; happy ending where they get together ; so much fluff ; scheming gremlin friends ; lily, dorcas and marlene as cupids for reader ; remus, sirius and peter as cupids for james ; idiots in love

LENGTH : 3.6k

“They should wear a sign,” Peter laughs as he and his close friends eye the pair of oblivious idiots across the room, “one that says ‘we’re actually together no matter how much we deny it’,”

“You said it,” Sirius raises a hand and the two high-five each other before sniggering between themselves.

Across the hall stood you and James. It was a networking event disguised as a formal company party. And even though you and James weren’t each other’s dates to the event, James wore a matching tie to your chosen dress. The two of you unanimously decided to go with the excuse that you had both gone shopping for an outfit together and unconsciously bought matching things. It was only natural because you two were such good, close friends.

From a distance, the three watch as you lift your left foot up through the high side-slit of your dress and draw attention to your unbuckled heel with a frown. James’ hazel eyes focuses onto your heel as well and immediately places his flute of champagne on a nearby table to help you, as if it was second nature to him; it is second nature to him— taking care of you. He’s kneeling down and re-buckling your heel for you as your hand tentatively places itself on his broad shoulder for balance.

Once James is finished, he stands back up with a grin, takes up his flute with one hand and wraps his other around your waist to pull you into his side with a smile. Neither of you flinch at the closeness, in fact, you snuggle further into your best friend’s side and tuck your head under his chin so he can place a kiss onto the crown of your head.

“Wanna bet on who folds first?” Remus speaks up with a devious smirk, Sirius and Peter eagerly voicing their predictions and placing their bets.

“Oh Jamie!” you gasp and smile widely as your best friend presents you with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, “They’re beautiful,” he helps the floral arrangement into your arms with a satisfied grin, a fondness in his eyes as he watches you savour the scent of the pretty blossoms.

“My pleasure, my dear,” he regales dramatically as you giggle, “I passed by the florist on my way back from lunch at the pub with the boys and thought you’d like them,”

“I do like them,” you lean forward and kiss him on the cheek, “you’re so thoughtful, thank you for thinking of me, James,”

His warm smile softens further and he kisses your temple lovingly, “of course,” aside from the lingering scent of your shampoo and conditioner, James picks up on something more appetising, “what’s that delicious smell, angel?”

“Oh!” reminded of your earlier activities, you lead him into your kitchen where you proceed to find a vase for the arrangement in your arms, “I was baking—”

“Treacle tart!” James cheers and does a goofy little dance in the middle of your kitchen, his excitement obvious.

“It’s almost done so you popped in at just the right time,” you giggle softly whilst transferring the arrangement into your chosen vase. With a pleased hum, James presses up behind you and places his large hands on the curve of your hips, his thumbs tenderly stroking up and down until he eventually pushes the hem of your shirt up, caressing your soft skin beneath.

“Mmmmm… lucky me,” he whispers happily into your shoulder, where he begins trailing kisses up your neck. His words send a shiver up your spine and you resist the escalating urge to turn in his arms and lead his lips to cover and press against your own.

You’re just friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

James can’t get over how cute you are.

Even when you’re doing the most mundane things, he can’t help but find you adorable. Like right now. Even with a bright green clay mask on your face, you are adorable, perched on his lap with your knees on either side of his thighs as you spread the same treen mask over his skin.

“Stop moving, Jamie!” you chastise gently whilst stifling a giggle.

“You stop moving,” he counters playfully and emphasises his words by placing his big hands on your hips and squeezing your curves briefly. Your only response is to laugh and do your best to continue applying an even coat onto his face.

“….there!” you huff and set aside your tool to close the clay mask tub, “all done, no thanks to you!” He tickles your sides in retaliation as you climb off his lap and reach for your phone in order to set a timer. His antics were a brief distraction as you bless him with your tinkling giggles.

“For how long do we keep this on?”

“15 minutes,”

He pulls a face, one that makes him look like a duck as he ponders over his thoughts. He looks so ridiculous, especially with the green mask on his face — it was only naturally for you to burst out laughing, “what should we do until then?”

“Stop talking,”

“Wha—?!”

“Not like that, Jamie,” you coo as he pouts dramatically, “we have to stop talking soon or else the mask will crack too much as it dries,” he makes a long noise of realisation at your words and nods obediently, zipping his lips before throwing away the imaginary key.

No matter what he does, he’s always making you laugh. You’re sure that, even if you’re temporarily banning him from speaking, he would still be able to make you laugh and your clay mask will end up looking like a dried up riverbed.

You have no complaints, though.

You weren’t expecting it but you still weren’t too surprised when you see James waiting for you outside — just in time to pick you up after a night out with your close girl friends. He was wearing one of your favourite sweaters of all time, it was soft and big (big enough to make him appear deceivingly smaller than you know his figure is) and is the warmest thing you’ve ever worn.

“James!” you call out, happy to see him. The build up of fatigue from the whole night melts off your aching limbs like powdered snow under golden sunbeams. Running to him, he greets you with his heart-stopping smiles.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers as soon as he has his arms wrapped around you.

“Stop it,” you sigh into his shoulder, your face buried into the soft fabric of his sweater, “I look a mess after tonight,”

He pulls away, enough to meet your eyes and examine your face without having to remove his arms from around you, “If this is you looking a ‘mess’, then I wonder what type of beauty you were earlier tonight,”

His comment makes your heart soar but you don’t let it show on your face, even when he wiggles his eyebrows comically to emphasise his flattering remark. Instead, you narrow your eyes at him before slipping out of his arms and biting your lip at the confused, pitiful whine he lets out. You don’t leave him miserable for long, however, as you’re quickly reaching down to lift up his sweater so that you could pull it over your head and burrow yourself inside. Like the living furnace he is, you’re greeted by such a comforting heat, you forget that you’re both still outside in the wet cold of the night.

Throwing his head back, James laughs and wraps you up in his arms again, laying his cheek against the top of your head through his sweater. The first time you ever did this, he wasn’t shy about saying how much he loved it. And now, you’ve made it a tradition to do this often during the autumn and winter months. Admittedly, you loved cuddling him like this too; it’s more intimate and you love being surrounded by his warmth. It was a bonus that his scent literally has you in a choke hold under there. You’d happily suffocate on the smell of his cologne, laundry detergent and natural smell. But it also feels as though you’re falling into a trance by some alluringly scented spirit.

“As much as I love holding you like this, dear, I’m still on a mission to get you home safe so…” he looks down at you, hazel eyes turning soft at the adorable sight of you cuddled up to him under his sweater, “can my princess please let me help her into my car and drive her back home safely?”

You didn’t respond, only pouted and whined to express your dislike of pulling away from him as well as the warmth of his soft sweater. James knew instantly what to do. You two were best friends after all; it was a requirement for him to know all your needs telepathically. It was an awkward shuffling of limbs but James managed to slip off his sweater without needing to lift it off your figure and hoists you into his arms before you could start grumbling at the loss of his embrace.

“Not long now — my princess will arrive at her carriage soon~” he sings in a whisper beside your ear, smiling fondly at your soft giggles and adoring the way you wrap your arms around his neck to cuddle him close before needing to pull away so he can carefully sit in his car’s passenger seat.

“Oh, come on!” Marlene gives an exasperated sigh as you examine the array of snacks laid out before you. In your peripheral, you observe how Lily doesn’t make any moves to stop Marlene from pestering you; instead a small smirk tugs at the corners of her lips, secretly enjoying and wanting to take part in Marlene’s badgering.

“You come on,” you throw back with a light-hearted glare, “I thought we were going to buy snacks for movie night, not grill me on my friendship with James,”

“Friends, huh?” Dorcas arches a brow as Lily stifles a giggle beside her. All three were eyeing you mischievously as a heat flushes across your cheeks.

“Stop it you guys,”

“We’ll stop as soon as you stop playing the friendship game with James!” Lily bargains, unable to hold herself back anymore, and you try your hardest not to roll your eyes while your cheeks flood with a familiar warmth.

“We’re just friends,” it was a painful admission but you’d rather have what you have right now with James than ever risk sabotaging it.

Marlene examines a strand of her golden hair as Lily leans against her side, “James acts more of a boyfriend to you than just a friend,”

Dorcas speaks up with a hint of impishness, “and I can prove it~”

“How?” you challenge, raising your chin ever so slightly in silent provocation. But Dorcas has no reaction, she just continues to smirk at you.

