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feverinfeveroutfic · 10 months

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like blood from a stone | chapter forty

(ao3 title: i think i lost my headache)

“Joey?”

I awoke to the sound of a man’s voice. A man. Someone who sounded so familiar that I was certain that my heart finally gave out on me and I had gone to heaven during the ceremony. Someone who sounded so familiar that I wanted to do something about it and make the blood congeal on the sand once I had my heart out in the open and on the metal table.

I opened my eyes a little bit to find a trio of blurred silhouettes off to the left of me. Their faces looked as though they had begun fading back into the background around us. I swore that I was dead, and I begun walking amongst a pathway that had no direction. It had no direction other than the impact of the blood of my own.

“Joey? Are you with us?”

I blinked my eyes a few times to ensure I wasn’t hallucinating at all. Their heads became a bit clearer as I raised my head from the surface of the pillow. I was expecting to hear the unmistakable sound of the heart monitor pounding, given if I wasn’t dead, then I found myself in the hospital instead.

The figure closest to me leaned in closer to me as if to check out my face. I made out the bell shape of its head as well as its smooth neck. The two behind it looked so dark, as if shrouded in shadow. They looked like demons, the three of them. I was surrounded by the three of them, all congregated there at the foot of my bed. I was certain that I was dead at that point, and I needed to shed the remainder of my blood from my poor body in the meantime.

Shed the blood to find the stone.

“Joey?”

I lifted my head from the pillow again for a better look at the three of them given the muscles in my neck were almost numb at that point. I hardly had the energy to stand up or even so much as lift a finger, so I just lay there on my back. But I let my eyes clear out all for me to look on at them there, and I wondered what had happened to bring me there, and if I lay on a bed or something else.

I blinked twice more and there was a line of peach fuzz under a long nose and mane of long smooth hair past the shoulders. Next to him, the shadows gave way to rich black curls and brownish skin, followed by the long smooth hair and bangs: those bright green eyes, as fresh as spearmint on a morning in Copenhagen—

“Where am I?” I asked them with a break in my voice, to which I cleared my throat.

“You’re on the couch,” Lars explained with a gentle stroke of my forehead so as to move my bangs off my skin. I blinked several times to clear some more out from my eyes. “You collapsed at the ceremony and Kirk and I took you to our place.”

“I called a nurse,” Kirk added.

“He called a nurse because neither of us felt comfortable taking you to the hospital,” Lars continued. “You just collapsed from the heat of the day and needed to be taken to the shade, anyway.”

“The nurse said you were going to be rather delirious once you woke up,” Kirk explained. “And boy, she wasn’t exaggerating.”

Indeed, it felt like my head was spinning like a top, and one that had found itself upon the base of my shoulders. I couldn’t explain as to where my mind had gone at that point. As far as I knew, the ceremony was finished as well: the dumb idiot that I was, who stood up when Chuck and Alex were about to exchange their vows to one another, and yet I managed to somehow mess that up by falling onto the ground and making every single one of them worry about me in the meantime, and things were completed at that point to boot. A part of me wished that I had died when I collapsed onto the grass so I wouldn’t have to think about that.

“Can you sit up?” Lars asked me.

Careful not to jar me and make my head spin more, Cliff extended an arm out to me to steady me. I shifted back atop the plush cushions towards the arm behind my head there. It wasn’t enough, but I could sit up in the corner between the cushion and the arm to look at them with my clearest eyes yet.

“Do you recall your name?” Lars asked me again.

“Joey. Joey Belladonna.”

“What’s my name?”

“Lars.”

“What about him?” He gestured to the black curls.

“Kirk.”

“And him?”

“Cliff.”

“Who just got married?” Kirk joined in.

“The two of you,” was all I could muster, and they gaped at each other as if I had something so controversial.

“Today, I mean,” he clarified with a devilish smirk on his diamond-shaped face.

“Chuck and Alex,” I said. “Why?”

“Just making sure,” Lars assured me. “When she said ‘delirious’, the three of us all thought it was going to affect your memory as well.”

