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osharenippon · 1 year

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70s Japan Trends Through the Music Charts (Part 2)

During the 1970s, the Japanese music industry was in the process of forming its identity. In addition to mirroring the musical preferences of the nation, the charts also served as a reflection of the prevailing societal trends and ambitions of that era. In this series, we chronicle the most significant musical trends of the decade.

70s Japan Trend Through the Music Charts (Part 1)

Trend #4: The Impact of Discover Japan

In 1970, Osaka hosted the World Expo, marking a significant milestone for post-war Japan following the 1964 Tokyo Olympics. To accommodate the influx of visitors, the government expanded the rail network, enabling over 60 million people—half of the nation's population—to journey to the World's Fair. However, as the Expo drew to a close after six months, concerns arose about the railways becoming obsolete. So, with the help of the ad agency Dentsu, they devised a campaign to stimulate domestic tourism by rail. The result was "DISCOVER JAPAN," one of the most iconic campaigns of the decade (which, curiously, was partially inspired by Ivy Fashion brand VAN).

"DISCOVER JAPAN" profoundly impacted Japanese society by popularizing solo travel and igniting domestic tourism, particularly among young women who ventured out on their own. This trend was further fueled by the launch of the first female fashion magazines, AnAn and Non-no, both of which extensively covered visits to charming cities across the country. Cities known as "Little Kyoto," which retained their Edo Period architecture and charm, were particularly attractive to these travelers.

Influenced by fashion magazines, these trend-conscious women journeyed to small cities throughout Japan, earning them the moniker "AnNon" (a fusion of AnAn and Non-no). Their impact during the 1970s was significant enough to be mentioned in a song by Sada Masashi, one of the decade's prominent folk singers.

"DISCOVER JAPAN," the print and TV campaign devised by Dentsu, is one of Japan's most successful and era-defining marketing campaigns.

Sada Masashi rose to fame in the early 1970s as part of the folk duo Grape before launching a successful solo career. In 1977, his song "Ehagakizaka," which paid tribute to his hometown of Nagasaki, mentioned identically dressed stylish young girls in denim, clutching AnAn and Non-no magazines while photographing their surroundings. This song vividly captured the aspirational girl culture of the 1970s, characterized by "healing" domestic trips in pursuit of tranquility and small pleasures, hippie and boho-inspired fashion, and folk music as the soundtrack.

Masashi Sada's song and the AnNon-zoku tribe aside, "DISCOVER JAPAN," had an immense impact on different layers of Japanese society. And that included the music charts. In 1971, the two best-selling singles, "Watashi no joka-machi" by Rumiko Koyanagi and "Shiretoko ryojou" by Tokiko Kato, surpassed 1 million copies sold. Both perfectly embodied the campaign's spirit in highlighting the hidden beauties of Japan.

"Watashi no jokamachi," or "My Castle Town," marked Koyanagi's explosive debut, selling over 1.3 million copies. This enka-infused kayokyoku ballad paid homage to cities with Edo-like architecture, often centered around a feudal lord's castle, evoking a peaceful, melancholic atmosphere in its lyrics. Rumiko continued to sing about regional Japan's charms the following year with another hit, "Seto no Hanayome" (The Bride of Seto). Meanwhile, the folk-inspired "Shiretoko ryoujou" (Shiretoko Journey) celebrated the unique beauty and culture of the Shiretoko peninsula on Hokkaido Island.

In the same year, other artists also succeeded by spotlighting provincial Japan. Enka superstar Shinichi Mori delved into this theme with "Boukyou" (Nostalgia). At the same time, Yuuko Nagisa found success with a Japanese rendition of The Ventures' "Kyoto Doll," titled "Kyoto no Koi" (Love in Kyoto). She would go on to have another top-selling single with her version of another Ventures song, "Reflection in Palace Lake," transformed into "Kyoto Bojo" (Kyoto Longing).

Trend #5: The Legend of Momoe Yamaguchi

"Aidoru" or "idols" are cute girl/boy-next-door types who sing, dance, act, host TV shows, and star in countless commercials. They stand as one of the cornerstones of the thriving multi-billion yen Japanese entertainment industry. The 70s was an essential era for consolidating this type of star. And one idol, in particular, shone the brightest: Momoe Yamaguchi.

Momoe is a legendary star and an example of an "aidoru" who excelled at everything, exuding sophistication, talent, and sex appeal. The fact she retired from public life at the height of her fame cemented her mythical status.

Momoe Yamaguchi in her prime, the idol industry's gold standard.

In 1972, at the tender age of 13, Yamaguchi auditioned for the talent search TV show "Star Tanjou!" (A Star is Born). Her crisp singing voice and mature beauty immediately captured the industry's attention. Hori Production, the entertainment agency, and Sony CBS label swiftly recognized her potential and signed her. In May 1973, five months after her televised audition, she made her official debut with the single "Toshigoro" (Adolescence). Although Sony had a history of immediate success with newcomers, Momoe's first single received a tepid response, so her label decided to court a bit of controversy for her sophomore outing. "Aoi kajitsu" (Ripe Fruit) had the innocent-looking 14-year-old girl singing, "you can do whatever you want to me, even if they say I'm a bad girl." The racy lyrics worked, and the single was a success.

A few months later, Yamaguchi's backers repeated this formula with "Hito natsu no keiken" (One Summer Experience). The song began with a suggestive promise: "I'll give you the most precious thing a girl has." The lyrics were laden with double entendres, describing a "sweet trap of temptation" that can only be experienced once. She sang, "if the person I love is pleased, then I'm happy. I don't mind if you break it," which could be understood as a reference to a girl's hert or hymen.

The single was an explosive hit, propelling 15-year-old Yamaguchi into the A-list. For the remainder of her career, she was frequently asked about the "most precious thing a girl has," to which she'd always offer a stern-looking reply: "her devotion."

The young, mature-looking girl singing thinly veiled songs about sexual awakening with a dark, serious-looking image set her apart from the prevalent happy-go-lucky idol aesthetic. However, it wasn't merely reliance on gimmicks that transformed her into a legend. In 1976, after firmly establishing herself as a star, she parted ways with her frequent collaborators, lyricist Kazuya Senke and composer Shunichi Tokura. Beginning with the single "Yokosuka Story," she partnered with the husband-and-wife duo Yoko Aki and Ryudo Uzaki.

Ryudo Uzaki, the frontman of the popular enka rock band DOWNTOWN BOOGIE WOOGIE BAND, infused her kayokyoku tunes with a rock edge. Through her lyrics, Yoko Aki redefined Momoe's image as a confident, clear-eyed girl transitioning into womanhood. Initially, Sony opposed Momoe's desire to collaborate with Aki and Uzaki, but the partnership ultimately helped her reach her commercial peak.