“I’m gonna need your phone first,” you hesitate from the devilish sparkle in her eyes but eventually relent, cursing the weakness that was a result of your aching heart. Dorcas types away on your phone for a moment as Marlene and Lily peer over her shoulder and snicker at what they read. She doesn’t allow you to read the message she typed out before hitting send and handing your phone back

It takes a moment for you to get over your shock and look through the message she sent. It was sent straight to James, lovingly named as ‘My Idiot ❤️’ in your contacts, and it read: ‘James, this scary looking guy keeps following me around in the shop and it’s creeping me out! I can’t find the girls either 😰 what do I do?’. Your jaw drops and you can’t find any words to voice whatever it is you’re feeling; a mix of anger, upset, shock and creeping curiosity over what they have planned.

Not a minute goes by and your phone is getting rapid notifications from James messaging you, he even tries to call you but the girls snatch your phone away before you could answer. They shake their heads at you and you huff, crossing your arms. You would have protested more from the rising anxiety you feel over having to lie to James but you were so curious. In the end, you reluctantly accept their plotting and try to prepare yourself for what’s to come.

For a minute, the message notifications stop from your phone and Lily feels her phone buzz from inside her bag. The three giggle as Lily rushes to take out her phone. From the side lines, you continue observing everything with your heart pounding rapidly in your chest. Lily types back a response and all three look up at you in unison, their eyes swimming with mischief.

“I’m setting a stopwatch to see how long just-friend-Potter gets here,” Marlene snickers and you groan, Dorcas and Lily giggling on either side of her. As much as you love them, they’re such a nuisance sometimes…

You could only guess that Lily sent him her location and now all of you were left patiently waiting for James to appear.

Not even 15 minutes passes before James comes storming into view, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in all black and without his glasses. Even without his glasses on, when James glances over and catches a glimpse of you, recognition crosses his unfriendly features and he storms over. Within seconds, he’s pulling you into a warm embrace.

“Oh thank god,” he breathes a sigh of relief and presses his face into your hair, “you’re okay… —are you okay?” you look up as he pulls away and searches for your eyes, squinting to be able to do so without the aid of his glasses.

“Y-yeah, I’m alright. The umm, the creep disappeared a little while ago,” you muster a small smile of reassurance, still uncomfortable with lying to him, before managing to softly ask your burning question, “why aren’t you wearing your glasses?” habitually, you feel about for the breast pocket of the leather jacket he has on and pull out his circular specs.

As you carefully clean his lenses on your shirt, he goes to explain, “I wanted to look scary so that creep leaves you alone,” you’re quick to realise that without his glasses he would be forced to squint so that it looks like he’s glaring. It also clicks in your head that he wore all black so he could look even more intimidating. It was unusual for him to wear just black, normally that was Sirius’ thing, but you’re not complaining; James looks really attractive dressed in black, his hair tousled around messily and without his glasses on.

“Thank you, Jamie,” he grins boyishly after you put his glasses back on for him, taking a moment to adjust them until they sit aligned and comfortable. By habit, you comb your fingers through his untamed hair and James, in turn, presses a kiss to your temple.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, princess,” your heart skips a beat at the nickname — he’s called you that so many times but he’s reserved it especially for you and it makes you feel so special, “do you want me to give you a ride home?” he lifts up the motorbike helmet in his hand, which you immediately recognise. Your curious eyes meet his hazel hues and he smiles bashfully, “I borrowed Sirius’ bike to get here quicker…” he shuffles around his feet, nervous under your gaze —he hate lying to you too, “okay okay… I took his bike without asking but I promise to give it back as soon as I get you home safe!”

You give a small giggle and wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his muscular chest. It’s an embrace that James eagerly returns, petting your hair whilst speaking over your head once he finally spots your three friends.

“Are you guys okay too?”

“Gee, thanks for the concern, Potter,” Marlene rolls her eyes as Lily and Dorcas crack up, “yeah, we’re good,”

“Good, good,” James immediately goes back to focus on holding you close and kissing the crown of your head, affectionate and sweet. You could always rely on him to be there for you no matter what and the thought made butterflies explode into a fluttering haze in your stomach.

Dorcas had proven her point.

It was clear now that James prioritised you over anyone else. And you didn’t know whether to be flustered and scream for joy or melt into a puddle of goo.

“She’s not my girlfriend so shut up,” James huffs and groans as he rolls over to lay on his stomach across the length of the sofa whilst Remus, Sirius and Peter sat in a scattered array about the living room.

“Says the motorbike thief,” Sirius hisses playfully, shooting a superficial glare at his long time best friend/non-blood-related brother.

“She really does act like your girlfriend more than your friend, Prongs,” Remus chimes up, setting his book aside as Peter offers him several cubes of chocolate.

“I don’t get why you two don’t just date each other,” it was Peter who speaks up this time and James can’t help but roll his eyes that even Peter was on his ass about this.

“That’s right! You don’t get it!” they wait for him to continue with a ‘so’ before demanding something but James just presses his burning hot face into a cushion and has a silent tantrum.

“I’ll prove you wrong!” Sirius claims boldly and when James looks over, his biker friend was rapidly typing away at his phone, “I’ll give it around 20 minutes until she gets here,”

James raises a brow, “Who?”

“Your not-girlfriend, of course!”

“What did you say?” Remus asks what they were all wanting the answer to.

“Oh nothing~ just that Jamesie-kins over here is really upset over something but doesn’t want to tell us why so we don’t know what to do to help him feel better,” Sirius fakes a pout and watery eyes as James gapes at him, horrified.

“HOW IS THAT GONNA PROVE ANYTHING?!”

“If she gets here in 20 minutes then that means she prioritises your hurt feelings over going to her favourite over-priced restaurant with Pandora,” James’ eyes nearly bulge out.

“That’s today?!”

Sirius’ devious smirk was answer enough.

“I say 10 minutes!” Peter bets.

“15!” Remus adds on.

Remus wins the bet when you get there 14 minutes after Sirius’ text message was sent. Your arms are piled up high with James’ favorite junk food snacks, ranging from sweet to savoury. Over your shoulders, you wear your fluffiest blanket (James’ favourite) as a cape and rush forward to drape it over him. No time was wasted as you silently move around their shared flat at lightening speed, putting on the TV and switching to his favourite, comfort show, laying out his snacks on the coffee table and putting the kettle on before snuggling down under the blanket with him. It was a tight fit for the two of you on the sofa but neither of you minded; you were both cuddle bugs and enjoyed the closeness.

“Get out, you three! Leave Jamie and I alone!” you speak for the first time to shoo the three boys away. They happily oblige, Remus smirking as Sirius and Peter cough up their betted amounts and close the living room door behind them.

For a long moment, you merely stay there, your arms wrapped around James’ shoulders, one hand lovingly petting his hair as your other presses his face into your chest. James wasn’t shy about voicing how this was his most comforting position for cuddles and it made his heart race that you had cancelled your long awaited plans just to console him.

“What’s wrong Jamie?” you finally ask, voice soft and slow with patience, “Sirius told me you weren’t feeling so well… but you’re not ill? Are you?” he feels you press the back of your hand against his forehead to check his temperature as he finally locks his strong arms around your midsection and pulls you even closer, “No you’re not, thank goodness,” he falls in love with the relief he hears in your voice. He loves falling in love with you over and over again; it’s so easy, “what can I do to help?”

He doesn’t know why he held back for so long. It was all so clear now. The fact that your eyes sparkled around him the way his did when he looked at you was so unbelieved before, he kinda just voluntarily blinded himself. But now, it was like he was seeing colours for the first time. James just can’t believe it took Sirius, of all people, to make him realise it. What a joke… he almost wants to laugh. But he can’t, not when his heart was ready to beat out of his chest for you.

“Jamie?”

“…a kiss…” it was a whisper but you heard him so clearly. And he knows because he heard your breath hitch.

“—what?”

“I want a kiss…to feel better,”

Not wanting to raise your hopes, you press a kiss to his forehead and your heart deafens your ears as it beats loudly against your eardrums.

“A proper kiss,” he raises his head and pulls up to level his lips with yours, his hazel eyes melting your gaze, “like lovers do,”

You’ve waited so long for this moment that you couldn’t even fathom that it was actually happening and your entire world slowed to a standstill. It wasn’t until James had pressed his full lips against yours that you felt your senses come to life with so much intensity that you felt like you wanted to faint. But you wouldn’t dare miss your first kiss for anything.

Like lovers do, you kissed. Like lovers do, you embraced. Like lovers do, you whispered sweet words, a life long promise, to one another, “I love you,”

A/N : this started off as a timestamp that i sneakily wrote this request into (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ i didn’t know how to conclude it at first but i just kept writing and writing and now it’s finished haha! i hope you darlings enjoy the read! and i would also like to humbly tag my beloved moot @diputy for reasons she understands on a deep level (⸝⸝⸝• ω •⸝⸝⸝) ♡

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @ghostgardn @rosalyn-s @seungtelevision

#james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter one shot #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter fanfiction #marauders fic #the marauders #marauders #james potter x reader fic #james potter x y/n #marauders x reader #james potter oneshot #best friend james potter

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definitelysel · 3 months

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I am on hiatus because of exams but @danijaci you have pulled me out of it for today thanks to your biker!Wriothesley drawing. 😭😭💫💕🦋

Please allow me to add some words to your scrumptious art because I am obsessed with this man.

biker!Wriothesely x 9 to 5 job!reader.

not proof read i wrote this in 30 minutes and put it in queue.

