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writinginthetwilight · 3 months

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You Look Good in Green.

Eddie Munson x Bartender!Fem!Reader.

>>Summery: Between a deli and a laundromat in down town Indianapolis, a bar sits unassuming. Almost derelict looking from the outside, to the untrained eye. But by night shes a different beast

>>Author note: A day early because I have no self control. Thank you for to anyone who read, commented or reblogged the last chapter your all beautiful humans. This chapter has in it one of the first scenes I imagined when this story first invaded my every thought, I'll let you guess which one. Enjoy 💚.

>> Chapter warnings: 18+ only, eventual smut, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, excessive alcohol consumption, mention of vomit, smoking, strong language, broken glass wear.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 3 - Recovery Position.

MARCH 1988

Desolate is the word that springs to mind as he slams the van door closed. The sound echoes around him before it's swallowed into the shadows where the street lights can't reach, their orange light hanging listly over parked cars and reflecting back at him in the dark windows of closed stores.

This was a stupid idea.

A mantra that's been on a loop in his head since he took the exit for the city, only becoming louder the longer he drove, trapped within the confines of his own head no matter how loud he blared the stereo.

Bitter cold air bites and nips at any exposed skin forcing him to move, fingers already numbing around the handle of the guitar case. He makes short work of the small journey down the sidewalk, but by the time he reaches the familiar soft yellow light spilling from the 24-hour laundromat, he slows to a halt despite how his lungs ache from the cold.

The familiarity of the street dies beyond the threshold of that soft light. No people are lingering in a haze of smoke, no laughter or boisterous voices, mingling along with the low hum of the base that blares intermittently as people ferry in and out the door.

He stands surrounded by his own hot breath that lingers in the air, maybe Angie had gotten the days mixed up in her over-eager conviction to get him to play.

‘I know that guitar I sold Wayne ain't just sat for decoration’, he mouths in a taunting mimic to himself as he finally makes his way up to the door.

The lights are on, he can see that much through the small steamed up window in the door, crooked open sign burning a luminous cherry red to his right.

If he was honest with himself, he knows it's the right night, the damn date stuck to his refrigerator in Angie's looped cursive had all but destroyed his appetite for the past week.

But the idea that she's wrong is an easy distraction from where the doubts really lie.

Gigs had been sparse the past few years, with Jeff away at college, Grant’s dad working him to exhaustion at the shop and Gareth not even old enough to get into half the places they wanted to play. The idea of playing live again started to sound like a good idea, no matter the capacity.

That's how she got him.

The acoustic had seen more action in the past three years than it had since he was in middle school and between the pages of the notebook, which currently sits like a dead weight in his back pocket, are songs never played to anyone but the thin walls of the trailer.

The dawning reality of it being just him, dampening any enthusiasm before it could start.

He was good at leading, building people up; the band, his sheep. Once upon a time himself, not so much lately.

The door swings open making him stumble back as the bouncer almost steps on him. Staring at Eddie, face void of all emotion for a moment his eyes flick down to the guitar then back up.

“Card”

His voice is monotone and the momentary wide eyed hesitation on Eddie's part seems to irritate him as his brows pull in, a grunt leaving him as he shoves an open hand out, that Eddie’s sure could crush his skull.

Not wanting a witness to him hightailing it away from an open mic night of all things, he drops his guitar and scrambles for his wallet, watching as the angry giant stares at it for a little too long before abruptly opening the door and ushering him in. Left cradling his guitar to his chest he winces at the sudden change in light.

This wasn’t just a stupid idea, this was a fucking mistake.

It's like he’s back in high school, stood at the edge of a sea of pastel colour and quaffed hair, quick looks drag up and down as he enters, snap judgements made at a glance.

There's none of the usual reprieve here that he's gotten in the past, the weight that usually lifts as he walks in for a weekend gig now threatening to suffocate him.

Amour built over a lifetime rises, only to be knocked from his shoulders as cold air rushes in from behind him, a grunt and the presence of a large frame forcing him further into the building.

I don't need to play, he reasons laying his guitar across the stools beside him, I can just grab a drink, settle in, and watch. His fingers ache from the lingering cold as he anxiously drums a beat out against the wood.