“At least for the short term, Lars,” Kirk pointed out.

“The short term… sounds like someone’s been hanging out with James,” Lars teased him.

“Of course, I’ve been hanging out with him,” Kirk insisted. “Haven’t the three of us all hung out with him?”

“Not since he got a girlfriend,” Lars said with a shake of his head. “Plus, I mean, you remember the whole thing with him from a few months back.”

“What thing?”

“You don’t remember? It was when he said something like… the three of us are wasting our time on each other. Like how we feel about each other is nonsense.”

“What?” Cliff demanded right then with a turn of his head towards them.

“Yeah, when did this happen?” Kirk asked with a folding of his arms.

“A few months back!” Lars repeated. “He said it right in front of us, too. He basically said that we’re crazy for having the hots for each other, and that we’re merely choosing to be with each other rather than have it forced down upon us. I really, really hope he was referring to the royalty, too.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Cliff asked him.

“I told you,” Lars recalled.

“You did?”

“Yes! When we were out on the Boardwalk.”

Kirk frowned. “When did you guys go to the Boardwalk?” he asked them, puzzled, and I resisted the urge to speak up right then because I knew it would get Lars in a bunch of trouble.

“It was a while ago,” Lars explained. “Before our wedding.”

And I wondered how much truth there was to this as well.

“I don’t remember hearing you saying you were going to the Boardwalk,” Kirk recalled, and then he turned his attention over to Cliff. “I don’t recall you talking about it, either.”

A part of me wished that I was still in the car with Jeff and Larry because I knew they would have to know about this, what with all the secrets they were keeping for me and everything.

“Well, that was what we did, though,” Lars continued. “We traveled over to the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz just to have some fun together. We walked along the edge of the ocean and we got to talking. We got to talking about that in particular.”

He was definitely lying there. It seemed so strange to me, too, because Lars, like Alex, didn’t strike me as the type who lied on a habitual basis. But I could sense it: I could sense it in the way that Lars talked and I could sense it in the way that Cliff turned his head to the side as if he was staring off into space right then. I had to uncover the truth before my heart gave out, and I had within me, a tiny ray of hope that I had the time on my side to carry it out. I could do some digging while I stayed there in their house.

“But Cliff and I, we talked about James, and we both concluded that he is the one who never found himself a prince because he’s not one of us.”

“See, Testament and Anthrax, I get,” Kirk admitted with a wag of his finger, “being quintets, an odd number and everything. But us? Sounds like it’s undermining something there.”

“Undermining the royalty and for what reason?” Cliff wondered aloud: and yet, neither one of them made any glances over at me, as if they woke me up and left me there to lay out on my back before them as if I was part of the couch. I couldn’t help but think about the night before the wedding, and Lars and I were stuck in the bathroom together and we all made those confessions to each other.

If only there was a way to remind him.

“If only answers were that easy and simple to uncover,” Lars said; I could relate to that as well, especially with the sheer number of affairs going on at the moment between royal camps. “But I feel James is with a girl because he doesn’t think that the three of us are real with it all. We know in our hearts that that’s bullshit, but it’s definitely disconcerting. It’s definitely something worth discussing more with ourselves—”

“I want a new heart,” I interrupted him, and they all returned to me with dumbfounded looks on their faces. “I also want Chuck.”

They looked at one another, complete with sly twinkled in their eyes.

“We can probably get you the heart…” Kirk nibbled on his bottom lip, and his eyes wandered over to Cliff, who then nibbled on his bottom lip and waggled his eyebrows at me.

“I want Chuck,” I repeated. He nudged his hair back from the side of his face and moved in closer to my head: he moved in so close, as a matter of fact, that he completely obscured my view of Lars and Kirk. I could smell the faint odor of booze on his breath as well as the soft cologne all around his head and shoulders.

“You sure about that?” Cliff whispered into my lips.