It was a wet day. The air was moist and puddles had formed around every corner. You walked with your files clutched under one arm, umbrella held in the other, sheltering you from the light drizzle that remained after the heavy downpour from a few hours ago.

Your clothes were recently washed and neatly ironed. Atleast they were till someone whizzed past you, splashing you with puddle water, soiling your clothes. You yelled curses at them, trying to brush away the water on your clothes which clearly was a futile attempt.

You turned around to walk home and get changed into a new pair of clothes till you noticed the biker who splashed water on you, was coming back. You came to halt as the biker parked their bike in front of you before pulling the visor of the helmet up.

You could see icy blue hues staring at you. The voice was muffled you could make out a 'sorry' in their sentence. "I can't understand what you are saying." You frowned, not pleased with the situation at all.

The biker removed their helmet to reveal a man, beautiful beyond comprehension. His hand reached up to fluff up his black locks which had been flattened by the helmet, while his other hand placed the helmet on the handle of the biker. He swiftly kicked the stand of his bike before making his way to you.

"I said I am sorry for splashing you with water. It was an accident and I should've been more careful." He sighed, assessing the damage caused by his recklessness.

"Oh it is fine, it will come off. The only problem is that I am late for work." You grimaced at the feeling of the clothes sticking against your skin. He seemed to have noticed that.

"How about I give you a ride back home and to your office? It'll save you time and in exchange of helping you, you'll forgive me. Sounds like a win-win." He offered. You hesitated since getting on a bike with a strange guy was complete violation of the stranger danger rul— screw it.

"I'll take you up on that offer."

"Great. One more thing.." he took off his jacket and leaned in to wrapped it around you. You took your time to admire the man while he was busy zipping the jacket up. After he was done he glanced up at you. There was an awkward silence, you could feel his body warmth radiate upon coming in proximity and—

"Let's go. The jacket will prevent you from feeling cold while riding on the bike." He walked over to his biker and mounted it. He gestured you to take a seat while strapping his helmet back on. He then handed you a spare and drove off.

Your life was usually dull. A boring 9 to 5 job, same old sceneries and same old people had made life monotonous, yet this moment of sitting on a bike with the cool air hitting your body, the vehicle effortlessly taking smooth twists and turns was an escape from all of that.

You had your arms wrapped around his waist. Part of your arm could feel his muscular built under the clothing. He was a gentleman, responsible, quick-witted and good looking. What more could a girl ask for—

"We are here." He dropped you off at your house. If only you knew that from that day, the strange man would become an inseparable part of your life.

biker!wriothesley who would drop you to your office and back everyday under the excuse that it will save you time and energy even though he simply wants to enjoy the warmth of your arms wrapped around him.

biker!wriothesley who would bring big bouquets of your favourite flower each week in hopes to impress you.

biker!wriothesley who steals you away from your friends to go on an impromptu outing with him.

biker!wriothesley who loves watching sunsets with you while sharing a pint of icecream.

biker!wriothesley who fell harder after you fell first.

biker!wriothesley who would feel happy even at the smallest biking related gift you get him. He is a strong believer of sincerity.

biker!wriothesley who always gives up his jacket whenever you feel cold and always puts your comfort first.

biker!wriothesley who was hesitant on confessing but eventually mustered the courage to do so.

"Hey big guy, why did you bring me here all of a sudden?" You enquired softly. Wriothesely was a man with many scars and a fragile heart. He only ever dragged you away when he was feeling upset.

"It's nothing. I am just- I have to come out clean about this.." he sighed, trying to face you. The sunset's beauty only made you look more captivating in his eyes than you already were.

Wriothesley had always been gentle with you. Ever since the day he splashed water on you, to the time where he accidentally hit you in the face with the helmet while tossing it to you, hoping you would catch it, uptill now.

He looked at you with endearment, sincerity and love. You were his solace in his adventurous life while he was your spark in your mundane one. You two were like puzzle pieces. Meant for eachother. Meant to complete one another.

"I like you. I find my thoughts drifting towards you all the time. I thought biking was my only passion, nothing could take my attention away from my love for bike riding but then you came and—" he cupped your face, his frost blue eyes spoke a thousand words which his mouth couldn't utter.

biker!wriothesley whose partner in crime (not literally) is you. He can confide in you about his problems and loves when you talk to him in biker terms.

biker!wriothesley who loves taking you on long drives. He loves exploring new places and seeing the smile that traveling brings to your face.

biker!wriothesley who flaunts you off to his biker buddies or 'gang' he named 'The Meropide' talking non stop about how amazing you are.

biker!wriothesley who teases you alot.

"Wriothesley- you have been cleaning your bike since the past 2 hours!" You complained, he treated that bike like royalty. Cleaning it, greasing it, getting air in the tires—

"You see sweetheart, I have to take care of my wife. I am simply spending quality time with her." He smirked at you.

"Oh yeah? Then what am I?" You asked, arms crossed across your chest.

"You are my mistress—"

You didn't let him touch you the entire day.

biker!wriothesley who gets all shy and clammy at physical intimacy, be it holding hands, hugging or stealing kisses.

biker!wriothesley who wouldn't trade you for the world. He holds you dear and the day he confessed to you, he had given a piece of his heart to you and vowed to always be by your side.

this is so scuffed- I haven't written in so long especially in this format.

but hell do I not love wriothesley.

don't copy, plagiarize, repost.

©definitelysel

#genshin fluff #genshin impact #genshin x reader #fontaine #genshin impact x reader #wriothesely x reader #wriothesely #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wrio x reader #wriothesley imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff

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undreaming-fanfiction · 2 months

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What I Wouldn't Do

This fanfiction is a Valentine's Day exchange gift for the lovely @henderdads. Cass, Eddie absolutely hates Valentine's Day, but for Steve? Well. He's willing to make an exception. Have an amazing Valentine's Day, you deserve it so much!!

Sometimes, it is difficult to reconcile several different truths in our lives.

Eddie currently has this dilemma.

Truth A: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson’s boyfriend, allegedly loves sappy romantic things, Valentine's Day included.

Truth B: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington's boyfriend, feels like if the world ever has to end, it should do so on February 14th, for this is the worst day of all days, the day of heart-shaped chocolate that tastes like crap, couples exchanging sweet words and bodily fluids, sometimes even semi-publicly, and don't even get him started about that horrible romantic music.

After swearing on the Munson doctrine he won’t sell his soul to consumerism for anything and anyone but Steve, Eddie Munson decides to ignore Truth B. Steve Harrington deserves the best Valentine's day in the history of this idiotic holiday and Eddie has a hunch, a massive, Everest-sized hunch, that in all of his previous Valentine's days, Steve was always the one to do all the work. His beautiful and brave people-pleasing boyfriend.

Then Eddie realizes another very uncomfortable truth. He has no idea how to celebrate Valentine’s Day. He spent the twenty one-ish years of his existence avoiding the holiday, so now he has to do some research.

He starts small. When they walk together in the Hawkins center, careful not to touch or hold hands because Hawkins still remains a backward hellhole, he notes what Steve looks at. If his eyes linger on a certain flower for a few seconds, he makes a mental note. A mental note means in Eddie's case that he repeats the name of the flower ad nauseum, quickly excuses himself and scribbles it onto his forearm not to forget. He even buys a permanent marker for this. He can't forget anything, not when it's important for Steve.

When Steve asks about the scribbles, he claims it's for the next campaign. He even draws a sword and a shield next to the notes to avoid suspicion.

He asks many questions, most of them under the pretense of helping Gareth with his dates. "I swear, Steve, when he's lovestruck, he gets completely stupid. Not stupid stupid, Gareth's smart, but he can't hold rhythm and we need him to hold it, he's our drummer! So save this suffering aspiring rockstar and tell me, what do you think is the best type of chocolate? Milk chocolate? Okay, and is that like, universal? Did your previous dates like it? I see, a majority then! Sooo...are you a part of that majority?"

Very smooth.

See, Eddie doesn't give a flying demobat about chocolate types, he's more into hard candy. He doesn't like cut flowers, they die anyways because you cut them, how is that fair to that flower, huh? To die for being pretty? And of course, he hates the whole EXPECTATION of Valentine's Day.

