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undead-supernova · 4 months

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High Tolerance

Part 1 / Part 2

Masterlist

warnings: weed consumption, sickly sweet pining

pairings: bestfriend!bisexual!modern!eddie x bisexual!fem!reader

plot: you and Eddie are besties and like to get high. and maybe you are yearning for one another. just maybe. juuuuust a little bit.

wc: 3.6k

I'm so proud of this, I hope people enjoy it!

Part 1: Strawberry Syrup

You and Eddie mirrored each other, your elbows resting on the glass counter as you rested your chins on one hand, listening intently to the clearly stoned woman talk about the promising high of the day.

The bottle she’d taken down from the shelf looked like a tiny juice box, with pink liquid sloshing inside and a green label with a cannabis leaf, because of course.

“Look,” she said, pointing at a thin layer of film at the top. “That thin layer right there? That's the THC.”

You looked over at Eddie, his expression matching yours in wonder at how products like these existed. He was nearly grinning, mouth twisted to the side in awe. She continued to explain the process to you—this was Delta-9 THC syrup. Strawberry flavored. Your instructions were clear: mix it into a drink, preferably soda, and have fun.

When the two of you emerged from the smoke shop, you took a sharp pivot across the street to the gas station to get sodas. The southern July heat was starting to show its unwelcome presence, beating hard on you within the two minutes it took to walk over to the Exxon.

Eddie never truly got the memo for the sun, even when you told him how hot it was going to be outside. He donned a black t-shirt with one of his friend’s band logos on the front and a simple silver chain around his neck. He still wore his leather jacket and navy jeans, denying how hot he was when you called him out for being sweaty.

“Woah! Rude!” Eddie exclaimed as you walked through the automatic doors, putting a hand on his chest. There was even sweat running down his knuckles from his rings. “I am perfectly content. Maybe I like a little sweat.”

You gestured to your own sweaty body, clad in a black crop top with red lining along the low bustline and black jeans. And you quickly realized that you were also wearing jeans in eighty degree weather.

“I’m afraid I made the same mistake and I am a hypocrite,” you empathized, catching him off guard. “My apologies.”

“Yeah, I guess you did, huh?” he said softly.

He glanced down at your outfit and you suddenly felt nervous at the exposure. You paused, realizing you’d both stopped walking. Holding his stare, you looked up at him with a slight smirk. Was Eddie checking you out? Did he really do that? And were you teasing him back? Was that what this was?

No. You were getting ahead of yourself. You were always making up shit like this.

You pivoted, skipping over to the refrigerated drinks, Eddie following in tow. “I’m excited to try this. I’ve seen it in there so many times, but I couldn’t figure out the right time to try it.”

“And you’d never do it without your bestest friend of all best friends, right?” Eddie asked, a playful smile settling on his lips as you flitted around him.

“That is correct.”

Eddie settled on a Sprite while you decided to grab a strawberries and cream Dr. Pepper—despite the sound of disgust leaving Eddie’s lips.

“That,” he pointed to your drink, “is nasty,” he said before dramatically shooing you away. “Get it away from my face. You've failed me, sweetheart.”

Letting out an exaggerated gasp, you replied, “Excuse me, but it’s already strawberry flavored. Wouldn’t that logically help it taste better?”

“No. Nope.” He pointed to the bottle again. “That is what’s killing the children. Dr. Pepper having a strawberries and cream flavor? We’re truly failing as a society.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his arm lightly and pointing towards the checkout counter. “Let’s get going. I wanna try it out.”

When you got into Eddie’s van, he quickly put your drinks in his half-broken cupholders. Your fault, three months ago. Talk about greening out when you kept trying to shove a drink in and repeatedly hit the plastic until half of it snapped off. The van was pretty clean today, surprising Eddie. He’d tried to clean it out the best he could this morning, getting up way too early to do so. Maybe it was to impress you. Who knew. He certainly didn’t. Not at all.

You twisted off the caps as Eddie pulled the strawberry syrup out of his pocket.

“Half for you, you sick fuck,” he said as he carefully poured the pink liquid into your Dr. Pepper. You let out a hearty laugh as he let the rest drip into his own. “Half for me.”

You put the caps back on your drinks before carefully mixing them together, teetering them back and forth to reduce the likelihood of an explosion. Eddie grinned at you and you couldn’t help but smile back, tapping his bottle with yours.