“Positive.” He pressed his lips onto mine, the lightest, softest touch which resembled the feeling of feathers on my skin, such that it sent a shiver down my spine to the base of my hips and along the insides of my legs. He held back and showed me a mischievous little grin.

“You still sure about that?” he asked me again.

I pursed my lips at him. I didn’t want to admit that the kiss felt good on my lips, but I also didn’t want to admit to him that I wanted Chuck for myself. My heart still pounded in my chest from the feeling of being out like a light, but also from the feeling of his lips there. My mind fell blank as I strove to find the right words for him right then.

“Just as I thought,” he said, smug.

“I never said anything, though,” I pointed out.

“Silence is golden, Joey,” he noted.

“But—”

“Nope.” Cliff licked his lips and shook his head from side to side at me. I watched him step away from there and into the rest of the house. I turned my attention to Kirk and Lars, both of whom looked on at me with their eyes wide and their lips slightly parted as if they didn’t know what to believe right then.

And I didn’t, either.

I still had no strength to stand up or do anything, and thus, I lay there on my back with my head on the pillow. Kirk reached up to feel my forehead with the inside of his wrist.

“I’m not hot,” I assured him.

“Just making sure,” he replied. “She also told us that you could come to the reception if you want to.”

“I kind of don’t want to be alone, though,” I said.

“What?” They glanced at each other, confused.

“I don’t want to be alone, though,” I insisted.

“He just said that you could join us at the reception if you wanted to, Joey,” Lars clarified. “Nothing about going there and leaving you alone here.”

I reached up to rub my eyes. I had no idea what I was thinking, other than I wanted a new heart and a whole lotta love from Chuck, whenever I got it—if ever I got it again.

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dogboy-mustaine · 2 years

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shared brain cells

#and people wonder how james & lars have been married for 40 years #why they both pointed at little stache lars is beyond me #but it’s cute #that pic of scarf kirk is a favorite as well #jaymz #lars ulrich #kirk hammett #cliff burton #metallica #my screenies

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heavenknowsffs · 1 year

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IMPORTANT

My new baby 😭❤️

#cannot tell you how long i've wanted a metallica album on vinil #since wayyyy long i started collecting #and i wanted it to be my 1st but they are so damn expensive lmao #was actually going to pre order the new one bc there's a promo with a shirt too in a pt store #but i thought the promo was 32€ but that's for the CD not the vinyl 😭 the vinyl is 40 something #it's still a good promo bc you get a shirt and the album is cheaper too but yeah couldn't do that #so i got this one instead bc it was 33€ ✌🏼#metallica

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dudefrommywesterns · 1 year

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i'm starting to understand how my parents don't know popular songs from the 90s/00s.

#i no longer know what the top 40 is #except during christmas when they play my favorites #we all chose artists we like and only stumble on new ones on accident #I've been listening to mainly golden oldies #and my dad listens to the same metallica and marilyn manson songs #and my mom's liked queen since she was born almost #and country #but nothing past 2005 maybe #typewriter dings

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theromanceofaffliction · 2 years

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i wonder what upset the tiktok kids about metallica. was it the alcoholica era (endorsing/promoting addiction)? was it james's anger management issues + crypto-neoliberalism + passion for hunting (actually something you can have an opinion on and find fault with)? was it lars and the napster situation (also valid)? was it the jason lore (messy until you see what he's said about it recently)? im so intrigued

#see the thing about a band being 40 years old is there's a lot of shit u can find out about them.#and not all of it is good.#ive always been perturbed by james's politics or his like reticence to discuss them. but then im also like #the amount of people that band has inspired is crazy. and if this IS indeed about politics #then we should also recognize how massive their reach as a band is and how many left leaning artists theyve inspired #the thing about metallica is when it comes to metal music they are basically just like. Oxygen #in the sense that they are everywhere and u cant really escape them and they have an extremely diverse fanbase #idk what im sayin. but i do think it's funny that people expected metallica to be squeaky clean #when they're like literally one of the biggest rock bands ever AND were at their peak in the 80s #like.......did u guys not know the 80s was like that

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oh2e · 1 year

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My favourite thing is when I think about people or characters who are metalheads and my immediate impression is scary and heavy music that’s shocking etc. As if my favourite songs aren’t mostly hard rock and glam metal. Like child. You are one of them.