But the more he asks, the more he finds out, he doesn't see it as participating in the mindless machinery of lovestruck idiots. Instead, he sees the flush on Steve's cheeks when he talks about dark chocolate with dried raspberries and how his parents once brought it back from dad's trade conference, how it was love at first taste. He scratches out the idea for a bouquet of flowers when Steve mentions he’s always hated them because the flowers are so beautiful and vibrant, but they’re cut for an obligation in their prime. “It sounds stupid when I say it,” he chuckles, “but I want them to live until they’re ugly and withered, you know? They’re worth way more than their looks.”

Eddie could kiss him right there and then. And he does.

He brings it all together, prepares all of Steve’s favorites with a silly twist because it’s Eddie, and Eddie lives for silly things. It really needs to be his favorites because Steve once admitted to him that most people with the exception of Robin and Dustin don’t really know what he likes, they just assume. And Steve is happy that people even thought about him, he thanks them and treasures those things that don’t mean anything to him. To Steve, being thought about is enough.

Well, not to Eddie Munson.

He asks Steve not to plan anything for their Valentine's Day. Or more precisely, he asks him to stay free and available and not worry his beautifully hairy head. He knows that if he didn't say this, Steve would have gone above and beyond for him, he would have likely taken Eddie to a concert with music so loud he’d get a migraine, but he’d suffer through it. So Eddie has to stop that from happening.

On the actual day, Eddie prepares everything. He sends Gareth ("You owe me so much for this. SO MUCH, MUNSON. I actually wanted to watch this tonight!") to rent Steve's favorite movie and goes himself to get access to the Hawkins High with…almost completely legal means, just a little bit of bribing here, some promises for a lengthy D&D campaign there, and of course lots and lots of nougat.

He gathers everything in his van, waits for the kids and the janitor to get out and then starts setting the scene.

There are two more incompatible truths that Eddie Munson grapples with:

Truth A: Eddie Munson fucking HATES the Hawkins High. He wants it to burn down in flames, with only the theater room staying intact.

Truth B: Steve Harrington sometimes wistfully mentions how he wishes he could have dated Eddie Munson in high school. How they’d share lunches, trade secret kisses in the hallways. He wishes himself and the world had been different.

And so Eddie Munson grits his teeth, walks those cursed hallways he only managed to escape a few months back and counts on Robin Buckley to deliver his invitation with flair. “Extra points if you get him a trumpet solo, Buckley!”

Robin apparently delivers because only half an hour after the expected invite, as he is smoking his fifth cigarette - don’t blame the guy, he’s nervous! He’s got a big date! - Steve arrives with a smile that’s equally excited and nervous. He keeps running his fingers through his hair and overall looks just biteable.

Steve walks up to him and brushes his fingers against Eddie’s wrist, discreetly as they have established. It’s their own version of a kiss. “I thought you hated Valentine’s Day?” he asks and he looks so apologetic that Eddie promises to base all villains in his new campaign on all the people who ever made Steve feel he wanted too much.

Eddie glances around, deems it safe and pulls Steve into an actual kiss. "It might be Valentine's day for you, Steve. For me, it's the "Steve Harrington Appreciation Day." He winks at Steve and relishes in the slight blush that has crept into his cheeks. “The name is already registered and all. No changes possible or accepted. Follow me, big boy.”

Steve laughs when he sees a set cafeteria table with something that brings back so many memories. How did Eddie get two portions of school lunch?! The man has to be magical, he decides. They eat together, chat about their day, and then Eddie decides feeding each other is off the table because they’re giggling so much he almost stabbed Steve with the fork.

They walk the hallways together, hand in hand, and Eddie sometimes turns around, sticks his tongue out at an imaginary girl and sneers “back off! He’s mine!”.

Steve turns after Eddie and nods. “What he said,” he whispers and squeezes Eddie’s waist.

Eddie then hands Steve a sports bag he stashed in the changing rooms and winks at him. “What are you waiting for, Harrington? We have some balls to toss! Baskets to score. That.” And before Steve has a chance to protest, he gets his own bag and starts changing into those awfully familiar PE shorts in all their green and white glory.

Steve just watches him, mouth hanging open. “Now I get why I never saw you in these,” he mumbles as he also starts changing. “I would have realized I’m bi like, at that moment.”

But Eddie just laughs and pulls his hair into a loose bun. “Oh, Steve. You have no idea what those shorts on you did to the little closeted me. The thoughts they gave me.”

“Lucky for you, baby,” says Steve and pulls Eddie to his feet, “this time you’re allowed - and strongly encouraged - to both watch AND touch.” Then he cocks his head to the side and adds: “Well. If you score at least one point.”

Eddie tries. Fails. Tries again, even with Steve helping him. Eventually, they settle for a quick game of tic-tac-toe which Eddie wins and happily squeezes Steve’s butt.

Their final destination is the only class they ever shared, history. All desks are empty, except for one - the middle one in the second row, where Steve used to sit. There’s dark chocolate with dried raspberries, Steve’s favorite, and a pot of flowers. Yellow, another favorite.

“The lady in the flower shop said they should live, like, really long,” shrugs Eddie and moves the chair for Steve so he can sit down. “I forgot their name the second I got them, but Buckley knows and she was asked to deliver a booklet with how to care for them.”

Steve drags him down to his level and kisses Eddie, deep and long. He’s either crying or laughing into the kiss, maybe both. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispers into Eddie’s cheek. “All of this…is right. It’s me. You remembered.”

“Eh…kinda. Tried to.” Eddie gives up and lets himself be seated on Steve’s lap. “Actually, I had a small…cheat sheet. Let me show you.”

Steve watches as Eddie takes off his bracelet and watch and sets both on the desk. He gasps as he sees a coiling pattern around Eddie’s wrist, something that looks like a dotted or scratched tattoo all around, but that’s not it. Because then Eddie moves his wrist closer and he can read all the words on Eddie’s skin.

DARK CHOCOLATE WITH RASPBERRIES

NO CUT FLOWERS! YELLOW IS GOOD

COFFEE WITH ONE DROP OF MILK

NO ICE IN DRINKS - TRIGGERS MIGRAINES

BELTS AND SHOELACES - GOOD GIFTS TO WEAR

FREDDIE MERCURY

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY

NO KETCHUP!

STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM

These and so much more. All of Steve’s favorites, all what made him feel like himself, forever preserved in Eddie’s skin.

He buries his head in Eddie’s shoulder and holds him so tight Eddie has trouble breathing, but then he decides that oxygen is overrated. “You’re so crazy,” sobs Steve into his shoulder.

Eddie laughs again into the quiet of their former school. “I know.”

“And I love you so much.”

He kisses Steve’s forehead. “I know. And I love you too. That’s why I had to do this, you know. Because even when I’m old and ugly, just like these flowers will be one day, when I’m senile and can hardly remember my own name, I will look at my hand and I’ll know all that is important.”

Steve holds him even tighter if that’s possible, but maybe oxygen is needed just a little. Eddie gently kisses Steve’s head again and whispers: “We’re not done yet, love. Can you let me go so I can play us a movie? Something nice.”

The arms crushing him loosen their hold and Steve briefly turns away to wipe at his eyes. “Sure. Sorry, I just…this is new for me. But good. So good.”

“You deserve the good. All of it.” Eddie means it. And if seeing Steve appreciated as he should have been all of his life is redeemed by something as mundane as ignoring some truths about himself? Eddie is ready and willing.

As he puts Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom into the VHS player, he realizes something terrifying - he’s actually LOOKING FORWARD TO THE NEXT VALENTINE’S DAY.

Oh well. Time to adjust the Munson doctrine. After all, it might become a Munson-Harrington doctrine one day, so it deserves some revision.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fanfiction #steve x eddie #sweetandspicyexchange

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mondaymelon · 9 months

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— 𝗵𝗶𝘀. ♥

໒꒱ || :feat~ diluc, venti, xiao, abyss!aether x gn!reader ໒꒱ || cw: this wasn't supposed to be yandere... but it morphed into one. (WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE SOFT XIAO AND EVERYTHING... mb) ໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @solxima

⤷ how they make you theirs. ♥

A heart-shaped box of chocolates and a fresh bouquet of red roses? There's no doubt it's DILUC who's left them on your doorstep.

It's not uncommon for the stoic man to find it difficult to express his emotions... and often, the redhead feels as if you aren't aware of how much he adores you.

Ah, but then again... his affection for you is much more intense than he'd like to admit, so perhaps it's for the better that you remain unaware.

That said, it can't hurt to leave a couple of gifts for you, right? Presents are a thing that are meant to make one happy, and whenever you're happy, so is he. Anything from sweets to flowers, possibly even a handful of jewels or a pendant... leaving them for you is the least he can do to make sure you know how loved you are.

Or perhaps... "love" isn't exactly the suitable word to describe the expanse of emotions he experiences whenever he sees you... after all, how could a mere four letters explain such a feeling that seemed to consume him, devour him whole?