"Yokosuka Story" was Momoe's first single to reach the number 1 spot on the weekly charts. The Aki-Uzaki duo penned several other hits for her, including "Playback Part 2" and "Sayonara no mukougawa" (The Other Side of Goodbye), and opened doors for her to collaborate with other luminaries of Japanese music. Two of her most memorable hits, "Cosmos" and "Ii hi tabidaichi" (Beautiful Day Departure), both released in 1978, were penned by folk superstars Masashi Sada and Shinji Tanimura of Arisu, respectively. The latter became the theme song for the iconic DISCOVER JAPAN TV commercials.

Speaking of commercials, idols worth their salt can't limit themselves to music. Momoe earned millions being the face for Toyota cars, Fujifilm photographic films, Casio watches, and Glico confectionary products, among others. She also starred in highly-rated TV dramas and ventured into the world of film.

Starting in 1974, she appeared in two romantic films per year, always paired with Tomokaza Miura as her co-star. While Momoe pursued various ventures, Miura's acting career primarily revolved around being her on-screen romantic partner. Their undeniable chemistry and the box-office success of their films led to them being known as the "golden combination."

In a concert at the end of 1979, Momoe stunned her audience by revealing that her on-screen partner, Miura, was her real-life boyfriend. In a subsequent press conference in March of the following year, she confirmed her intention to marry him and retire officially. In September, she released her autobiography, which sold over 1 million copies in a month. In October, she bid farewell through a series of TV specials and a concert at Nippon Budokan. Her farewell concert reportedly earned Hori Productions over 20 million dollars, according to figures provided by the agency to Billboard magazine at the time. Momoe's success allowed HoriPro to become one of the best-established entertainment agencies in Japan, a position it still holds today. Her final performance took place at HoriPro's 20th-anniversary event, where she sang "Ii hi tabidaichi." In November, she married Miura and disappeared from the media.

The Japanese public obsession with her never waned. Paparazzi tried to capture her at her son's kindergarten graduation ceremony and doing classes at a local driving school. Many speculated she'd eventually come out of retirement. She never did, which only helped feed the obsession around her.

During the 1970s, Yamaguchi enjoyed immense success, but she was one of many popular female idols. The narrative created by her retirement elevated her to the status of a larger-than-life legend. She became the gifted, beautiful young woman who succeeded as a singer, a TV actress, and a movie star before choosing the ultimate happy ending: marriage. By choosing love, Momoe Yamaguchi, the legendary idol, transformed into an ordinary woman—a real-life fairy tale that resonated deeply with Japanese society.

Her decision was driven by profound motivations. Momoe revealed in her autobiography that she was raised by a single mother, the product of an extramarital affair. Her challenging upbringing and her father's late appearance to capitalize on her fame instilled a deep desire for a traditional, happy family life. She also grew weary of the relentless demands of stardom and the repetitiveness of performing the same songs. Thus, she made a heartfelt choice to relinquish fame and public life to give her husband the most important thing a girl has: her devotion.

Trend #6: Idols' Rise

The term "idol" in the Japanese entertainment industry finds its origins in the French film "Cherchez l'idole" (1963), which enjoyed immense popularity in Japan. Initially, "Aidoru" was used to describe the film's star, Sylvie Vartan, before it evolved into a general term to describe youthful-looking triple-threat domestic stars.

Before the coining of the term, "idol-like" stars had already existed. In the 1930s, Machiko Ashita attracted crowds to the Moulin Rouge Shinjuku and served as the face of several brands. In the 1950s, rockabilly stars enjoyed massive popularity among the youth, and the 1960s saw the rise of manufactured "group sound" bands and the female duo The Peanuts, comprised of twin sisters. Legendary stars such as Hibari Misora, Sayuri Yoshinaga, Teruhiko Saigo, Yukio Hashi, and Kazuo Funaki thrived as both movie stars and successful singers.

However, the 70s marked the consolidation of the "idol" aesthetic and career path, paving the way for the "golden era of idols" in the next decade. Essential for it to happen was the widespread adoption of the medium where idols shine the brightest: television.

TV allowed entertainment agencies to aggressively push their young, fresh-faced talents in front of a broad audience. They populated music and variety shows, commercials, and dramas. They were immaculate, life-sized stars ready to play the part of the nation's sweethearts.

Although history has crowned Momoe Yamaguchi as the ultimate 70s idol, she was just one among many during most of that decade. A closer examination of the numbers reveals that Mari Amachi, a female idol, had the most significant short-term impact during that time.

Amachi was first introduced on the popular TBS TV drama "Jikan desu yo" (It's Time) in 1971, playing "Tonari no Mari-chan" (Next Door Mari-chan). She played the minor role of a cute girl who lived close to the show's primary setting, a family-run public bathhouse, and often appeared by her window, playing guitar and singing. By October, with the backing of the biggest entertainment agency of the era, Watanabe Production, and Sony CBS, 19-year-old Mari Amachi officially debuted with the single "Mizuiro no Koi" (Light Blue Love). It was a hit—the first of many. Mari would be 1972's best-selling act, achieving high sales with four albums and five singles.

Mari's image, characterized by an innocent aura, a happy-go-lucky personality, and frilly dresses as stage outfits, became the prototype for female idols. Her short hair and chiseled smile earned her the nickname "Sony's Snow White," evoking the image of a fairytale princess. Unsurprisingly, she was particularly popular with children, leading Watanabe Pro to license her likeness for various goods, including the coveted "Do-Re-Mi Mari-chan" Bridgestone Cycle bicycle, highly sought after by young girls in the early 70s.

Despite her rapid rise to fame, Mari's time at the top was short-lived. By 1974, another Watanabe Pro idol, Agnes Chan, was already surpassing her in sales. In 1977, Mari's health deteriorated, and she took a lengthy hiatus, officially attributed to thyroid issues but later revealed to be depression triggered by her waning popularity. In 1979, she attempted a comeback, even bagging an endorsement deal for an ultrasonic facial device, one of the year's hit items for women. But her time had passed and she didn't find much success. Eventually, Mari's career took unconventional turns, including involvement in a softcore porn movie, the release of nude photobooks, and a transition to becoming a "fat" talento (TV personality), followed by a weight-loss book.

In 2015, in her last public interview, she revealed that, at 63, she was living in a retirement home in the Tokyo suburbs. Her fan club covered her expenses, while her daughter provided a modest weekly allowance. This marked a stark contrast to her glamorous peak years and serves as a reminder of the challenges idols face in the Japanese entertainment industry, particularly women, and how easily discardable idols can be. It also shows how wise Momoe Yamaguchi was, bowing out gracefully at the right time.

However, Momoe Yamaguchi and Mari Amachi represent two extremes within the realm of idols. While Mari achieved record profits for two years before facing decline and eventual obscurity, Momoe maintained relevance for nearly a decade before choosing to marry her on-screen partner, retire, and become a living legend. Most other 70s idols did not experience such remarkable destinies.

In 1971, two other young idols, Rumiko Koyanagi and Saori Minami, made their debut alongside Mari Amachi. The trio was collectively known as the "shin sannin musume," or the "three new girls." Their joint concert at the Budokan on Christmas of 1972 solidified their shared nickname.

The Shin San-nin Musume. Clockwise: Rumiko Koyanagi, Mari Amachi, and Saori Minami.