#this comes to you from a post about eddie munson that mentioned bands he probably would and wouldn’t have listened to and I was forced to #realise that I listen to and enjoy quite a few of them (mostly on the less heavy side but not always)#my own post #I picked out a black sabbath song from the radio. I only know one song by them and it wasn’t the one playing #I went ‘is this ac/dc?’ yesterday and it was #what genre did I think METALlica was?? I had this thought again while listening to alice cooper #one of my favourite instrumental tracks is titled Heavy Metal #I am wearing an early bmth hoodie as we speak #I keep getting all the musician fbi name gags off spn that go over my friend’s head #I don’t even listen to judas priest or led zeppelin! why do I know their names #the only concert I can say for certain I know my mother went to was the donnington festival which is (wait for it) hard rock & heavy metal #my coworker (40) keeps asking me about current pop music and it’s like. marius. I do not listen to pop #unbeknownst to me apparently I do however have a large amount of 80s rock & metal knowledge if that helps

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frasercolumbia · 2 years

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the urge to make an irreconcilable purchase

#metallica first 40 commerative album plaque…..#the signed version is literally $2000+ cad 😭😭😭#but i have the means though so maybe if i just……#it’s irresponsible. naturally. but wouldnt it be worth it?

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psychic-pigeons · 2 years

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Pretty sure that nowadays Metallica only makes music to sell more shirts

#at a festival and both merch. booths are 40% metallica #at least its not storming when theyre playing today lol #talk #Pinkpop

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thefreakandthehair · 1 year

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not inspired by my fiance for once, but by a friend! this is the meme referenced. just a little funny sorta-crack future ficlet. enjoy!

"Steve... what the fuck is this?" Eddie doesn't even let Steve set his work bags down before he's shoving his phone in his face, the meme Steve sent him earlier glaring up at him.

“A meme? Was that not clear?" Steve smirks and drops his bags, his shoulder brushing Eddie's as he scoots past him.

One of his students had managed to work the class into such an uproar over that exact meme, shouting various band names and excitedly discussing their choices, that Steve had given up and joined them. It’s the end of the school year anyways, and even his administration understands that the last week of school is all about survival. That’s how he ended up with a photo of a Create Your Dream Concert Lineup For $100 meme, and that’s how Eddie ended up spiraling into an existential crisis about it.

“But the numbers don’t add up!” Eddie complains, following Steve into the kitchen with his phone still open, the offending screenshot still unchanged despite how many times he’s looked at it. “With the price of each band, I’d have to choose between Metallica, Ozzy, and Iron Maiden.”

Steve scoffs and shakes his head as he grabs a water bottle from the fridge, shutting it with his hip and leaning back against the counter. “That’s right. $100 budget, so one has to go.”

Eddie stares at him, insulted and slack-jawed at the suggestion. “That’s not possible. I’ll just steal from you to round out the cost.”

“No can do, Munson. I already spent mine.” He winks and sips his water, watching Eddie’s eyebrows furrow.

“The fuck you did, these are all metal and hard rock. I don’t see Springsteen anywhere on this list, and I’ve stared at it a lot.” He waves his phone for emphasis.

Steve has, in fact, chosen his line up, probed and prodded by his students last period. Some of the bands he recognizes from his decades of partnership with Eddie, others he’s come to know on his own or from students. So sure, he has a line up, and if he spent a bit too much time thinking about how to get Eddie worked up about it, well, that’s between him and his phone.

He holds up three fingers on the hand not covered in condensation and ticks them off one by one.

“Ozzy, $40”

Eddie gasps.

“Slayer, $20.”

“Steve, what—”

“Queen, $40.”