But that aside, if you happen to confront him about the matter, softly thanking him with a faint tint to your cheeks... be careful, he might not be able to hold back his feelings any longer! As soon as you excuse yourself, Diluc mutters into the air, one gloved hand tentatively covering his mouth, his face flushed beyond belief.

"Ah, next time, should I gift you the severed hand of anyone who dares touch what is mine?" ♥

What should've been just one drink with VENTI has turned to two, to three, to...

It's almost laughable, how the drunken bard has practically attached himself to your arm, clinging to you what seems to be rather loosely - yet the moment you try to weasel out of his grasp, his arms tighten around yours.

You can see by his dazed expression and the way a drunken flush has descended across his face that he's far from sober... and you're quite sure that you aren't better off yourself. Sensing his gaze, you turn as the male begins to speak, his words hopelessly slurred together.

"Hey hey, why do you keep trying to... escape...?" He pouts as he leans closer to you, pressing his face against your arm. "I...I'm not that unbearable, am I?"

"Eh? No... it's just a little hot in here... and you're too close. Back up a bit, would you?"

"Don't wanna." Did he usually act like this, or was his current state just making him all the more clingy? You supposed it didn't really matter, but the room did seem quite warm, especially with how Venti's heat mixed with yours... oh, were you blushing? Was that what it was?

Perhaps that would explain the way there's this odd thumping in your ears... is that your heart's own rhythm? Ah, no, it must just be the alcohol taking its toll.

"Hehe," Venti's voice somehow rings crystal clear amidst your foggy senses. "You're quite cute when you're like this, you know~" Since when had you leaned into his arms? He speaks some more, but his next words are barely heard by your ears:

"It makes me want to lock you up so that only I will be able to lay eyes on you... a beautiful dove that is mine." ♥

There was something about you that seemed to draw XIAO in, a something that seemed to enrapture him.

And that fact, in and of itself, frustrated him. To feel so attached to something as fleeting as a mortal? Mortals, whose life could be vanquished like one blowing out a candle?

Ah, perhaps "frustrated" wasn't quite the word for it. After all, an angered someone wouldn't monitor your every move, would they? ...But he's doing this for your own good - at least, that's what he tells himself. Humans are fragile, more than anything, so he'll take the matter of your life into his hands and make sure you won't ever get hurt! He's truly being the benevolent adeptus, isn't he?

Oh, but now you seem worried, all of a sudden. You're trembling in his arms, weakly telling him about how you can always feel someone's gaze on you - how you're scared, how you... need him?

Fuck, he can't control the twisted smile that makes its way onto his face. You've admitted it, haven't you? You can't live without him.

And that's exactly what he wants.

To be beside you every waking second, to own your gaze, to own you... yes, he needs you as much as you need him.

As you curl up in his arms, basking in his quiet warmth as you slowly drift into sleep, his voice emits the quietest whispers.

"Don't worry, love. As long as I'm here, you won't ever need to worry about anyone. Your gaze, your attention... it's all mine." ♥

He had already traveled these lands once, and AETHER's once vibrant world had grown gray... except...

Oh, but then you appeared. An anomaly, but a welcome one nonetheless.

Yes, you were something stunning.

In this dead realm, you were alive. Alive in the way you looked at him and alive in the way your eyes seemed to light up at the sight of him. It's something that starts off small - that is, his feelings for you. For the time being, delightfully innocent. Yet those emotions would only begin to swallow him whole, to consume him, bind him into a pit of no escape.

When had these affections grown so dire?

Perhaps he had merely turned a blind eye. He is well aware of how his heart longs for you, how his mind has grown clouded with nothing but thoughts of you, how he wants you to be his, and his only... ah, but was that truly such a selfish thing to hope for? Surely not. After all, in such a place he resided in - where all would heed to his beck and call... surely he could have you, right?

"My prince, is something wrong? You've been acting distant all morning." You trail after him as he attends to his work, eyes full of concern.

He turns, slowly. "Why are you so hesitant to call me by my name?"

"Oh, but I could never..." You shake your head at the thought.

His eyes narrow as he takes two swift steps forward, grabbing your chin in his hand and forcing it upwards. "Then take it as an order. Say my name."

"...Aether."

It sounds so perfect on your tongue.

"Ah, that's it. Let my name grace your lips, and don't you dare let it go. After all, and I'll make sure of it... You're mine." ♥

(a/n) boo bitches im back <;33

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celestialwhoree · 2 months

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🌹💞

Simon Riley does not like Valentines day. To him, it's another one of those pointless holidays people use as an excuse for overconsumption and to try and show off how their lives are better than everyone else's. Simon hates the excessive gaudiness of it all and the lame hearts and flowers. Seriously, how much thought does someone put into a wilting bouquet of red roses and some overpriced chocolates in a flimsy heart shaped box - they're at the front of every supermarket throughout basically all of February, everywhere.

Simon Riley hates Valentines day until he meets you. Bumps into you at the local florist, unusually unaware of his surroundings as he stews on the pointless idiocy of another lame holiday. The way you squeal as the three dozen peonies wrapped in brown paper tumble to the floor which you land rather inelegantly beside snaps him from his reverie with a grunt. "Fuck - shite - M' so sorry love." He stutters out, feeling like all the air has been punched from his chest when he sees your big eyes staring up at him with wild confusion, now crumpled flowers long forgotten as you stare up at the intoxicatingly rich brown eyes of the man before you. Although, man doesn't feel like the right word for him, tall and strong and holding out a hand the size of your head to help you up, your peonies dwarfed by his long fingers as he helps you up.

You vaguely hear yourself mumble something in response, an awkward stutter like a lovesick teenager asking their crush to the movies, met by a strong hand to the top of your bicep, soothing you, asking if you're alright. A concerned eyebrow furrows when you don't respond, just stand there gawking like a fish. He wonders if maybe you hit your head on the way down, and he was too dumbstruck by the flurry of soft silky skin, glossy, sun-struck hair and petals to see. You look like you've just seen God, and he looks like he's just seen the most beautiful thing said God could ever have crafted.

"Are you okay?" The low timbre of his voice - you don't even know how to react, so dazed and confused and there's butterflies - no, not butterflies, bald eagles and kestrels and ospreys, massive feathery wings beating against your diaphragm and rendering you speechless - butterflies are for normal men. The man before you is too monumental for butterflies.

"Yes! Yes." You squeak in embarrassment like a mouse under a cat's paw, looking defeatedly down at your flowers, brown eyes following your gaze with a sympathetic look.

"Were these for someone?" He seems almost a little flustered by his foolish lack of spatial awareness, which just so happened to strike at the worst time, seeing as now he stands before you, clutching a withering bouquet, failing to save this conversation. Both of you stand like that together, in some strange limbo, like time has stood still in order to force you together, not starting back up again until this conversation goes somewhere. "Just me." You murmur, voice so pathetically small under the draw of his magnetism. He's probably here to get flowers for his girlfriend, or fiancee even. She'll probably turn up any second, beautiful and charismatic and just as magnetic as the man before you is.

"Let me buy you some more, yeah?" He nods his head back in the direction of the fancier florist in town, the one you'd splurged on in a valentines induced self-pity party. He buys you three dozen pink peonies, matching paper and ribbons too. He also insists on taking you for a coffee, and buying you some silly pink and white frosted cake in the excuse that your blood sugars probably dropped after the fall and some other fake nonsense like that. You obviously say yes, to the flowers and the coffee and the cake - to the gentle smiles and the crease of his warm brown eyes, his hand on the small of your back. Both of you say yes to giving Valentines day a try.

⋆ ˚.⋆୨୧˚

Some short simple little V day fluff for y'all the brain isn't braining at the moment but also wanted to give you all a little Valentines day present because ily

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kissami · 3 months

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UN ÁNGEL- Cloud strife Headcanons

sum. Need boyfriend headcanons for cloud? SAY LESS.

warning: modern cloud, oc cloud srry I love him soft, might be a little self insert because of the stuff I like but that’s all

femreader! with she/her pronouns

song of the day: igual que un ángel - Kali uchis

boyfriend Cloud who knows your order by heart at your guys’ favorite coffee shop and no matter how many times he does it, it never fails to make you blush and impressed.

Boyfriend Cloud who never fails to make you ticklish especially during intimate moments that you can’t help but burst out laughing.

Boyfriend Cloud who sometimes can’t handle all the attention and affection so he distances himself but can’t help but miss you even more.

Boyfriend Cloud who loves picking you up from university on his motorcycle to show off especially knowing that Reno would be there. He is still very bitter that Reno was your first kiss in fifth grade and not him because he was too busy helping collect Tifa’s shopkins from the grass at recess.