“Hey, can I help? ”

Your voice startles him a little and the sight of your eager smile makes his throat dry up.

You're Jazz. When Angie mentioned it was your night he assumed it was someone older, he's not entirely sure why, your name only ever mentioned in passing when he hung out at the record store.

But he’s seen you before, hell he's been served by you before.

Always a quick exchange, between a crush of bodies on blurry nights, where he's woken up in an unfamiliar bed or the back of his van. Unsure of how he got there and with an ache in his neck that makes him question if, one of these days, he was going to give himself whiplash.

But you were just the cute bartender; he never got your name.

He hasn’t spoken in a good 10 seconds and your eyes move to the guitar case lay over the stools next to him, eyes lighting up “You here for the open mic night.”

Shit.

He couldn’t say no now, not when you were looking at him like that, all excited and eager, so with resignation he nods, flashing you a tight smile.

“Awsome, okay, just a minute” You scamper away and his face falls as soon as you're gone. Eyes scanning the room he searches faces to see if anyone stands out as familiar, shrugging off his leather and pulling at the neck of his shirt. Desperately trying to bring up the bravado that carries him through most days.

You arrive back, red notebook in hand and flicker forward a couple of pages.

“Name?”

“Eddie. Munson.” The question makes his hackles immediately go up, subconsciously waiting for a snide remark, but you only give him that bright smile again.

“Okay Eddie you're on third, a few people don't look like they're showing up” a humourless laugh passed your lips “I just need you to sign this.”

He eyes the form wearily for a second, “What is it?”

“It’s like a liability form, basically just agreeing you're responsible for your instruments” You let out an exasperated sigh eyes rolling “The owner's kind of a control freak, he’s not here, so we have this.” You confess holding a pen out to him.

“Sure. Okay.” The tremor in his hand makes him clench his teeth as he signs, willing himself to get it the fuck together and he tries to casually flip the pen for you to take but his clammy hand slip against the smooth case sending it clattering to the floor beneath him.

“Shit” he mumbles, quickly bending awkwardly between stool legs to retrieve it. You're making a poor attempt at hiding your amusement as he comes back up and he can't help but feel like he just signed away the last of his dignity as you store away the complete form into a binder.

“Nice shirt” you say without looking up and his eyes flicker down to his Megadeath tee and then back to you, “be nice to have somebody here that plans on singing something other than Madonna. Unless?” you look up at him eyebrows raised and he lets out a huff of a laugh.

“More of a Duran Duran man myself.” Looking out across the room he spins a ring on his finger. “Wasn’t exactly the crowd I was expecting.”

“It's taken almost two months for people to realise it isn't Karaoke. Anyone says shit to you, they're out.”

When he looks at you your face is dead serious.

“You want a drink?”

His full body sags into the bar, hands pressed flat against the wood.

“Please.”

*****

Gus calls it the void.

A space that exists between the sleepy dark building which greets you in the day, with low murmurs of the jukebox and quiet conversation, and the static chaos which she turns into at night, senses soaked in hazes of beer and speakers that vibrate your chest on an inhale.

The void comes when the bodies clear, main lights illuminating the corners once filled by bodies and a cacophony of nameless voices.

It's surreal, usually only seen through a fog of fatigue, as aching footsteps spot mop and clean broken glass, the walls seeming to stretch out and close in at the same time.

Tonight though the void crowds one remaining table, one too small for the number of bodies surrounding it.

You smile fondly from your place behind the bar as the newest members of the family laugh loudly with the oldest. The guys had killed it, the crowd loved it and the buzz of the room carried you through the night.

But the numbers on the calculator are starting to blur as you desperately try to finish cashing up. Eyes warm with an exhaustion that can only come with a day spent staving off panic, and a night caught in the adrenaline of that panic being completely unfounded.

You scrub your hands over your face, cursing yourself as soon as you do knowing the makeup that was once neatly placed there was likely smudged around your eyes now.

A soft clink of bottles and glasses being placed on the bar draws your attention and you look up expecting to see Jay or Charlie there but instead, big brown eyes look sympathetically down at you. You straighten slowly from where you were hunched over, tired bones and gravity having drawn you down.