Rumiko Koyanagi had her skills honed at the Takarazuka Music School. Takarazuka is a very traditional, all-female theater group, and their training academy is known to be highly rigorous and selective. Koyanagi graduated top of her class but wanted something other than a musical theater career. Instead, her goal was to debut as a solo singer. So she left the Takarazuka Revue and signed with Watanabe Pro and Warner Pioneer label to fulfill her dream. Her first song, "Watashi no joka-machi" (My Castle Town), buoyed by the "Discover Japan" boom, surpassed 1 million copies sold, becoming the best-selling single of 1971.

Rumiko's repertoire predominantly featured enka-influenced kayokyoku. Her classical sound may not have been as appealing to the youth as some of her peers' slightly more modern tunes, but it ensured her stable sales throughout the decade. In her sixties, Rumiko has reinvented herself as a passionate soccer fan and a glamorous senior lady, sharing lifestyle tips and her love for Chanel and Lionel Messi on Instagram. She also conducts dinner shows, a lucrative type of intimate concert usually held at luxury hotels, where fans pay hefty prices to enjoy a multi-course dinner while listening to nostalgic hits.

The third "shin sanin musume" is Saori Minami. Minami didn't have a million-selling debut like Rumiko, nor did she become an instant sales behemoth like Mari. That didn't mean she was less impactful. Quite the opposite. Hailing from Okinawa, still under US occupation during her debut, Saori impressed Japan with her exotic beauty. In 1971 and 1972, she outsold every other female idol in bromide sales. Bromide is the local terminology for photographic portraits of celebrities, and historically, its sales are the best way to gauge how popular an idol is.

Her first single, "17-sai" (17 years old), became a classic and enjoyed enduring popularity, with several artists covering it over the decades. After retiring in 1978 upon her marriage to legendary photographer Kishin Shinoyama, Saori made a comeback in 1991 but has made only sporadic public appearances since then.

Two years after the emergence of the "shin sannin musume," a new trio of newcomers known as the "Hana no Chuusan Trio" or the "Chuusan's Flower Trio" (a reference to the fact all of them were in Chuusan, the third year of middle school) came into the spotlight. Masako Mori, Junko Sakurada, and Momoe Yamaguchi were all revealed in the talent search TV show "Star Tanjou" (A Star is Born). In 1975, by the time they were in their second year of high school (kou 2), they co-starred in the successful film "Hana no Kou 2 Trio."

The Hana no Chuushan Trio: Momoe Yamaguchi, Junko Sakurada and Masako Mori.

At 13 years old, Masako Mori secured her place as the inaugural "Star Tanjo" grand champion in 1971. The following year, she debuted under Hori Production and swiftly soared to success. Mori's music was deeply influenced by enka, and by the close of the decade, she had solidified her status as a fully-fledged enka star. In 1986, she tied the knot with enka superstar Shinichi Mori, leading her to retire from the entertainment scene. However, in 2005, following her divorce, the former idol made a comeback, embarking on tours and participating in TV dramas for a few years before ultimately deciding to bid farewell to her career once more on her 60th birthday in 2019. Notably, she shares three children with Shinichi Mori, including TAKA, the lead vocalist of the popular rock band ONE OK ROCK.

Junko Sakurada clinched victory at "Star Tanjo" in 1972 at 14. Subsequently, she signed with Sun Music agency and Victor Music, marking her official debut in February 1973 with the release of "Tenshi mo yumemiru" (Angels Also Have Dreams). Given their similar age, niche, and close debut dates, the industry and some fans pitted her against Momoe Yamaguchi despite their behind-the-scenes friendship. Both idols enjoyed substantial popularity, with Yamaguchi usually holding an edge in sales. The exception was in 1975 when Junpei, as fans affectionately knew her, dominated as the best-selling female idol in music and bromide sales.

In addition to her music career, Junko excelled as an actress. In 1983, she opted to conclude her singing career to dedicate herself solely to acting. A decade later, in 1993, the former idol shocked Japan by announcing her participation in a mass wedding ceremony organized by the controversial South Korean Unification Church at the Olympic Stadium in Seoul. Her husband had been chosen for her by the church.

Her association with the cult brought her career to an abrupt halt. With her image becoming closely linked to the church, TV networks and advertisers distanced themselves from her. Consequently, Junko relocated from Tokyo, devoting herself entirely to her faith and family. Since then, she has made a few comebacks. In 2006, she published a highly-publicized essay book, and in 2013, she celebrated the 40th anniversary of her debut with a special concert. In 2017 and 2018, she returned to the stage, coinciding with her musical comeback and the release of a new album, "My Ideology."

After this project, Junko has remained out of the spotlight, with an official return unlikely unless she completely renounces her ties with the United Church. The cult's controversial image became even more repellent following the murder of former Prime Minister Shinzo Abe in July, committed by a young man who attributed his family's financial and psychological turmoil to the church. Consequently, the cult's unethical financial practices and ties to the ruling Liberal Democratic Party have become widely discussed topics in the country. For Junko Sakurada, her affiliation with the cult has overshadowed her otherwise successful decades-long career.

Completing the trio alongside Junko and Masako was Momoe Yamaguchi. Although Yamaguchi's career has eclipsed that of almost every other idol of the 1970s, she initially experienced the least success among the three young girls. Unlike her peers, both of whom had claimed grand champion titles at "Star Tanjou!," Momoe secured second place at her final showcase. Moreover, her debut single was the poorest-selling among the trio. However, she would ultimately emerge as the definitive idol, and her retirement would serve as the perfect conclusion to an epoch-making career.

While Momoe, Junko, Masako, Mari, Agnes, Rumiko, and Saori, among others, collectively set an impressive precedent for future female idols, male idols also played a significant role in the era. In terms of profitability, male idols reigned supreme, thanks to the unwavering loyalty of their female fanbase. Johnny Kitagawa, the late founder of Johnny's Jimusho, would eventually become the most influential figure in the entertainment industry by monopolizing this niche for decades with his boybands.

However, during the 1970s, Kitagawa was just one among many. Although his agency achieved considerable success with the boyband Four Leaves, it was soloist Hiromi Go who briefly held the nation under his sway between 1973 and 1974. Unfortunately for Kitagawa, this period of dominance proved fleeting, as Go departed for another agency in 1976, signaling that Johnny Kitagawa still had much to accomplish to solidify his authority.

With Johnny's domination still on the horizon, Hideki Saijo emerged as the most influential male idol of the 1970s. Saijo enjoyed success with several hit singles, including the ballad "Chigireta Ai," released in 1973, and 1979's "Young Man," a cover of Village People's "Y.M.C.A." Demonstrating the power of devoted fangirls, Saijo became the first domestic solo artist to perform a concert at Nippon Budokan. His popularity quickly transcended the Budokan, propelling him to the status of a stadium headliner and solidifying his position as the decade's top concert ticket seller.