Boyfriend Cloud who loves going to Aerith’s flower shop because he helps her make your bouquets extra pretty just for you. #bestfriendprivileges

boyfriend Cloud who has recurring nightmares of losing you to Sepiroth. No not the “I’ll steal your girl,” kind of way. More like he murders you and Aerith at the same time. Perhaps something from a past life?

Boyfriend Cloud who loves watching studio ghibli movies with you especially ponyo and spirited away. Let’s not get started on his love for Princess Mononoke.

Boyfriend Cloud who goes with you at the bookstore for now on to carry your books because he found out that a guy put his number inside of a book after catching it for you when you accidentally dropped it from your stack pile.

Boyfriend Cloud who’s COMPLETELY and UTTERLY obsessed with you. Not the annoying obsession, but the obsession that makes your tummy in knots and the cute things he loves to do for you. Whether it’s making you lunch for school/ work, leaving cute notes on your door handles, or literally dropping everything instantly for you when you call.

Boyfriend Cloud who hid in the bathroom after you guys had…yk…and too embarrassed to come out. If only he knew you were on the bed breathless and wanting more.

Boyfriend Cloud who baby trapped you. With a cat. Her names Honey and every time there’s an argument he uses her as an excuse to visit you. “We can’t let our cat have separated household problems,she needs both of her parents so please answer the door.”

Boyfriend Cloud who had no idea him getting a lip piercing would be in the way of kissing you for it to heal correctly. He ran out of the piercing shop and only agreed to come back to get a matching eyebrow piercing with you instead.

Boyfriend Cloud who not only made you a playlist, but this mf burned a cd for you, made tifa draw a one in a million piece of art for you for the cover, has a sticker of it on his car, and even bought a necklace that had the Spotify playlist code. So whenever a person flirts with him, he’ll hold it up and say, “scan this and read the description. That’ll be my answer for you.”

Boyfriend Cloud who didn’t understand why you were so obsessed with kpop, especially BTS. Him and jungkook have beef apparently. He also buys you albums all the time and even sacrifices himself to let you use his phone to make sure you guys get tickets to concerts.

Boyfriend Cloud who WILL call your work to call off. He doesn’t care, cuddles are more important.

Boyfriend Cloud who forces you to drink water whenever you hang. You always complain about headaches and he makes sure when you’re with him you’re hydrated.

Boyfriend Cloud who is addicted to Dr.Pepper. You gave him some when you two went to watch Barbie in the summer and it’s his holy grail. “We need to head to Costco, I ran out of my pepper.”

#kissami #x reader #final fantasy 7 #cloud strife x reader #cloud strife #cloudstrife #cloud strife x you #cloud x reader #ff7 cloud #final fantasy cloud #headcanon #bf headcanons #ff7 fanfic #ff7 fic #ff7 #final fantasy 7 remake #final fantasy vii #final fantasy x reader

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unseededtoast · 12 days

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Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Part Two

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

Part One

"And for a glimpse of her, I'd run to the ends of the Earth."

You wake before the sun rises, your mind still an entangled web of thoughts from the night before. Rubbing your eyes, you quickly remember that Spencer stayed over and you at least owe him breakfast. You know that the futon isn't the most comfortable, especially not for someone his size. And though you had told him at least two more times before bed that he didn't have to stay, he was adamant that he didn't mind. And plus, it's not the first time he's stayed over and you hope it isn't the last. It's nice to be able to wake up and have someone there. Things can get lonely sometimes.

With sleep still heavy in your eyes, you walk to the kitchen and decide to make pancakes; something simple yet sweet enough to satiate Spencer's sweet tooth. Plus it's a good excuse to use the strawberries in your fridge, they're about to go bad in a few days.

It doesn't take long before the pancakes are ready and the smell wakes Spencer. You try to hide your smile as he saunters to the table, his hair messy from the night. It's endearing, how casual he is when it's just the two of you. Usually Spencer is guarded to some extent, but when it's just the two of you, there's nothing to hide. You had seen each other at extreme lows and celebrated the highs together for years.

"These are so good." He says as he goes to take another bite. You're still not sure how he's so thin considering his diet is likely 70% sugar. And you've often thought that if things don't work out with the BAU that you could find employment at Spencer's personal chef.

"Take as many berries as you want." You nudge the container over to him, hoping he takes more so that they don't go to waste. Thankfully he reaches in for another handful of them.

You finish your breakfast before he does, and you try to hide the yawns from him. But unfortunately, he can read you just a little too well. Before he even opens his mouth to ask a question you see him frown and his eyebrows draw close.

"How'd you sleep?" He finally asks, breaking the momentary silence. You contemplate lying for only a split second but realize it wouldn't be worth the argument.

"Not well. My mind just kept racing." You tell him, to which his frown deepens. He eats another strawberry before he answers.

"I've been there before. It's easy to fixate on something and obsess over it. But we'll find out who sent them, Monday morning." His tone of finality puts you at ease, and you hope he's right. Even if he thinks this endeavor is silly, you know he will help you see it through, that's just how you two are.

You offer him a soft thanks and let the room fall back into a comfortable silence. And for the first time ever you find yourself anxious for a Monday morning.

-----

The air is crisp as you walk into work Monday, your footsteps are quick and your heart pounds, eager to get some answers. Your bag slung over your shoulder hits your back with every step, exacerbating the nerves. Before Spencer left on Sunday evening, he had assured you that he would go with you to ask the receptionist and you hope he's already in the office waiting on you, for you're not sure if you have the strength to wait for him.

When the elevator dings you rush into the office, but your mood is instantly turned sour. Something just isn't right. You feel Derek's eyes on you, you see Emily peek at you from overtop her monitor. Even JJ lets her gaze linger as she walks by. And eventually your eyes land on Spencer, who's standing in front of your desk with an unreadable expression.

Quickly, you walk to your desk and see what's caused the off kilter atmosphere. There, in the middle of your desk, is a brand new bouquet of flowers. A mixture of red, yellow, and white tulips. They're beautiful, but for some reason they make your stomach turn. Your eyes are quick to see the note hidden amongst the green stems, and you snatch it from the vase.

"Each bloom is a chapter of our story so far, a story not yet complete." You read out loud, blood feeling like ice running through your veins. With a shaking hand you pass the note to Spencer, whose eyes betray his calm demeanor.

"This is-this is not a coincidence." He confirms your fears and you nod, fighting back the bile in your throat.

"What do these flowers mean, Spence?" You ask him, trying to keep your voice level to mask just how unnerved you are. He sighs and looks at the flowers before speaking.

"Red represents passion and love, yellow stands for hopeless love and jealousy, and white is forgiveness." He says, your eyes moving to each color as he speaks.

"Forgiveness?" It strikes you odd that whoever is sending these included something that represents forgiveness. Spencer's eyes narrow and you can tell he's using his profiler mind and not his friend mind anymore.

"It's like whoever sent these is telling you they forgive you of something, and that they still hold strong romantic feelings." His words do not comfort you.

"What would they have to forgive me for?" You shake your head, trying to find some sort of answer. You stayed holed up in your apartment with Spencer all weekend. It's not like you were around other people where you could've inadvertently offended someone.

"I'm not sure." Spencer's voice is still soft, and he lays the note next to the vase.

"What should we do?" You ask, hoping he has some idea. You're not sure if you should make a deal of this or just leave it be and hope that whoever is responsible loses interest soon. Spencer shrugs,

"That's up to you. I'll support whatever you decide." He says, resting a hand on your shoulder.

Before he returns to his desk your eyes linger on the flowers. You're no closer to an answer than you were a few moments ago and so you hope that the answer will come to you as you go about your day.

But trying to concentrate on your mystery becomes increasingly difficult as the maintenance workers continue replacing the cameras. Their tools are noisy, they're noisy, and it doesn't allow for an atmosphere that condones constructive thinking in any capacity. The sound of a drill echoes through the bullpen and you stand from your desk, unable to take it any longer.

Your feet take you to the one place you know those workers wouldn't dare try to install cameras, Penelope's office. You knock on her door and her smiling face answers in record time. She welcomes you into her office which is quiet and you feel yourself relax instantly.

"Welcome back." She smiles as she shuts the door behind you. You take a seat and are immediately grateful that she's so secretive and protective over her technology.

"Thank you for letting me stay here for a little." You practically invite yourself into her space but you know she won't mind. You let your eyes close in an attempt to try and concentrate and she takes her own seat and types for a little while before you hear her chair spin around.

"I love having you here, don't get me wrong, but, why exactly are you here?" You knew her curiosity was going to get the best of her. And you suppose that if you're invading her space you owe her at least a little bit of an explanation.

"The people installing the new cameras are too loud, couldn't think." You tell her with a sigh and run a hand over your face to try and rid the frustration that lingers.