“Same again?” you glance over at where Gus is loudly telling a story you can't quite distinguish over the cackle of Angie's laugh. Drunker than you'd seen them between these walls in a long time, and in good company if the way Gareth is swaying on his chair as he drunkenly flirts with a very pink Charlie is anything to go by.

“A couple of glasses of water too,” he says as Gareth tries to lean on the edge of the table, almost head butting the subject of his drunken affection when he misses by a mile.

You grimace with wide eyes and he grins back at you “coming up”

You can hear his rings tap against the wood of the bar behind you as he drums an uneven beat.

“I'll fetch them over.” he scoffs from behind and you send him an acusationary look over your shoulder.

“You've been running ‘round all night.” a small frown sits on his face as he tips his head towards you. You arrange the drinks on the small circular tray in front of him silently, the glasses and bottles clinking gently against each other as you softly nudge it towards him.

He looks smug for a moment and you can't help the laugh that comes out when it shifts to panic as he picks up the tray too harshly and the whole tray rattles aggressively.

He gives you an angry glance with no malice behind it and you watch his tongue peek out in concentration as he lifts it. Carefully, he makes his way over to the table, leaning your head on your fist you watch as he walks with slow strides, gangly and unsure looking like a baby deer, stopping every few steps.

The whole table stopped to watch, jibes and laughter turning to a cheer as he finally places the tray down, with a quick turn he bows at you as you give him him a slow clap.

“Come sit down Jazz, grab a drink” Gus yells across at you words running together a little, southern accent more prominent as he roughly pulls a chair over.

You cringe at the screech and look around at the unfinished tasks, but the promise of relief from the ache in your legs is too good to pass up, so you pour a generous glug of Jamesons into a steaming cup of coffee with too many sugars and join them.

You lean your head heavily on Angie's shoulder and she rests hers a top of yours, the smell of musky perfume and the red wine she's been drinking all night surrounding you.

“You did good darlin’” she says as they all chatter around you and you smile to yourself looking over at the band. “Yeah.”

Charlie makes herself scarce soon after when her dime store Matt Dillon boyfriend comes to collect her, much to Gareth's disdain. He asks every few minutes where she's gone and you have to gently remind him she's gone, his shoulders slumping every time.

You finally drag yourself from Angie humming to yourself as the coffee and whisky warm you, curling your knee up to your chest you tune in halfway through an argument Jeff and Eddie are having.

You've missed the start but as Eddie gets louder and Jeff snickers you realise Eddie has fallen for some kind of bate as he passionately rants and gesticulates wildly.

Jay laughs loudly from beside you catching everyone's attention, as Gareth becomes increasingly defensive at the story of George carding him when he came back in from packing up the van.

Grant quickly swipes his wallet and passes his licence over, Jay cooes instantly and you sneak a look at the picture. The frown on his face is like for like with the one he's wearing as he angrily grabs the card back.

Grant throws his arm around the younger guy's shoulders, and they all fall back into laughter and animated conversations in a way that only people who've known each other for half their lives can. A pang of jealousy runs through you that you push down quickly.

“You ready to admit you were wrong?” you say taking a sip from the hot sweet drink, head falling heavily to the side to look at Gus’s flushed face.

“Cold day in hell,” Angie murmurs to her glass, red wine clinging to the creases on her lips, lipstick long gone and spread down Gus’s neck.

“We’ll see,” he says eyeing the guys and throwing an arm around Angie's shoulders, you don't miss the small smile that twitches the corner of his mouth as he watches them.

“Okay house rules” he says loudly hand slamming on the table making you grimace.

The boys all fall silent, the timbre of his voice still commanding a presence with them that you remember from the early days of knowing him.

“Rule 1. No fighting, I see you throwing punches, you're out. Anybody tries anything you let George deal with it.” They all glance at the silent man who sits sipping a gin and tonic as he simply nods.

“Rule 2. Nobody goes behind the bar, you want a drink, you ask. If it's busy you wait your damn turn got it? They all nod turning to each other with murmurs of agreement.