The loyalty of fangirls meant that male idols consistently outperformed any act in ticket sales. In the 1960s, The Tigers, considered one of the pioneers of the "group sound" movement and regarded by many as Japan's first idol group, became the first domestic act to hold a stadium concert. By the following decade, the "group sound" era had ended, but some former band members successfully transitioned into solo careers.

Kenji Sawada and Hideki Saijo, the two stadium-selling male idol superstars from the 80s.

Kenji Sawada, the former lead vocalist of The Tigers, remained a constant presence on the charts throughout the 1970s. Under the guidance of the influential Watanabe Pro agency, Sawada succeeded as a singer and actor. He brought a rockstar aura to his performances, incorporating impactful and extravagant visual elements and pioneering the use of makeup, drawing inspiration from David Bowie and glam rockers. In doing so, Sawada laid the groundwork for visual kei, a movement that would revolutionize Japanese rock in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Nicknamed "Julie" since his early days in the 1960s due to his admiration for Julie Andrews, Sawada continues to thrive as a prominent music figure in Japan, one of the few stars from that era still capable of selling out stadiums.

While girls' adoration often paves the way for male idols to enjoy lengthy careers, there are exceptions to this rule. In 1974, Finger 5 became one of the best-selling idol groups in the country. Comprising five young brothers from Okinawa, they were marketed as Japan's response to the Jackson 5 and consistently churned out hit singles. However, just two years later, their popularity took a nosedive. Several factors contributed to this decline, notably their heavy reliance on the two youngest members, aged only 10 and 12. These youngsters not only grappled with exhaustion from relentless work schedules but also faced the challenges of puberty, causing their voices to change and preventing them from hitting the right notes in their songs. Consequently, Finger 5 lost its appeal.

Finger 5's brief career underscores a crucial aspect of the idol industry: the importance of youthfulness. In Japan's gender-biased society, some male idols from the 1970s were granted the opportunity to age gracefully, evidenced by a few who maintained success well into their 60s and 70s. In contrast, female idols invariably confronted the pressures and inevitable decline associated with aging.

This brings us back to the quintessential idol of that era, Momoe Yamaguchi. By choosing to retire and steadfastly resisting any temptation to reenter the public eye, Yamaguchi effectively became frozen in time at 21 years old, her age at the moment she bid farewell to both showbiz and the public. This solidified her status as a legendary and unattainable icon—an idol who never aged.

70s Japan Trends Through the Music Charts (Part 3)

#enka #kayokyoku #momoe yamaguchi #70s japan #1970s #japanese music #jpop #discover japan #heibon punch #kenji sawada #hideki seiji #junko sakurada #70s idols #finger 5 #mari tenchi #rumiko koyanagi #saori minami #four leaves #hiromi go

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ghost-proofbaby · 13 days

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"THE FIRST DATE"

EXTRA CONTENT - "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 7k+ → a/n: the very long awaited first date. this was requested by several people. wahoo! also, fair warning for second-hand embarrassment. i think eddie munson is the only person who drag me dancing around a bowling alley and i wouldn't smite them on the spot.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

EDDIE: What about a fancy dinner date?

YOU: boring.

YOU: and too traditional. when were you even born, Munson? the 60s???

EDDIE: Ha. Ha. I don’t see you making any worthwhile suggestions, sweetheart.

YOU: i don’t have to make any suggestions, old man. YOU’RE supposed to be wooing ME

God forbid anyone walked in on you at this moment.

You were like a high schooler, lying on your stomach with your feet kicking up into the air as you stared at the screen, happily bantering with Eddie over text. All the butterflies, all the blissful jitters, all that dopamine rush that comes with school girl crushes – every single cliche was present and was in full force as you discussed the details of your first date with him. You used to scoff (albeit with hidden longing) at all the romance movies that you truly believed had overplayed all the giddiness, but now you got it. It was disgusting, the way he had you wrapped around his finger so easily, the way he had turned you into a heart-eyed shell of the woman you once were in the matter of a week.

EDDIE: So you have a thing for older men is what you’re telling me.

YOU: i NEVER said that.

EDDIE: Didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can read between the lines.

Over the last week, since the two of you had won the bet and you had won over with insistence on him properly asking you out, Eddie had been tossing around date ideas as he tried to plan this very first occasion. The only time you had even seen him was when your entire group met up, the latest outing having been for brunch on Saturday under the guise celebrating the one week anniversary of you and Eddie surviving twenty four hours together without killing each other.

Didn’t stop him from calling and texting you. And it clearly hadn’t deterred him from losing his mind over doing right by you with this entire first date ordeal.

YOU: i don’t even have the energy to explain to you how many times you have proven to not do that in the past.

EDDIE: I’ve read between the lines in the past!

YOU: you most certainly have NOT

EDDIE: I was able to read when you wanted to kiss me that night. That’s reading between the lines.

And so the giddiness rears its head, full fledged as heat swarms your body and your cheeks ache from your smile.

YOU: i hate you

EDDIE: No, you don’t

YOU: i do. i really do.

EDDIE: You’re such a shit liar

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock on your dorm’s door, annoying and persistent as it taps out some random rhythm that must be a song of some sort. But whatever song it is, you can’t recognize it as you stand, walking over to answer.

“Did you forget your key aga-” you begin, assuming it was just your roommate. You’re shocked to see Robin and Steve standing there, “What are you guys doing here?”

“We had a study date, in case you had forgotten and not seen our hundreds of texts,” Steve huffs, quickly crossing his arms.

You hadn’t seen their texts. Most of your screen time had been a bit preoccupied with a certain metalhead.

“Oh, shit,” your face falls as you open the door wider, side-stepping and motioning for them to come in.

“Yeah,” Steve snarks as he comes right in, Robin hot on his trails and seeming in a far more pleasant mood as the boy mocks you, “Oh, shit.”

Robin stops beside you as Steve helps himself to a seat in your desk chair, “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he has to get A’s on all his mid-terms to keep his 3.0.”

“I am not cranky-”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

“You so are,” Robin continues to egg him on, choosing your bed as her resting place.

Your phone bounces a bit from the way she throws herself down on the sorry excuse for a mattress, and you recall how you had yet to reply to Eddie. Fuck.

“When did we even make these plans?” you ask, genuinely confused as you shut the door. You already miss the peace and quiet of being alone, free to preen at your phone and giggle to your heart’s content at the world’s worst flirt over text.

“Saturday,” Steve groans, throwing his head back.

“It was after brunch,” Robin clarifies, lifting herself up from how she was lounging amongst your blankets, “I mean, you seemed a bit distracted when you agreed, but… We did text you about it.”

You had been distracted. Eddie had managed to quietly ask the waitress to include your tab with his so he could pay for it without your knowledge, and you’d spent the entire time torn between being upset with the boy and absolutely fawning. It was a bit pathetic, looking back at it – the fact that those were the only two options your mind had presented you with. You’d scorned him over the phone later that night, and he had only laughed. You swear you can still hear it now, having heard it several times since – a low chuckle that rattled into the caverns of your chest, that bounced amongst vines of affection and willed open blooms of adoration just a little bit wider.