"It's weird that it's taking them more than a day. I haven't been able to connect to them yet." She says and glances over at her monitor.

"I wish you could. Someone left flowers again." You further explain, knowing that you can trust her. Besides Spencer, Penelope has grown to be one of your closest confidants. You see her eyebrow arch.

"More flowers?" You nod, confirming her question.

"With a note this time. Each flower represented a chapter of our unwritten story." You summarize for her, trying to remain calm and collected about the incident while your mind still runs a mile a minute trying to figure it out.

Penelope's face turns from curious to worried; she's less skilled at hiding her emotions than you. Instead of watching her micro-expressions change as her thoughts race as well, you look down at your hands and pick at the skin around your nails. It's an old habit you had kicked a while ago, thanks to the constant nagging of Spencer, but it seems the stress has caused the urge to resurface.

"I'm sure you all will be able to figure it out, you always do." Penelope finally settles on reassurance when she breaks the silence. You really want to believe her, but an odd feeling settles within you, one that tells you this is going to be anything but easy.

You decide to take refuge in her office for the rest of the day.

-----

The keys on your keyring jingle as you unlock your door. It's dark when you enter and you figure you must have forgot to turn a lamp on before you left this morning. Usually it's part of your routine, but with everything that's been going on lately it's entirely likely it just slipped your mind.

Without a thought you sling your bag on your couch and shuffle over to the lamp. Your apartment is bathed in warm lighting and you go to close the curtains. Spencer isn't staying over during the week, though you know he would if you asked him to. But really, there's no practical need, he just makes you feel safe.

You go about your evening routine as usual, cleaning the sink from the weekend and tidying up the messes you let go for too long. As you fold the blankets Spencer had used over the weekend, you notice how they still smell like him. Your chest aches slightly as you realize he won't be out here tonight, but fold it up and drape it over the back of the couch, not letting yourself dwell on the thought for too long.

The sound of your phone dinging distracts you momentarily, and the message confuses you.

'Did you retag the evidence I collected on the last case by chance?'

The message is from Spencer, and your eyebrows draw tight in confusion. You type a reply back, telling him you hadn't touched the evidence at all. Why would you have retagged his evidence? The message just adds further confusion to the day, and your eyes grow heavy. Spencer doesn't end up replying and so you plug your phone in and get into bed.

The room is dark, which usually you enjoy, but now, it just feels ominous. You know it's unreasonable, but you get back up and recheck that the front door is locked. It is, like it always is. But your mind isn't content with that knowledge. On impulse, you grab your service weapon and take it back to the bedroom with you, laying it on your nightstand. You then lock your bedroom door before getting back into bed.

You know that your behavior is likely overboard and overdramatic for the situation, but you can't help but to think of all the other cases you've worked that started out exactly like this. It always starts with something small, something insignificant, but then it grows into something bigger, something dangerous.

Multiple women you recall have fallen victim to someone who was obsessed with them. And it was never just for one common reason, no, the people who obsessed over them did it for different reasons. And that's one of the reasons that the flowers are striking so much fear into you. You're not sure why you were chosen, what you did that triggered this, and it's the unknown that makes you uncomfortable.

Throughout the night you toss and turn, body becoming coated in a light layer of sweat from anxiety and stress. No matter what you do or try to think about, your mind brings you right back to colorful petals. The words left on the note echo in your mind and they intermingle with Spencer's voice as he explained what the flowers represent.

This is the first night in a long time that you were unable to get a wink of sleep.

-----

Unknown POV

Before I leave work for the day I decide to stop by the sixth floor. The lights are all off so I know nobody is in there, which is strange because the agents in the BAU are known for working late and odd hours, but I don't question it. Opening the glass doors I make my way to her desk, where I see both bundles of flowers still on her desk where I left them.

A hot rage surges through me, why hadn't she taken any of them home? They're all beautiful flowers, I would only allow for the best of quality to be used in her bouquets.

But soon my rage is turned to worry; what if she's allergic? Or what if they're not her favorite kinds of flowers? Have I been underperforming this entire time? Is that why she hasn't taken them home with her?

My heart drops in my chest and I know I have to do better. She deserves it. Looking around I decide to take a trip to the evidence room. Luckily my badge has permissions to let me in and to my joy, there's evidence that has yet to be catalogued. There to the right is a box full of blank tags and I waste no time.

I find every piece of evidence with his name on it and switch it out for tags that bear her name. He doesn't deserve the credit for helping solve the case, no, not when I know it's her brilliant mind that likely carried the entire investigation. Once again just another example of how nobody appreciates her enough, not like me.

Maybe this will give her some of the recognition she deserves. It barely scratches the surface of what she's fully worthy of, but I am willing to do whatever it takes for her to shine, for her to finally notice me and how devoted I am to her.

A fuzzy feeling resides in my chest as I think about her getting the credit she's rightfully owed. Oh, her smile would be so bright, so beautiful. And as I tie the knot in the last tag I feel the urge to check on her tonight. Checking the watch on my wrist, I know that if I leave now I'll likely make it before she turns off the lights.

And for a glimpse of her, I'd run to the ends of the Earth.

But just as I'm leaving I hear footsteps in the office, seems like they're not all gone after all. Before whoever it is rounds the corner, I hurry to leave so that it seems I was never there.

-----

"It's just weird. I know I tagged these just earlier yesterday morning." You and Spencer stand in the evidence room where you see his evidence has been tagged with your name. It's not handwriting that you recognize either.

You take a tag in your hand and inspect it closer, as if the answer would just jump out at you. But with no such luck you sigh and drop the tag with your name on it.

"I don't know Spencer. I swear I didn't touch it." You tell him and he looks over to you momentarily and nods.

"I know you didn't, you didn't come in here at all yesterday. In fact, I didn't see anyone else come in here after me." His eyebrows scrunch together as he recalls yesterday with perfect precision.

"So that means someone came in here after we were gone." You conclude, it's the only thing that makes sense. His eyes meet yours and you sense the underlying worry he's trying to hard to hide.

"It's the only thing that makes sense." He says, and the two of you stand in silence, looking at the incorrect tags.

Unable to stand the sight of them any longer you take them off and replace them with ones that are labeled with Spencer's name. An unsettling feeling comes over you as you wonder who may have had the motivation to do this. And unfortunately there's only one person who comes to mind, though you don't know who they are.

You and Spencer leave the evidence room without another word, the two of you wrapped up in your own thoughts. And you know when and if he has something to say that he will come to you, and vice versa.

The two of you return to your respective desks and you sit rigidly, staring at the flowers. It's like they're taunting you, but you know it's best not to throw them away here, for whoever is keeping an eye on you would likely take great offense to it. Instead, you push them to the side, where they will hopefully stay out of sight and mind.

The typing of your team members acts as white noise while you mechanically go through reports you need to finalize. Everyone had given their final edits to the official reports, they're all just waiting on you, and you know Hotch is likely to become agitated if you don't get your final approval in soon.

Your eyes scan over the documents and just before you go to submit your final approval, you notice something odd. Scrolling back up on the document you see that a detail of the case was altered. Where it should have read "Agent Morgan apprehended the suspect" it now reads that you apprehended the suspect.

With shock you read it over and over again to make sure your eyes weren't playing tricks on you, but sure enough the words stay the same. You print off the page and take it to Spencer, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. He reads the report with inhuman speed, his eyebrows creasing together. He keeps his voice low and level when he speaks,

"That's not how it read when I gave my approval." He confirms and you thank him before moving to Derek's desk. The chain of approval had gone from Spencer to Derek, then to Emily, JJ, and Rossi before you. If necessary, you'll take it to each of them to figure out when the change was made.

"What's up sweet thing?" Derek asks when you approach him. Trying your best you give a weak smile before handing him the page.

"I just noticed the detail wasn't right and I just wondered what had happened." You use your skillset to keep your tone of voice nonchalant. Derek reads over the page and shakes his head,

"No, I would've noticed if that had been changed." His eyes narrow at the paper before he hands it back to you. You thank him before moving on down the line.

By the time you get to Rossi, each one of them had denied seeing or making the change. And you have no reason to doubt them, they're all very detail oriented and have no motivation to make such a change. But then if it wasn't one of them, who could it have been?

Feeling a pit of dread in your stomach, you take the page to Hotch. In his office he sees you enter and lays his pen to the side. His expression is stoic as per usual and you lay the piece of paper on his desk in front of him. He reads the page and then reads it again before he finally looks at you.

"Why are you showing this to me?" You can clearly hear the confusion in his voice, and you realize that it may look like you're trying to alter events yourself. A shock runs through your body and your eyes grow wide, with a quick shake of your head you point to the altered sentence.