Before either of you could take your first sip, Eddie said, “Hey, don’t shotgun it.”

You feigned offense. “What? Me? Why would you dare accuse me of being so irresponsible?”

But you knew why. You knew precisely why. There was something about trying stuff with Eddie, from his fresh edibles to the slushies on tap at the hemp store, Jailbait Hemp. (The name was absolutely cringe worthy but you and Eddie swore it was the best place in the city.) Then there were the pre-rolls, the dabs, the potent gummies. You didn’t want to get Eddie started on how many chocolate bars you’d scarfed down before getting a stomach ache and needing to lie down and watch three movies. It wasn’t necessarily unlike you to get ahead of yourself, downing whatever was given to you immediately, especially ones with high doses. Just to see what would happen. Just to have the experience.

Eddie both loved and hated that about you. You’d never thrown up or done something stupid because of it, (other than the tragic cup holder incident), always a little quieter depending on the level of inebriation you were operating on. He loved it the most when the two of you got high in public, like today. Neither one of you were ever loud or obvious about it, usually giggling with one another in hushed whispers. It was actually quite nice.

But, most of all, he loved getting high with you in public because you held his hand. Anywhere you went, whether it be to walk around Hobby Lobby or taking in nature at a nearby park, you held onto him as tightly as you could. You’d told him once, in a haze of one of those blue raspberry Delta-9 slushies, that you felt safe by his side, knowing no one could hurt you when he was there. His mere presence left you feeling more relaxed than at any other point of the day. Even when you were sober.

He’d looked at you after you said that, stunned by your admission. You’d said it simply, as if it was just a well-known fact that he should’ve known already. Even when you’d looked away from him to gaze back out over the Chattahoochee River, surrounded by loud families and barking dogs, he couldn’t help but soften around the edges. Water had collected in his eyes, nearly slipping out and over his rosy cheeks. But he’d forced himself to look away, to fight the urge to confess that you made him feel the same way. (And then some.)

Eddie only hoped he’d see the day where you took his hand without the THC in your system.

“Yes, you, Weirdo.” Eddie shook his head. “Do you not remember when we made that beer cheese with that Delta-Whatever shit your sister got us for your birthday and then you took half of the cheese and—”

As he spoke, you quickly tipped the bottle into your mouth and began to chug.

Eddie said your name with an exasperated sigh. “You’re literally the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”

Unable to respond verbally, you winked at him and threw up a middle finger, letting the seamless mixture of Dr. Pepper and artificial strawberry flavoring slide down your throat. Usually there was an aftertaste of THC in different products. But you couldn’t even taste the syrup. It was like there was nothing else in the drink. Brilliant.

Eddie only shook his head with a smile, knocking back nearly half of his drink just to give in to your antics. Why not? It was a lazy Thursday, anyways.

This was one of those rare occasions when you and Eddie had the same day off of work. It usually happened once or twice a month, leading you both to take the opportunity to go by Jailbait Hemp, find something new to try, split the cost, and see what happens.

As the bottle left your lips with a small pop, you couldn’t help but let a loud burp ripple through the air, smiling proudly. Eddie squinted his eyes with a serious expression on his face, pretending to listen intently like he was interpreting art.

“That might’ve been my best one,” you admitted, your face a bit smug as you slammed the empty bottle back into the pitiful cup holder.

Eddie shrugged. “That was about a six, Weirdo.”

“A six?” you asked incredulously. “Are you joking? I don’t think I’ve ever reached that octave before.”

“Sweetheart, you forget that you have the world champion in front of you.”

“Prove it!” you exclaimed, leaning in and scrunching your nose at him. Taunting him further, you added, “You won’t.”

Eddie mirrored your expression, the two of you looking at each other like mischievous little kids. The kind of misbehavior that would get you sent to the office in middle school with a threat of suspension and mud smeared over your clothes like a 1st Place ribbon.

“Fine,” he said before beginning to down his Sprite. Before you could compliment him on his shotgunning abilities, his burp rang through the van, loud and deep, clearly ten times better than anything you could muster.

Even in your obvious defeat, you had to suppress a laugh, trying as hard as you could to continue the bit. “That was obviously a two,” you said. “They should’ve crowned someone else.”

Eddie swatted your arm and you did the same. “You’re an absolute menace, you know that? And a liar.” Before you could offer a witty retort, he said, “Now, come on. This’ll hit soon and I don’t wanna be driving when it does. We got shit to do.”