Part of you was still waiting for the wilting. For the other shoe to drop, for all of what had been exposed and had been planted to vanish from your grasps. That first Monday morning, you’d even woken up worried it had all been a dream.

“I’ve been busy,” you lamely try to excuse your radio silence.

“Busier than normal?” Steve’s brows quirk up, leaning back in your chair that emits a squeak of protest, “Or have you just been busy with new friends?”

Your lips twist and your nose twitches in confusion, “New friends? What the Hell are you going on about, Harrington?”

Robin fully sits up now, watching with piqued interest.

“Eddie,” Steve gets straight to the point, his previous sour mood finally melting slightly, “You can’t honestly tell me that nothing changed after that night.”

It was something neither of you had really discussed. Steve had seen you two, knew that a lot had truly changed based off of the way you’d tossed him right into the middle of the mess there at the end, but you and Eddie had never said anything about being together. Not to your friends, and not even to each other.

“Just because I don’t want to tear his head off his shoulders anymore doesn’t mean we’re spending every waking moment together,” you force your best scowl, as if that wasn’t exactly what you had yearned for all week.

Eventually, it had to wear off. That’s what you told yourself – at some point the initial rose tones would fade less vibrant, and Eddie’s intense occupation of your mind would lessen with the hues.

“I can’t believe it, but I am siding with Stevie on this one,” Robin finally contributes, “I mean, you guys won’t even tell us what happened that night.”

“Nothing exciting,” you’re quick to lie, “Just… I don’t know. Boring stuff. Getting on each other’s nerves, sitting around on his couch,” that gets a bitter scoff from Steve that almost makes you freeze up. Damn Eddie for teasing him with the truth about the couch, “Nothing worth making a big deal over. Like I said, we just learned to… to… tolerate each other.”

Tolerate was an interesting way to put spending hours on the phone together each night, sometimes falling asleep while still on the line.

Steve still looks as though he’s recalling all of Eddie’s annoying taunts from that night while Robin only grins salaciously.

“Tolerate each other?” she mimics you, leaning forward and pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress beside her knees, “Babe, have you two even said a single mean thing to each other since that night? I think he even smiled at you on Saturday. You’re practically married with two and a half kids already.”

He had smiled at you – multiple times. And each one had struck the most delicate of daggers right into your chest, lighting you aflame under his attempted clandestine attention. Every time those big, brown eyes had met yours from across the table, the ache you’d started to hold for him had only doubled in size. By the end of that morning, when the day had technically started to bleed out into the afternoon, you were nothing more than a vessel of pining for the boy that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to brush against amongst your friends.

“Whatever,” you murmur as you reach out to snatch up your phone, “I never even understood the whole half kid thing. Like, how the fuck do you have two and a half kids?”

“I’m sure Eddie would be more than happy to show you,” Steve teases despite his still half-traumatized look.

You’re quick to reach out a hand to whack the back of his head, “Shut up. Are we gonna keep sitting here while you two try to pry something that doesn’t exist out of me, or are we going to go study?”

Steve’s grumpy mood returns as he rubs the back of his head, him and Robin standing in sync to exit the room.

But before the three of you exit the dorm, you check your phone one last time, having to bite down on that girlish grin when you see two new text message notifications.

EDDIE: It’s official. I’m a genius.

EDDIE: Say, are you free tomorrow night?

—

Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. A shift at your job, one too many hours spent sitting through lectures, ensuring a night of studying with Steve and Robin — all petty distractions, roadblocks on your path to the most highly anticipated first date of your life. Eddie wouldn’t even entertain you with details, only telling you to dress fairly comfortably and to put on your best game face.

And you did. To some extent, you really did.

But you’d finished getting ready hours in advance, something you blamed on nerves, and having that much time to kill with such nerves was dangerous.

Simple makeup turned a bit more extravagant, you had tried on nearly every outfit in your possession, you’d even eyed your hair curler on more than one occasion.

Comfortable. What the Hell was that even supposed to mean?

Your only solution had been to text the man of the hour himself, something to busy your thumbs instead of twiddling them or involving them in taking your date night look several steps over just comfortable.

YOU: okay, so. can you define ‘dressing comfortably’?

EDDIE: According to Google, “dressing in a way that makes you feel at ease in your body” :)

YOU: fuck off. you know that’s not what i meant.

Still no clues. He wasn’t caving so easily to your pestering. You should have known better, considering he’d been professionally dodging any questions or inquiries you had regarding the date for the last twenty four hours.

EDDIE: Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.

That certainly didn’t help. Not even in the slightest.

You don’t even reply to his text, already back to pacing your dorm before you finally cave to an impulsive decision you’d been grappling with for hours now.

There was a newish, sporty skirt in the bottom of your drawers. It was comfortable, it had built-in shorts, and it looked damn good on you. The hem fell right around mid-thigh and always flared in an overly satisfying fashion when you’d spin while wearing it. The material of the pleats was nearly impossible to wrinkle. It wasn’t overly soft against your palms as you still nervously smoothed it down once you’d shimmied it on, but you still repeated the motion in hopes of soothing some of your nerves.

You’re sure it’s the wrong option until Eddie sees you in it.

He texts when he’s on his way and you find yourself bounding outside to wait for him far too early to be reasonable. He hadn’t even arrived until after your back had nearly become one with the brick exterior of the dorm building's front wall, leaning into the scratch of the clay on your shoulder blade a welcome distraction until you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine.

You nearly grow dizzy from the sudden rush of nerves.

This is really happening. You’re about to go on a date with Eddie, the first time of what you hope will be many to come.

“Took you long enough, Munson,” you snark loud enough for him to hear as he clicks the Yamaha’s kickstand into place right by the vibrant red curb. There’s a sign not even a full foot away from where he’s standing that clearly spells out NO PARKING.

Oh.

If you hadn’t already been riddled with nerves, your knees would have gone weak at the sight of him.

Since when is that dressing casual and comfortable?

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” he shoots right back as he lifts the helmet off his head, and something inside of you clenched tightly at the sight with no plans to unwind any time soon.

Dark wash jeans plaster his legs, heavy combat boots smacking against the pavement as he walks to meet you halfway. The black shirt he’s donning isn’t extravagant, but something in the way that t-shirt material stretches across his chest has you burning from the inside out. He’s even gone so far as to tuck the shirt into the jeans, his black leather belt on show as he hugs the helmet below his bicep. And his normal leather jacket — you don’t believe you’ve ever seen it look better, ever seen it fit his shoulders so snugly. He’s dressed to perfectly match the all black bike, the image of a bad boy straight out of every cheesy movie you’d ever seen.

The only thing that breaks the illusion is the boyish grin pulling the arrival of his dimples along with it as he watches you push off the wall. His eyes are sparkling as you approach him, a constellation of hope and new beginnings twinkling right before you.

He’s not sorry that you waited on him. Not in the slightest. Especially when those starry eyes travel over your appearance.

You have to force yourself to tsk, because otherwise you might end up just another pile of ash for the poor landscapers to sweep up, “Haven't you heard it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?”