Eddie blinks once, twice, before he sets his phone down and closes the distance, holds Steve’s face with both hands on either side, and tugs him in for a ridiculous, dramatic kiss. Steve laughs against his lips and pulls back, letting go with a loud mwah.

“I have to say, Harrington,” Eddie starts, his hands still firmly in place. “Other than our wedding, and maybe that one pick up basketball game I went to, this is the hottest you’ve been.”

Steve can’t help but to preen a bit, proud that his plan has worked— that Eddie’s proud, that Eddie’s looking at him with that fond smile and warm eyes over something so silly after all of these years.

“Oh really?”

“Hell yeah, sweetheart. I mean, Ozzy? Queen? Slayer? Talk metal to me.”

Eddie tugs him closer, wrapping both arms tightly around Steve’s waist and pressing their lips together again, this time with more heat, more urgency. Steve lets himself sink into it for a moment or two before he breaks the kiss, his own lips red and shiny.

“Metallica.”

“Steve, you’re killing me.”

“Megadeath.”

“How do you—”

Steve grins and leans closer, whispering into his ear. “Pantera. But only if it’s before Dimebag’a death.”

Eddie laughs and pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth. “You little shit, all these years I thought you were tuning me out and here you are, weaponizing it against me.” If they were still just dating, still in those early stages of their relationship, he’d be embarrassed at the way his pants tighten. But it’s not, and he’s not. “Wanna?” He nods towards the stairs, the ones that lead to the privacy of thier bedroom.

“Oh, not yet. No.” Steve almost laughs at Eddie’s confused head tilt. “You’ve gotta make your line up first.”

Eddie steps back, his hand over his heart and mouth ajar. “You— oh, for fucks sake. Alright, give me a few minutes.”

Turns out, Eddie can choose between Metallica, Iron Maiden, and Ozzy pretty quickly when the stakes include sex with his husband.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #st ficlet #st fic #myblurbs #me and one of my friends have been talking about this meme for a solid week so here ya go

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metalloverr · 26 days

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On this day, April 1, 41 years ago, Kirk Hammett officially joined Metallica as a guitar solo player!

(As some say: April Fool's joke lasted for 40 years)

#spotify #80s #new post #80s metal #metal #metal music #80s thrash #heavy metal #trash metal #metallica #kirk hammett #james hetfield #lars ulrich #cliff burton #kill em all #ride the lightning #master of puppets

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carolmunson · 10 months

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we better make a start (older!modern!eddie)

continuation of orange colored skyorange colored sky setlist

inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i go to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series. tw: outside of an age gap, not much. super fluffy it borders on gross. eddie is in his late 30s/early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s. music inspo: everywhere - fleetwood mac

Wednesdays at two… You wished you’d met this guy in the fall when you still felt cute getting off the train. It was like being in a sous vide every time you got on and off, walking back out into the hot sun of the city. Would your hair frizz? Was your makeup melting? You were at least smart enough to wear bike shorts under your skirt to avoid the rubbing of your thighs – hopefully he wouldn’t notice. Your feet hurt in your 90s looking wicker sandals but at a passing glance in a store window you figure you don’t look half bad. You look infinitely better than when he first saw you in your ‘errands ugly’ clothes. Maybe he’d even think you look cute. Y’know – if he’s even there. Why’re you meeting up with some random stranger anyway? A sick flare of nervous embarrassment slides through your chest like a snake – this is stupid. He probably forgot about it. Whatever, you wanted to pick up a couple things anyway – it’s totally fine – this isn’t weird at all – and if he’s not there? It doesn’t matter. Who cares? You’ll be fine. You’ll go home and sift through a never ending collection of left swipes and ‘haha not much, just chillin naked. wbu?’ messages on whatever dating app you feel like opening that day.