"Nobody made those changes, sir. And I just noticed the change right before I almost submitted my approval." You explain to him with rushed words. Hotch looks between you and the paper once again.

"So you're telling me that after Rossi submitted his approval that someone altered the report?" Hotch clarifies and you nod,

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Hotch's stoic expression remains unchanged.

"Leave this here with me. Change the report back and make no further deal about it. This, paired with the evidence re-tagging and flowers is highly unusual and something we need to be vigilant about. Keep your cards close to you." Hotch orders and you nod, letting go of the paper so he can stow it away in his desk where it's sure to be safe from prying eyes.

As you walk back out into the bullpen, you feel several pairs of eyes on you. You keep your eyes trained ahead of you and try to block out all thoughts and emotions as you return to your desk.

You act as if you're returning to your normal work, when instead you're going back into the archives and reading previous reports. You're curious as to what else could have been altered, things that maybe went unnoticed, simply overlooked.

By the end of the day, your eyes sting from staring at the screen for hours on end. Everyone begins leaving and you offer them half-hearted goodbyes, too consumed with finding other altered reports. It's only when it hits eight o'clock that Spencer finally gives in.

"Okay, come on. We've been here for over twelve hours. You need some rest." He says, taking your jacket off the back of your chair and handing it to you. With bloodshot eyes you look up at him, feeling tired but fueled by adrenaline and the need to know.

"Spencer I-"

"No, come on. We're getting you home." He says and reaches over to turn your monitor off. With a sigh, you relent and grab your jacket.

-----

Unknown POV

My hands clench the binoculars tightly as I see him walk in behind her. It's a work night and he's here? He should know better than to bother her when she needs a good night's sleep. I watch as he closes her door and makes himself at home. He goes into her kitchen and makes them dinner, which he serves her at the table.

He's sitting too close to her, he's smiling at her too much. I see the way he looks at her when she speaks, as if he's concerned about what she's saying. But I know the truth. He's only there to get something out of her. Whether it's an ego boost or something much worse, I know he's only using her. Just like he uses her on cases. He takes her ideas and takes credit for them, to which he is praised to no end.

After dinner my eyes are glued to her as the puts her hair up and approaches the window. Her hands rest on her hips as she looks around, and I take extra care to stay absolutely still. Even from the window I can see how beautiful she is. She has an effortless beauty most can never achieve.

But the moment is short lived as he comes over and closes the curtains for her. Through the sheer material I see him wrap an arm around her waist and lead her further into the apartment, away from the window.

Afraid I may break the binoculars, I put them down and decide to leave for the evening to get to work. If he wants to keep her from me, then I must do more to command her attention. She has to see what I can offer her, how I can make her life so much easier. She has to see how he's using her.

It's time I take things up a notch, so she can see that there is no lengths that are too great for her.

-----

"Spencer you really don't have to do this." You say with guilt residing heavily in your chest. The man is unrelenting though.

"I know I don't have to, but I want to. You would do exactly the same for me if the roles were reversed." You bite your tongue, knowing he's right. He takes your silence as a victory and adjusts his position under the blankets.

After making dinner, Spencer insisted that he stay with you tonight. He said he could tell that your nerves are shot and that he knew you well enough to know you'd never be able to sleep alone in your apartment. Both of those things had been correct, but you feel terrible. You know the couch is uncomfortable for him, and you wish he'd think of himself for once. But while you feel guilty that he's staying, a part of you is happy that he's here.

"Well, I appreciate it, you know." You tell him, standing awkwardly in front of him as he lays on your couch. He smiles softly,

"I know. Now get to bed, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." His eyes glimmer in the soft lamp-light, and you feel your cheeks heat up. You wish him a good night before returning to your bedroom.

Tonight you don't lock your bedroom door and you don't keep your service weapon on your nightstand. You feel confident and safe with Spencer just a few feet away. As you get comfortable in bed, you begin thinking of ways you can repay his generosity. He's done more than enough for you lately, and he deserves to be thanked properly.

-----

Walking into work the next day, things are eerily quiet, which is never a good sign. Everyone seems to be glued to their screens, not bothering to tell you good morning. With nerves shooting up your spine, you put your bag down and turn your monitor on. Things are just as you left them, not even the flowers at the edge of your desk have been tampered with. Everything appears to be normal, but it feels anything but.

You try to ignore the suffocating atmosphere to pick up where you left off yesterday. You read report after report, but don't see anything that's been altered. The buzz of your phone gains your attention and you see a message from Penelope.

'When you get a chance could you please stop by my office?'

You put your phone in your back pocket and decide to bring her a cup of coffee. Due to the unusual quietness in the office, you hear two people talking as you approach and you hear your name come up in the conversation. Keeping a low profile, you hang back and try to listen.

"Something just doesn't feel right about it. I mean, all of this starts after the media gives Spencer the credit? I don't want to say anything but, it just seems too much of a coincidence." Derek's words make you sick to your stomach, you know exactly what he's talking about.

"I don't know, I don't think she would do something like this though." Emily's voice is heard next. You hear Derek sigh,

"I don't either, but who else could it be? We both saw what was changed. It's in my files and it's in your files. Maybe yesterday's discovery was on purpose, throw us all off the trail." Your eyebrows crease together, had they found more changes? And is Derek implying that you made those changes yourself?

Unable to stop yourself, you walk into the break room like you hadn't been eavesdropping and the two of them act casually, as if they hadn't been talking about you. Your heart thumps as their words echo in your mind.

Derek had brought up a case two months ago that caught national attention. It was a case of a serial killer that had been killing women in what seemed like a random pattern, but once you dug deep into the clues left behind you found out it was anything but random. The killer had been finding women who were having affairs behind their husbands' back, women who were having inappropriate relationships with their professors, or any other taboo relationship and killing them as a result. The killer would dump the bodies in empty fields. Some of the victims had their hair shaved, their teeth pulled out, their legs disfigured; and it all seemed so random.

You dug deeper into the victimology for days and found the connection of illicit affairs. It wasn't long until you connected the dots and found out that the unsub was meeting these women under the pretense of hooking up, and then he took their most redeeming, or seductive, quality from them. It was difficult to figure out how the unsub was finding these women, but eventually the team had figured out that the unsub was employing several methods of finding them. He found some on dating apps, some on college campuses, and some at bars.

And when the media picked up the story, they had all published that Spencer Reid was the mastermind behind the arrest. While that wasn't entirely true, it wasn't a complete lie either. You had worked together like you do in every other case. Sure, it upset you slightly that you weren't given your credit, but you got over it quickly. You and the team knew the truth and that was all that mattered to you. To be honest, the whole ordeal was almost forgotten by you.

You quickly make Garcia's coffee before leaving the break room, Derek and Emily still lingering in there. They probably want to continue their conversation. It irritates you that they think you're the one who altered the document, and you wonder what else they found that's leading them to that conclusion. But for now it seems like they want to keep their cards close to their chests.

Penelope welcomes you into her office with a strained smile, and you can't help but wonder if she's also suspicious of you. But you say nothing, instead you let her speak. She offers you a chair and then spins around to face her many monitors.

Her voice is quiet and calmer than usual.

"I was finally able to connect back into the cameras out there. And, something just doesn't make sense." She says and pulls up a footage file. The camera footage plays and you keep your eyes glued to the screen but you don't se what she's talking about. Looking over to her, you shrug your shoulders.

"I didn't see anything out of the ordinary." You admit. Penelope's lips fall apart and she rewinds the video.

"Right here. The shadow on the floor changed. Watch it again." She rewinds a little bit further and sure enough, you catch the moment that the shadow seems to jump on the floor.

"Okay so the shadow changed, maybe someone turned on a light? You try to rationalize and explain away the sharp change. But it doesn't seem like Penelope is buying the story. She sighs and looks back at the screen.

"The footage has been altered. All of the cameras have. The shadow is there for exactly ten minutes on each camera and then the shadow goes back to normal. And nobody else is seen exiting the office after the change." She explains, a familiar dread creeping up within you.

"So someone didn't want us to see what happened in here last night." You state, voice void of all emotion. Penelope just simply swallows and nods.

A part of you wants to run for the hills, away from this person and the chaos they're creating. The other part of you, the profile part, is becoming more and more determined to find out who this is and put an end to their antics.

You thank Penelope for showing you and ask her to save the footage in a secure place. Your determined nature is overpowering the childlike fear that threatens your mind; you're ready to get your hands dirty and get to work.

When you walk back into the bullpen you see Derek, JJ, Emily, Rossi, and Spencer all looking at you with a quizzical, and perhaps slightly skeptical look in their eye. First thing's first, you need to figure out why they think you're responsible for the document changes.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg #spencer reid fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #bau team #penelope garcia #derek morgan #criminal minds fandom

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inknopewetrust · 2 years

Text

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!

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