“What’re we doing at the aquarium?” you asked as Eddie pulled into the parking garage. There was a banner above it, fading from a penguin swimming in the ocean to three more resting on rocks. You’d always found it adorable, filling you with excitement.

“Uh, well, uh,” he stumbled as he stretched through his window and grabbed a parking voucher. “Yeah,” he continued as he set it on the console and drove through. “I just thought that the syrup would go well with the fish, you know? And it’s deserted right now, being Thursday and all. Also, don’t worry about a ticket. I got you covered.”

You gawked at him. As Eddie parked and reached for the seatbelt latch, you placed a hand on his shoulder. His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“Eddie, it’s, like, fifty dollars to get in. Let me get my own,” you pleaded. “Or we could go somewhere else. I know money’s tight for both of us as it is.”

Eddie shook his head, his smile beginning to falter. “You like to come at least once every summer,” he murmured, looking down to fiddle with the seatbelt still in place. “I wanted to do something nice for you, you know? You’re my best friend.”

Your heart ached a bit at the way he said “best friend.” It sounded removed, like a placeholder for something else, something more. He looked up to meet your eyes again and you felt some part of you wince as a wave of emotion bubbled inside your chest.

Because that was just the thing, wasn't it? He wasn’t just your best friend. He was the one you spent most of your time with, the person you swapped places with for a sleepover almost weekly. The person you went on mindless adventures with to explore Atlanta, window shopping all of the mansions out in Buckhead for when Eddie would become a rockstar and (jokingly) leave you a tiny guest house in the back.

The person who had remembered an insignificant detail about you and decided to give you a present.

All you wanted was to lean over, to lightly brush your lips over his, slowly leaving remnants of a soft Thank you. But you couldn’t. No matter how much you suspected Eddie’s affections, you couldn’t attempt to make a move.

So you opted to slowly headbutt his arm and get out of the car.

“You’re so weird,” he teased as you walked around the side of the van.

“So-rry that I’m showing my best friend affection,” you joked back. “We don’t always have to hate each other.”

Eddie snorted, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “Ah, yep. Definitely. We hate each other so fucking much.” He stopped suddenly. You raised an eyebrow as he turned to you, jumping into a fighter’s stance before waving an imaginary sword in your direction. “I am here to avenge my father’s death!” he exclaimed, mimicking a warrior’s bellow. “You will pay, scoundrel.”

You jumped into a similar position, moving your imaginary sword closer to his chest. He moved with you, as if to block your approach. “Thee foul fiend,” you started with a British accent. “I will vanquish thou and feed you to the dragons. Purge you in the fiery—uh—fires of the dungeon moats.”

Eddie couldn’t keep going, bursting into a fit of snorts. You broke too, your laughter making every passerby stare. He put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer as you walked.

“‘Fiery fires’?” he asked. “That has to be the funniest shit I’ve ever heard.”

You laughed at your ridiculous word choice. “Yeah, I don’t know, man. I panicked.”

“I think I’m starting to feel it because I seriously haven’t laughed that hard in a while.”

You could be wrong. That’s what you reasoned with yourself. You had a possibility of being wrong, so you did nothing. After that first time you accidentally held his hand on sheer impulse due to the half cup of Delta-8 beer cheese you chugged, you kept doing it. He thought it was funny. He also said it was cute. Something you did was cute to him. So, whenever you were inebriated, you disguised the action and made the most of it. He always let you hold it, let you cling to him wherever you went. He never even commented on it, just accepting it when you made the contact.

And you could’ve been wrong, but Eddie was looking at you like you were the most beautiful girl in the world and he was looking at your mouth and not your eyes and there was something verging on romantic about this moment.

But there was that chance, that tiny glimpse of doubt that led you to believe you were destined for the wrong timeline. The one where it wasn’t true. You were the delusional girl in the film that would never get the love interest at the end. The one left behind.

So you held his hand tighter and looked away.

You were like a little kid when you went to the aquarium, nearly running around to each pane of glass. Looking at the different plaques, you’d search for each individual species listed, tapping on the glass each time. And that hadn’t changed. You just so happened to be a little bit more amazed by the beauty of sea life from the high.