“Rule 3. 10 dollars between you for playing, we’ll set up a tip jar and you can sell any other stuff you want tapes shirts whatever. And Rule 4."

he leans forward giving you a pointed look and you feel your gut drop as everyone looks at you.

He wouldn't.

"No fucking on the premises.”

Jay snickers and you smack him hard in the arm. “I didn't fuck him" you hiss rising quickly to your feet.

“Found them in the back. Trousers around his ankles,” he says leaning towards the boys who all grin at you.

“They were not around his ankles, he got to second base tops!” Jay cackles from beside you and you spin to face him “You can stop laughing, the bathroom's the premises and we all know what you and Paul do in there when they play.”

“Excuse me?” Gus says leaning forward heavily towards Jay as he splutters, the band all stare at you with various looks of glee.

You grab your jacket “As lovely as this has been, if we're finished reminiscing about my failed sexual encounters, my bus is leaving soon so if we can all finish up.”

“You're getting the bus?” Jeff says face dropping as he looks at you.

“Is that an issue?” exhaustion making you bite out the words as you collect the few remaining glasses on the table and walk them back to the bar.

“It's late,” Grant yells over the room as you dip inside the office to collect the rest of your things.

“I'm a big girl” you sing song “ and I have mace, I think I'll be fine.” you check your bag, and hang it heavily over your shoulder, locking up the cash and turning of the lights.

"I'll drive you,” Eddie says as you reappear arms crossed over his chest, all members leaning back into their seats, obviously having had a conversation you weren't privy to

“I told you he was a good boy,” Angie whispers loudly into Gus's ear and Eddie gives her a wink.

Your surprised your eyes don't roll out your head.

“You've all been drinking.” you gesture to Gareth to illustrate your point as he's about to fall asleep at any second, head leaning heavily against a less than impressed looking Grant.

“I've had two beers all night.”

You blink, looking down to the tap water in front of him and sigh, nerves starting to fray as the ache in your feet pulse and shoulders protest the extra weight of your belongings.

“ I just want to get home.” it comes out in a whine, but you're too tired to care.

“We'll close up.” Angie’s voice is slurred and a little muffled from the way she's pressed up against Gus's side, and you glance down to see her long nails raking down his leg under the table.

You look at them suspiciously “Yeah?”

“Done most of it for us, get away darlin’” he says never looking away from Angie.

Christ.

You look back over and Eddie raises his brows at you expectantly.

“Okay. But can we leave now?”

*****

March 1988

You fumble over your words, heart hammering and instantly regret asking Gus to fix the lights so you can see the audience better.

The idea that somebody might be smiling beyond the glare to make this less painful is quashed by a mixture of confused and vaguely interested faces. At least when half the crowd thought it was karaoke there was a pack of drunken friends cheering.

You welcome Eddie on stage, hoping to God that the crowd at least cracks a smile.

A couple of beers had brought him around a little, the deer in headlights look fading as you watched the first two acts and made small talk, but as you turn to wave him on and he appears into the light he looks like you're leading him to the slaughter.

You hope you're not, but the urge to get off stage and away from vacant stares has you scrambling back behind the bar.

“Hey”

His voice sounds small even amplified by the mic and you grin widely at him when he catches your eye.

“ I usually play with a band,” the crowd is silent as he unclips his guitar case and pulls the acoustic onto his lap, your body leaning forward a little as you squint at the words scrawled over the body.

“But thought I'd give this a go” he strums a couple of cords looking up and glancing around the crowd. He holds himself taller, an easy grin on his face but the bob in his throat as he swallows gives him away.

His songs aren't anything like you expected.

You'd readied yourself for something more a tune to the sounds that usually vibrate the walls, it's heavy but the chords progression is almost folky and he has a gravel in his voice that makes your stomach flip. Lyrics angry and funny in equal measure, with a disdain for the work week and the world.

The crowd's response is a mixed bag, no heckles, but your applauds are by far the loudest and he smiles over at you every time a line has you laughing.

He doesn't leave after his set and his demeanour completely changes. Flirty and confident with easy flowing conversation about music, life and the story of his guitar.