You stop in your steps just far enough to catch the way his eyes take you in. Drinking slowly. Following the trace of the just fancy enough tank top that you’d chosen to balance the skirt. Lingering on the plush of your inner thighs, barely peeking out the bottom of your chosen outfit for the night.

You almost start to feel self conscious until he lets out a little sigh, nearly a whimper as his eyes trail back up to find yours.

“I’m sure I have,” he chokes out, composure momentarily vanished as you distract him so easily, “But aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“I could say the same about you.”

You’re like a shark. If you stop swimming in the upstream flirtations, you’ll drown instantaneously in his big brown eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you swear you see a hint of a blush across the highs of his cheek bones and sides of his neck as he holds out the helmet for you, “At least with me, it will.”

“Even the top secret location of this date?” you ask as you take the helmet, considering putting up a fight. You still hated him not wearing one for your expense, and you weren’t exactly eager for any sort of helmet hair, “Do I have to wear-“

He knows the end of your sentence before you even finish, “Yes. No exceptions; you have to wear it every time you ride.”

“Every time?”

“It’s for safety.”

“Isn’t it sort of unsafe for you to go without one?”

“You’re wearing the helmet,” he sighs, nose twitching with indignation as he holds staunchly onto the position, “And to answer your other question, no. I guess flattery will get you almost everywhere, but it’s a surprise.”

You fiddle with the chin straps, looking down as you feel his gaze burning the top of your head from this angle, “Fine. But we really should just get me my own helmet. You need to wear one, too. And…” you look back up, pausing before you properly put on the piece of safety equipment, “It’s a little oversized. You know, considering it was meant to fit your big head first.”

He narrows his eyes, still lit up with a sort of playfulness you haven’t grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of.

You like him quite a bit more than you bargained for. A lot more than five hundred dollars, or twenty four hours, ever would have summarized.

“We can go helmet shopping another day.”

We. Not just him, not just you. But you and him. A unit. A couple.

“It’s a date,” you whisper just before you slide on the helmet. You completely miss the wildfire that the ghost of a blush has finally become. You completely miss the way that your talk of you two together, you two as a couple with a future, affects him just as his has an effect on you.

Helmet hair is worth it, you decide, once you’ve saddled onto the bike behind him and he revs up the engine once more. You’re not as shy as you had been on that fateful night the week before, quick to wrap your arms around his middle and let your chest press hard against his back. The leather crinkles against the contact, the heat of him radiating, and you think you could spend forever like that.

You’re almost upset that you can’t smell his cologne through the helmet. That once terrible scent of boy.

Every curve and every slow stop is another excuse to cling to him tighter, every red light a reason for him to turn his head and catch a glimpse of you with a small grin that never once falters. You swear at one of the lights, when he revs his engine in a particularly rowdy fashion right as the light turns green and takes off particularly fast, you can hear his laughter over the loud wind mingling with the roaring engine. You know you can feel it, vibrating in his chest right along with your own that gets lost in the chaos of the unusually busy Tuesday night street.

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the older building, you catch sight of the neon sign out front and find yourself laughing again.

“Bowling?” you question, yanking the helmet off less than gracefully as he stands off the bike you’d just swung yourself off of, “You’re taking me bowling?”

He takes the helmet from you, suddenly looking a bit shy as he averts his gaze, “Not just any bowling. It’s… It’s the coolest bowling alley you will ever go on a first date at.”

“You say that to every girl you bring here?”

You’re just teasing him, trying to poke fun rather than succumb to all the fluttering that bruises your inner chest and stomach. But then he has to ruin your fun, strike a match and set you aflame so adroitly.

“Only the prettiest ones.”

You should continue the banter, challenge him on just who else fell into that category, but you can’t. It’s in that glimmer of his eyes and the indent of his dimples, the way he looks at you as he slowly rises and somehow softens his gaze all while keeping a threat of a bite beneath the tone. His eyes tell you that you are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s referring to. That in this moment, you begin and you end his world, and not even the commotion of traffic or nip in the air that creeps up as the summer sun sets can deter his attention being set solely on you.

But his tone suggests something far more dangerous. He says it like you’re a prey, an unattainable catch that he’ll be chasing for the entire night. A wicked growl to that voice you’ve been falling asleep to over the phone far more than you care to admit in just a short week.

He says it like he’s going to ruin you. As if he hasn’t already injected himself into your veins, as if he isn’t the gasoline drowning and raging the burn within you.

But he keeps up the gentleman persona in the short walk up to the door of the establishment. Holds out his hand for yours to fit perfectly into, guides you to the inner sidewalk as cars fly past and the only thing between you and them is him.

The hunt is on from the moment he opens that door for you.

“Ever the gentleman,” you muse, voice hardly above a whisper as you brush past him and finally catch that smell of boy.

You think you’d drown in his cologne now if he gave you the chance. Bury your face in his chest, wrap your arms around him and press any inch of your own bare skin to his.

“Always,” it would have been a weak response if he’d only said it and nodded his head, but he takes it a step further. Right as you pass him, entering the brisk AC, his hand ghosts over the expanse of your lower back. Fingertips nimbly brushing right above the band of that skirt, grazing your tank top just hard enough for you to feel it and shiver.

It doesn’t stop there. The back and forth, the chase, the hunt.

The way he makes sure your knuckles brush his as he hands you your shoes, even more brushes of his palm flat against your lower back repetitively, the way he insists on a heavier ball that makes his arms strain and muscles display. Over the chatter from the bowling alley’s fairly nice bar and the music trickling out of the overhead speakers, you’re sure that your heartbeat has joined the ranks of audible noises to echo the nice haunt. You’re positive he can hear every thump, can pinpoint the exact moments that poor aching muscle inside your chest begins to race.

You go for a smaller weighted ball. You don’t think you could handle anything heavier with your current case of weak knees.

“Only an eight pounder?” Eddie tuts at you as you approach your designated lane again, “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.”

No, I can’t. Your fault, really.

“I have weak arms,” you try to defend yourself as you rotate the red ball in your hands.

His favorite color. It hadn’t been intentional, but the swirling shades of stark scarlet and deep maroons is a nice touch.

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaning into you as you deposit the ball right behind his own ball on the track where it already rests.

A twelve pounder. A smoky quartz design, black base swirling with misty white and gold accents. Far prettier than yours by a landslide.

And fitting for the pretty boy you’re faced with when you turn to watch him shedding his leather jacket onto the bench a few steps away.

“Not all of us are some big, strong macho man,” you scowl insincerely, moving to sit beside him and follow his lead in switching out shoes, “I’m betting now that by halfway through the game, you’ll be caving and begging to use my ball, Munson.”

You’re looking down as you casually say it, one shoe already half off and unaware of just how close he had gotten until his hand reaches over. Not even a second later, he has your chin pinched between his fingers, gentle as it guides you and forces you to look at him, “Careful. Bets seem to be awfully dangerous when it comes to the two of us.”

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him.