A block and an escalator later, you’re in the depths of the shopping center where Trader’s is. You swallow the sick creeping up in your belly — this is so stupid — but it doesn’t take long for you to spot him at a small table near the coffee stand across from the store. His hair sits in a low bun this time, most of his wavy curls spilling over and framing his face. He looks nice, black tee shirt that he might’ve pressed, smarter looking black chinos with a belt he likely got at a vintage store. The silver buckle looks pretty and polished, shining like the rings on his fingers and the rim of the wire glasses he had perched on his nose. He’s typing away on a laptop, black iced coffee melting next to it that he occasionally reaches to sip.

“Um…You’re Eddie, right?” you stammer out as you walk toward the table. He looks up from his laptop, the glow of this screen reflecting back in his glasses. He stops to look you over, straw still in his mouth.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he grins, a breath of relief puffing out of his nose, “Didn’t actually think you were gonna show up — was sort of a shot in the dark.” He stands up, hand outstretched for yours to shake, “I never caught your name.”

You take it, his handshake is firm and you can make out some of the tattoos on his fingers and hands. You introduce yourself and he mumbles a ‘nice to meet you’, your name sounds nice coming out of his mouth. “This feels like a business meeting,” you laugh, “Like I’m here for an interview.” He laughs back, “I did just come here from a meeting so I might still be in work mode, sorry.” He takes off his glasses, hanging them off the collar of his shirt. He packs up his bag, a well worn Jansport backpack covered in patches like the vest he had on the last time you saw him. You could tell it was old since there was a patch right at the center that read ‘METALLICA 1997 - Poor Touring Me’. A few other concert patches with ranging dates, 2003, 2009, 1998 littered the black canvas, you smile at it.

“1997?” you ask, “Metallica concert at what – nine? Your parents were cool with that?”

He looks down at it and his cheeks go pink, letting a breath puff out of his lips that makes them push out and motorboat, “What year were you born?” “‘92,” you answer, “Why?”

“Jesus,” he mumbles, rubbing his face with a tight smile, “You’re a young thing, aren’t you?”

“How old were you in ‘97?” you ask while you both make it through the double doors of the grocery store. He grabs a basket and raises his brows with another big breath. “Seventeen,” he says, “Got this backpack two days before that show actually.” “You still have it?” you ask, trying to do the math in your head of how old he is and how long he’s had it. “Jansport has a lifetime warranty,” Eddie smirks, “I’ve been putting it to good use.” “So why’re you back here,” you ask, following him to the back aisle where the bread is, “You just went food shopping a few days ago.” “I went for my neighbor,” he explains, grabbing two baguettes, “He fractured his foot and hasn’t been able to get up and down the stairs. Been running errands for ‘im in the meantime.” “Oh,” you smile, “That’s nice of you.” “Thanks,” he says, “You like bruschetta?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he starts, “I didn’t really think that Trader Joe’s was an ideal date so I thought I could ask you out here and also get some stuff for it ahead of time.” “Oh,” you repeat, heat creeping up on your cheeks, “What did you have in mind?”

“Well if you’re free tomorrow afternoon…” he begins, but gets sidetracked. He sneaks behind you to grab some yogurt covered pretzels, “I saw you grab these the other day and got some too, they’re fuckin’ delicious.”

The spicy suede scent he had last time is replaced with a bright citrusy cedar, it matches his overall disposition. Your mouth waters when you inhale.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” he starts again, “If you’re free tomorrow afternoon, I’d love to treat you to a little something cute in the park. It’s supposed to be not so swampy.” “Like a picnic?” you ask with a hint of a tease. “Yeah,” he says, a glow of pink perking up on his ears hidden by his hair, “Something like that. If you’re into that – like – if you even want to go on a date with me.” “I showed up here. I feel like that’s answer enough, right?” “Right, right.” The conversation quiets while he tosses a few more things in his basket. “So what was your meeting for?” you ask, watching him look over the cold cuts and cured meats in the open refrigerated section. He was one of those, a ‘stand-and-starer’ instead of just knowing what to get. You try not to grind your teeth. “Oh, new client meeting,” he says, like you know exactly what he’s referencing.