How wonderful it was to be surrounded by a different existence! Something that humans could never truly fathom living. They moved differently than us. They felt different. Saw colors differently. They even breathed differently. Life was much bigger than just you, despite it always feeling like you and Eddie were the only ones left in the world.

For some reason, Eddie seemed a little more reserved today. He wasn’t bouncing off the walls like you were. Instead, he took his time. He responded when you spoke, of course. When you asked if it was okay to run ahead, he promised it was. He’d always catch up with you eventually, pointing out fish you hadn’t spotted yet. But he always made the time to stand back with his hands in his pockets and stare, like he was just as captivated as you were, maybe just in a different way.

Eddie didn’t tell you that he’d put aside that $100 to use once he asked you out on a date. But he’d desperately wanted to see this look on your face, your slightly red eyes wide and your mouth hanging open in awe as you witnessed the beauty surrounding you. You were nearing the end of the moving tunnel, surrounded by fish on all sides. There were even a few divers waving at the glass. The blue lighting made you something to marvel at, the ebbing water spreading dappled light over you. He knew this look, the one where you were somewhere else, in a deep appreciation of the world around you. It was when you were keenly aware of the meaning of life. He’d know it anywhere.

And it was him you were holding through it all. For some astonishing reason, you’d let him in to witness the rawest emotions overcoming you. The ones that others couldn’t be privy to, wouldn’t be. When you turned to look at him with tears in your eyes, your lips stretched across your face.

You smiled that smile, the one that told him something was hiding there, like there were words written on your lips that couldn’t be shared. While everything else was his to know, this one smile was not on the list.

Because, every time you smiled like that, Eddie asked, “What? Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Like it was a challenge. Like he wanted to push you to say what you were thinking, even if it was just out of spite.

And you’d look away, waving your hand around, saying, “What? Nothing. I’m not looking at you like anything.”

And he’d respond, “Yeah, okay, sure.”

So, like every other time, Eddie asked, “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

But this time you shrugged, holding his eye contact. “I just, uh,” you stumbled, your smile only growing. “I just really love, um…”

Eddie’s eyes began to widen at the implication of something more, something brilliant. His back straightened, the haze of the high nearly intensifying the moment. Everything was perfect. This moment was perfect and this was going to be it. You were going to finally say something.

“I just really love what you did for me,” you finished. “I appreciate it a lot.”

And just like that, Eddie was cracking under the disappointment. The high settled back underneath his skin and dragged him down. Of course you didn’t say anything. Why would you? He’d only gotten his hopes up based off of a wild theory he had. One that he knew he’d made up just so he could live in some fantasy where you were together and in love. He just wanted to project how he felt onto you. It was as simple as that.

But he couldn’t help being disappointed by it.

He only hoped that you didn’t see him deflate.

“Yeah, sure,” he responded finally, turning to look back at the fish as you stepped off the moving track. “Don’t mention it.”

You didn’t drop his hand, but as he looked away from you to keep walking, nausea began to pool in your stomach. The tank was starting to slosh you around its current and you moving along with it was making it worse.

You immediately excused yourself to go find the bathroom. When you found it, you proceeded to throw up in the trash can. Luckily no one was in there, but you still felt awful. It was an utterly embarrassing feeling, knowing that you’d just thrown up in a public space because of sea sickness that you’d never had before today from being blasted on THC syrup. Oh, and you’d almost just told your best friend that you loved him. While holding his hand. While he was also blasted from THC syrup.

God dammit.

You didn’t mention throwing up to Eddie. In fact, you’d managed to collect yourself for the rest of the day, walking through the aquarium for another hour and a half before Eddie was sober enough to drive back to your apartment. You ended up cooking enchiladas and watching two movies (The Proposal and The Invisible) before Eddie was snoring next to you, stretched out across the couch with his legs in your lap. When you realized he was asleep, you quietly turned the TV off and moved his legs carefully to rest on the couch. You draped a blanket over him and lifted his head to make sure the pillow was positioned at the right angle so his neck wouldn’t ache in the morning.

And here you were, staring up at the ceiling and recounting the errors you’d made. How you’d almost confessed your undying love for him. How you spent the rest of the day inching towards him despite feeling humiliated. How you couldn’t help but lean further in as if he was the only one who could provide you comfort from fucking up so bad.

And when Eddie found you puking from the stress at four in the morning, you knew that this was bad. It was getting harder to keep it in. This was going to boil over and it was going to be soon.

Fuck.

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