The graze of those fingers against your jaw leaves a trail of ash, burning that lingers and thrums beneath your skin, heart officially skipping beats rather than merely speeding up. You’re coming to realize that when it comes to keeping up with Eddie Munson in his element, in all his charm and flirtatious banter, you’re a bit hopeless.

He has you trapped under his thumb — metaphorically and literally.

“Are you always this flirtatious with all your dates?” you spit out against your better judgment.

Why do I keep bringing up his previous flames? Do I really care? Do I really want to put myself through the torture of hearing about all of the girls, or guys, he’s wooed before me?

The same glittering eyes, the same hidden smirk from earlier. “Only the prettiest ones.”

“You keep saying that,” you mumble, chin pressing into his fingertips against their hold, “Just how many pretty dates have you had?”

The pride softens in an instant. His gaze is less sharp, grin less predatory as he raises his eyebrows.

“Does it really matter?”

You can’t help it. Your mind races ahead of you before you can stop it; you’re plagued in an instant with images of how many dates, how many other people he had indulged in over the year you two had wasted hating each other. You try to recall overhearing him describe any of those dates, try to remember if Nancy ever mentioned Eddie passing up one of the hangouts for a romantic endeavor.

You come up empty handed, but it doesn’t stop the overthinking.

“I guess not,” you feebly answer, unable to tear your eyes from him.

I guess not is really code for it matters so much more than I care to admit. An impossible riddle you can’t even expect him to pick up on.

His hand falls from your chin and finds home on your bare knee, warm palm swallowing it up. He gives it a squeeze, and you wonder for a moment if maybe he can read your secretive language. Maybe he’s seeing right through your overconfident front, maybe he has felt every racing of your pulse.

Maybe, he’s as nervous as you are.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t think you can bear another moment of this new intimacy. It had been easier when the two of you were on a ticking clock, confined to his apartment and parameters of a bet that never really mattered. Vulnerability had less of an edge when you could yearn and pine to see it flourish in the real world — but now, here it was, twisting away within you both a week later and pricking away as the stakes at hand come to light.

“Are you ready for me to absolutely demolish your ass at this game?” you joke.

“Demolish me? That’s some big talk for someone using an eight pound ball, babe.”

“It’s not about how much you’re packing, pretty boy,” you scoff, “Just that you know how to use it.”

He smiles slowly, but the quick squeeze of his hand tells you the vulnerability is here to stay. He feels that cutting edge too, and he’s not shying away.

He leans right into it, just as he does your personal space, “Bring it on.”

—

“You’re cheating!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! Who the fuck gets three strikes in a row?”

Eddie strolls back towards you, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips and his hips swaying with arrogance as you continue to pout at his sudden show of sportsmanship, “I believe the answer is me, sweetheart. Wanna see me make it four?”

“I hope you just jinxed yourself,” you scowl as you hop up off the couch and Eddie swaggers right past you, hardly affected by the palm you smack into the center of his chest for good measure, “I hope you roll nothing but gutter balls the rest of the game, you prick.”

“Like you have been?”

“Burn in Hell.”

Eddie’s cackle echoes through the fairly busy alley. It wasn’t overwhelming, the lanes of either side of yours staying empty, the only other groups several ways down. So far, the date has been good. Even if Eddie was wiping the floor with your severe lack of skill.

Both of you had opted for Cokes rather than alcohol, Eddie had ordered some sort of platter with onion rings and mozzarella sticks that the two of you had easily been devouring between turns. Playful banter had been kept up easier than breathing, barking words without bite being snapped back and forth loud enough for the entire establishment to hear the two of you being exceptionally childish.

At some point, your nerves had melted. And you didn’t even need a lick of alcohol in your system for it to happen.

“Try to aim for the pins this time,” Eddie continues to taunt you from where he’s spread out on the brown faux leather bench you’d been taking turns warming the seat of.

Your fingers slide into the holes of your ball with ease, courtesy of the grease from all your snacking, “Try shutting the fuck up.”

More of his laughter sounds off, and you nearly trip on your walk up to the markings on the linoleum wood flooring. It’s a nice sound; a beautiful response to words that could easily read identical to how the two of you used to fight. But these aren’t fighting words, they’re words passed between two… two… friends?

Is that how you should continue to classify this? Were you and Eddie really still just friends?

The sound of your ball stuttering in hops across the beginnings of the lane replaces his laughter

No. Easy question – there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the two of you were definitely not friends. Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken. And for the remainder of this date, you could live with that.

Eddie sucks in an audible breath, letting the air whistle between his teeth as your ball veers at the last second and misses the pins entirely. Again.

“Th-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, spinning on your heel and holding up a warning finger. It’s harder to hold in your own grin when Eddie’s already smiling into his fist, leaning his elbows onto his thighs as his big eyes peer at you, clearly amused, “Don’t say a word.”

His knuckles dig further into his mouth.

“I meant to do that.”

His eyebrows shoot up, still not speaking.

“It takes real talent to avoid pins like that.”

He leans over a bit further, and you swear you hear him emit a snort from behind that damn fist.

You open your mouth to continue with the bit when the clattering of your ball returning to the ball rack comes from behind you. Eddie only shrugs cheekily as he finally drops his fist to grab for a mozzarella stick, his smile contained but those damn dimples still flashing you brilliantly.

Without taking your eyes off him, you hold up a warning finger for emphasis once more, trying to bite down any signs of your own amusement as you take a few steps back in the direction of the rack and repeat yourself, “I meant to do that.”

“Sure you did,” he muses before taking a bite of the mozzarella stick smothered in marinara sauce.

“I did.”

“I believe you.”

“I-”

It seems the Universe is in the business of interrupting you two. As if it seems all that hope and potential flourishing in the space between you two and decides that simply won’t do. As if it’s too much.

Maybe it is. But maybe, just maybe, you’re enjoying too much.

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence or grab for your ball, the lights of the alley have dimmed. A few spotlights over the alleys themselves light up, erratically waving patches of light over the shining floor as the music that had been playing overhead cuts out to be replaced with some poor employee’s voice.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen-” you and Eddie share a confused glance, “-The time is officially ten o’clock, meaning nineties night has officially begun! Have fun, and enjoy yourselves as we throw you back to the decade of Nirvana and Beanie Babies for the rest of the night with these straight jams.”

Your face scrunches up in a comical cringe before the buzzing static of the speaker can even cut out and the beginning lines of Say My Name by Destiny’s Child begins to play.

You aren’t entirely sure of how it happens. Maybe it’s all the playfulness in there, in all that electric teasing at the tip of Eddie’s tongue and all that hopelessness bubbling up in your chest as it dawns on you of the fact you were finally on a proper date with Eddie. Maybe it’s simply a good night for you to continue to make a fool of yourself, and Eddie sees it as a chance he’ll always be right there with you, prepared to make a scene as he follows your lead.

He stands up to approach you where you’re still rooted beside the rack, matching your own grin that blooms genuinely at the sound of the song.

It was one of your favorite’s. A small fact about yourself you don’t think you’ve ever told Eddie – that you can remember.