He's what you wanted from this night filled with music and laughter and he promises to be back leaving with a wink.

******

It was inevitable, you'd seen it a thousand times before. People walk out into the night air giggling and tipsy and walk back in hazy-eyed and stumbling.

Gareth was already stumbling.

“Shotgun!”

You wince at the rate Gareth falls out through the door, and peek over Grant and Jeff's shoulder as they watch him lay on the sidewalk arms spread and laughing.

Eddie steps out behind you as the others haul him up, pulling out a pack of smokes and offering you one.

“You don't have shotgun we're not animals. Jazz gets shotgun,” he says mumbling around the cigarette hanging from his mouth as he pats himself down.

“That's bullshit.” Gareth sways back a couple of steps taking Grant and Jeff with him and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“I really don't mind,” you say quickly, the gesture was nice but you've seen enough innocuous disagreements sour to risk it.

Eddie scoffs lighting his cigarette “You've been on your feet for what 12 hours?” you try to recall the morning which seems like a lifetime ago.

“14 hours?"

“14 hours? Christ. Yeah, you have shotgun.”

“No.”

You turn away catching the beginning of an objection but cut him off. “Gareth you're good I can sit in the back”

“Fucking aye” his face lights up and he lurches forward dragging Jeff with him, Grant joining you both to watch the pair sway away before you slowly follow.

“If he can't fucking hold his drink-” Eddie grumbles from beside you.

“Come on you remember being 21, give him a break.”

“Can you remember being 21?” Grant says chin lifted.

He leans into you conspirationaly “He's a massive lightweight.” you turn with a smirk to see Eddie glowering at his friend. “In his defence, he'd just graduated, took him long en-“

“No.” Eddie says sternly as you look between the pair, throwing Grant the keys who catches them easily in one hand.

“I'm not getting him in the van.” He gives him a warning look and Jeff and Grant groan.

The brick is cold enough to feel your jacket as you come to rest against the wall beside Eddie. Silently smoking as you watch them try to fit a squirming Gareth in through the door in the barely lit van, their voices bouncing around the empty street.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say breaking the silence, hugging yourself a little as the cool air clings to you.

He gives you a dismissive shake of his head. “Not letting you ride the bus home,”

“The 11.35 is a breeze, 3 am's when it gets interesting, extra sticky.” he frowns at you, dark shadows extenuating the lines of his face and you laugh “It's fine, like I said I've got mace and I know all the drivers by now.”

He hums unconvinced and takes a drag of his cigarette amber glow illuminating him for a second before he lets it hang from his mouth.

“Well consider us your Thursday night ride.” he opens his arms wide towards the rest of the band as they try to buckle Gareth in.

“I appreciate it really, but it going to be midnight at the earliest before I get off, I only managed this because Angie and Gus wanted to fuck on stage.”

He chokes on an inhale, a plume of smoke coming out as he looks at you wide-eyed, nose wrinkling.

“No.”

“Yep,” you ash your cigarette under your boot and lean away from the wall “Rule number 4 does not apply to the owners.”

You head to join the other two boys in watching Gareth's drooling face pressed up against the glass and feel Eddie come up behind you

“We got him in the van, you have to get him up the stairs,” Grant says walking away without a glance.

You chuckle to yourself and follow leaving Jeff and Eddie still softly frowning at their unconscious friend. Jeffs pats his arm nodding to himself as Gareth mutely stirs behind the glass, lips smacking.

“He's gonna puke in your van.”

****

The ride back to your apartment was filled with a mixture of laughter and you hanging on for dear life as Eddie navigated the streets, two emergency stops for Gareth to puke his guts up and ended with you running back to the van and making Eddie promise to lay him on his side.

You'd chewed Jay out the next night for serving him after you had told him to stop and worried the rest of the weekend as it went on in its usual orchestrated chaos. You slept Sunday away and by Tuesday, watching the boys play felt like a dream.

The boombox blares a new mix tape you'd made as ypu clear up ready to settle into the weekly wait to see if Bill shows, the small room humid and smelling strongly of detergent as the dishwasher cycle ends.