It’s small, at first. Just mouthing along to the first verse as he moves towards you, recognizing that excitement lighting up in you, shimmying his shoulders ever so slightly. He looks like an idiot – he’s absolutely your idiot.

“Did you know it was nineties night?” you mumble as he gets closer, shaking your head slightly.

“Stevie might have mentioned something about you enjoying nineties nostalgia,” he drawls, still taking sure steps towards you.

“Did you ask him for advice for our first date, Eddie?”

“No,” he scoffs quickly, finally close enough to grab you gently by your hips. He’s nowhere near manhandling you, but it’s still reminding you of the game, of the hunt, at play. You’re his prey and he’s officially making his move. Carelessly, nonchalantly. “He mentioned it ages ago. When they were trying to convince me you weren’t all bad.”

Your smile widens, “Was this around the time I threw a glass at your head, by chance?”

“Maybe.”

The dulcet instrumental of the song continues on overhead, beginning to pick up in beat, making you nod your head along as Eddie finally starts to tug you closer.

You’re in public, and you both should know better than to make absolute fools of yourselves, but it doesn’t seem to matter when all you can really see is him.

Your friends had also spent ages trying to convince you that Eddie wasn’t all bad, but you’d always known that much. You’d seen glimpses of the good in him from that very first night. When he’d made you feel welcome, when he’d given you a life-preserver to cling to when you’d felt most out of your element. You knew that Eddie Munson was one of those people who had a hardwired habit of trying to make people feel welcome.

Even in a room full of people, when you’d be non-stop embarrassing yourself endlessly.

All his jests had been further proof, but when he sees your rock on your heels as you enjoy the music, he takes it a step further. He grabs one of your hands with his free one, keeping a hold of your waist, encouraging all your giddiness over the song. Every single person in the establishment could be staring at the two of you – you didn’t care.

When he starts dramatically mouth along to the chorus of the song, swinging you around slightly, it takes very little provocation for you to join in with him.

You both could’ve taken a step further, and properly sang along in the most obnoxious voices possible, but you don’t. There’s still the slightest blanket of security there as Eddie keeps the antics mostly silent, reserving his dramatic reenactments of vocal runs for your eyes only. Even yanking your hand up close to his mouth, as though it was a microphone, as he swings you around again. You quickly become a giggling disarray, hardly able to keep up your own footing, eyes squinting with joy and what must be the messiest and ugliest smile possible showing off all your teeth. The type of smile and laughter you’d normally try to hide on instinct. The kind of smile you cover up.

But you can’t, because Eddie is keeping his sturdy grip on your hands with his own, and he’s drinking in every second of your joy. He’s vibrant as he watches the way he’s entertaining you. Shamelessly staring, making his antics falter.

“Baby, say my name,” he purposefully sings along dramatically, quietly but terribly off-key.

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Eddie, you’re an idiot.”

He ignores you, and continues to give you your own private concert, switching rapidly between singing the main song and the backup vocals, which only makes your stomach further ache with laughter.

This is what you’d been yearning for the last year. This silly side of him, an absolute fool who couldn’t care less about the stares of others.

The seductive side of him was enticing. The honest version of him nice. But this side of him? Carefree, rowdy, indiscreet? It may be your favorite yet.

Only the sound of a nearby teen couple mocking you two break the moment, just as you’ve begun to jokingly whisper-sing back into Eddie’s pretend microphone made of your joined fists. They make what must be vomiting noises, and you catch the tail end of one of them jokingly poking a finger towards their outstretched tongue as you finally sigh deeply.

You should probably feel embarrassed. Later on, when you find yourself in bed later tonight and attempt to find some rest, you’ll probably ruminate and burn yourself alive with all the embarrassment. But not right now; not with your boy still in front of you, smiling just as desperately wide as you were.

His dimples would probably consume him if you let him go on any longer.

“Eddie,” you choke out through residual laughter, tugging your hands free as the song starts to fade out. You make no move to remove yourself from him, though. Your arms find home around his shoulders, hands splayed just below the nape of his neck, “People are staring.”

“Good,” he snipes back, finally dropping the act but not the glee, “Probably entranced by how pretty you look right now.”

“Pretty? I probably look like a loser. They’re probably already engraving a trophy for world’s ugliest smile-”

“Oh, don’t do that,” his forehead falls against yours, rolling his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment. I love your smile.”

There’s something unspoken there. He loves your smile, yes, but he’s also been denied of it for a very long year. It’s the first step of making it up to you, making up for lost time.

Making a fool out of himself, just to see that goddamn smile.

With your arms around his neck, his forehead pressed against yours and the tip of his nose bumping yours, the game of bowling is all but forgotten. Even the teens, still side-eyeing the two of you, can be pushed aside in your mind.

All your insecurities of the night that have crept in the shadows become insignificant. You don’t care how many dates Eddie has been on before you, you don’t care that you’ve clearly become a prey caught in his web. You don’t even care about the way you’re losing.

It’s the perfect first date. When one of his hands wander, playing with the hem of your skirt, knuckles and rings brushing against bare skin, it’s perfect.

“Hey,” you whisper, “I’ve got a question.”

“I have an answer.”

“You sound very sure there, big guy.”

“I am sure,” he pulls his face away just a bit, but his gentle touch against your thigh lings. The other hand stays warm against your lower back, keeping you pressed up against him, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken.

Hearing him say it out-loud will still be nice, though.

“Does this mean we’re official?” you breathe out, trying to cling to all your bravery and not let it slip away, “Like – God, I sound like a high schooler right now – does this mean we’re… you know…”

“Dating?” he’s grinning, unable to hide his giddiness.

“Yeah. Dating.”

The hand tracing circles on your exposed outer thigh rises up to your cheek, brushing along it as he tucks a bit of your hair back. You swear you see it shaking out of the corner of your eye.

“I sure would like to be,” it was shaking. You know it surely, because his voice is as well. Vulnerable and honest, just how you like him, “We don’t have to tell the others, we can take it slow, but-”

“But we’re dating.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement – an affirmation. You and Eddie Munson, the man you swore you hated just over a week ago, were dating.

He only nods, and you consider the way that his dimples might just swallow you whole instead of him.

Not enemies, not friends – lovers. It has quite the nice ring to it.

“Well, in that case,” you finally pull away, dropping your arms slowly and letting your fingers catch on the chain of the necklace he currently wears. A red guitar pick, something you’ll surely learn the story behind soon enough. “Better go and roll that fourth strike, boyfriend.”

His head rolls back, and a joking groan falls from his lips as his neck stretches and nearly distracts you momentarily, “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re making fun of me, you little shit.”

Another laugh falls from your lips as you step around him, quirking an eyebrow. Perfect first date, indeed.

“Get used to it, Munson.”

“I plan to, Sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #beyond the hours #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #their love language is just being mean to each other i'll be honest #i've been nervous about posting extra content about them for a while but save the leaves #i might revamp the masterlist #also side note but i also think reader's outfit would totally get a scolding solely because that is not safe attire for riding on a bike #eddie should have shoved her into his jacket and scowled about it but he's just easily distracted by how pretty he finds her

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