You don't hear the front door open or the greeting that's yelled out over the volume of the music, your singing distracts you from the body settling into Bill's chair.

The song changes and the start of ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ starts and you spin, volume of your voice rising as you pull open the dishwasher taking out glasses and putting them into a crate to the beat. Ready to be dried and polished still cloudy with heat, the chorus comes in and you yell it out as you round the corner.

“Hey,”

Eddie says with a smirk from his place on Bill's chair raising his hand in greeting, a bolt of adrenaline runs through you tingling your fingers making you screech. The crate slips from your hands and the glasses explode into shards which fly off in all directions.

“Oh shit” Eddie rises immediately rounding the bar quickly and you brandish a broom at him before he can make his way behind, slapping off the boom box.

“What are you doing here?! “You splutter confusion and panic creasing your features, your heartbeat still thudding in your ears.

His eyes are wide and he takes a step back.

“A. Are you not open? The signs on.”

You gape at him looking between him and the door “Yes but nobody.” the worry on his face, makes you hesitate and you lower the broom leaning it against the side so you can cover your face with your hands, taking a deep inhale.

“I didn't mean to scare you, I can help."

“No. No, it's my own fault.” you look around and grab the broom “shit”. This was going to cost you, Gus would let a couple of broken glasses slide but this was definitely coming out of your paycheck.

Glass crunches under your feet as you try to get the worst of it and he tentatively goes to sit back down.

“Not there.” he stops hovering over Bill's chair and you point to the stool next to it.

“Expecting someone.”

“Yes”

“Not me.” A small smirk pops one of his dimples and it aggrivates you how cute it is.

“What do you need Eddie.” You stress coming over to stand in front of him.

“Can't a guy get a drink.”

The joke doesn't land and he looks sheepish as you watch him pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper from his bag pushing it over to you.

“New set for this week.”

“New?” You say, tentatively taking it “Not just rearranged?

“Nope.”

You can feel him watching you as your eyes run over the list, and you can't help but smile at the slower songs at the start, a few sticking out as unfamiliar.

“Are these originals?”

“I mean yeah, we thought we could try some songs out early on, and play more familiar stuff later. If that's cool?”

“You a cover band?”

He scoffs “No.”

“Then it's fine.” you laugh “It looks great.”

The look on his face makes him look boyish as he smiles to himself tucking the paper back away and you resume cleaning.

“So. Could I still get that drink?”

You chat about the next gig and are filled in on Gareth's monumental hangover which lingered over two full days as he ripped the label from his bottle into small piles and he agrees to one more before he should probably get going.

“You know. Thursday wasn't the first time I've played here.”

“Yeah?” you say twisting the cap off his bottle and sliding the beer over to him “You played with a different band?”

“No, uh.” he spins the bottle before taking a sip “Just me. At the open mic.”

“What? When?”

He chuckles, tipping his head slowly from side to side curls swaying with the movement “Like March last year.”

You squint at him trying to find something you recognise and as he stares back at you eyebrows raised, you realise then what that familiarity had been in his eyes and instantly feel awful. “Eddie I'm sorry, there's been so many people I don't remember half the people who come in anymore unless they play every week and even then. “

He waves you off “It's good, it was a one time thing, I was kind of worried to come back to be honest. The crowd wasn't exactly enthusiastic.” he scrunches his nose and you sigh leaning to prop your head up on your hand.

“God those first few months were painful they all thought it was-.”

“Karaoke.”

You stand upright looking down to the Wasp tee he's wearing and back up, searching his face again you trying to find any kind of memory of him that's been lost.

That familiarity is there again flickering behind big Bambi eyes again as he looks at you with a tight smile.

Then it clicks.

“Oh my god!” you point at him. “Guthrie.”

He grins, teeth fully on show now and knocks his knuckles against the bar top.

“This machine slays dragons." astonishment that he's here, that's you'd forgotten him, he was one of the first people to make you feel like the night as a whole could work." Oh my god.”

He nods, laughing into his beer the sound of his exhale loud inside the glass.

The memory of him and his songs and chatting all come rushing back and then you pause, face falling slightly as your shock and enthusiasm dwindles a little.

“You never came back.”

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