“For what? If you don’t mind me asking.” He reaches for a package of salami and prosciutto before turning to you, “Do you eat meat?” You nod while he continues to pick up and compare products, “New client for my side gig.” “Which,” he says, tossing his selections in the basket, “If you can believe it, pays a shit ton more than my main gig.” “What’s your big money side gig?” you laugh, following him to the next aisle. “I’m a web developer,” he says, squatting down to look at granola. He hopes you don’t hear the way his knees crack, the way his face winces at the slight tightness in his joints. In Eddie’s defense, he didn’t get a chance to stretch this morning – normally he’s much more limber – he promises. “Like making websites and stuff?” you squat next to him, your own knees cracking. You hope he doesn’t hear it. “Just like that,” he says. He reaches in front of you, grabbing your arm to steady you as you wobble to move out of his way. His grip is gentle but firm, the spots beneath his fingertips buzzing with electricity, “Careful there, sugar.” A smile spreads deep across your face while your eyes make friends with the floor under you, both of you rising back to your feet. His keys jingle on the same carabiner from before, clinking against a silver chain that you’re pretty sure connects to a wallet in his back pocket. He has Nike Killshots on today, the white with a black check instead of the navy. Everyone and their father has the white and navy. “Do you like it?” you ask, holding in a giggle while he grunts getting up. “Writing code and doing graphic design? Sure,” he shrugs, “Got into it really ahead of the game. You were probably still in grade school.” You roll your eyes and he snickers, “But mostly, I make websites for trust fund kids who use daddy’s money to start new businesses. So it’s sort of like my side gig is uh…” “Exploiting the rich?” you grin, he grins too, “Super punk.” He shakes his head while you both walk out into the produce section, “No, no, super metal.”

“What’s your main gig?” “Oh, come on – don’t break my heart,” Eddie’s dramatic flare shines through when he leans up against the flat edge of the pillar holding up the bananas. He holds his free hand to his chest, looking at you with a faux forlorn face that makes his brown eyes shine. Now that you’re really taking stock, you see the thin silver hoop hugging his right nostril – something about it makes your heart thump harder in your chest. “The tattoos don’t give it away, huh?” he asks, passing the basket to the other arm, both biceps flexing against the well tailored t-shirt’s sleeves.

“A tattoo artist?” you wager a guess with a grimace and half shrug. “No,” he says, the word covered in a soft laugh, “But I’ve been in my artist's shop enough that I might as well get paid to be there.” “I can see that,” you nod, pulling a bunch of bananas from behind him and cradling them in your arm, “So what is it then?” “C’mon, it’s obvious,” he smiles, “I’m a rockstar.”

“Are you?” you ask, your laugh bubbles out of you and it makes the back of his neck get hot. You’re too pretty to be flirting with him in Trader Joe’s but he can’t stop trying to make you laugh and smile.

“Well,” he shrugs, kicking off the wall, “Sort of.” “Sort of a rockstar?” your brow lifts while you scan some of the fruits, hand reaching down to a display in front of you, “If you’re doing food food, how about I do dessert?”

“Peaches, huh?” he asks with a smirk, wrinkling his nose, “A little messy, don’tcha think?”

“They’re nectarines,” you correct, putting a few in one of the produce bags, “They’re not the same.”

“Hm,” he shrugs, letting his finger trail over the smooth waxy skin of one of the nectarines in the display, “Whatever you say, Peach.” “Pfft,” you shake your head the same way he did to you, tying off the bag while you try to ignore how the butterflies in your stomach multiply at him calling you Peach. “So if you’re doing dessert that means you’re free tomorrow, then?” he raises his brows, waiting for your answer while you both walk to the checkout line, “You never said if you were.” “Yes I did,” you protest. His tattooed hand reaches out for the nectarines and bunch of bananas you’re holding. You look down at them and then back up at him, Eddie gives you a look, encouraging you to hand them over.

“No, you said you’d go on a date with me – gimme these, I got ‘em–” he beckons you with his hand to take them until you relent, putting them both in his basket, “And trust me, I’m glad you’re down to go on a date with me. But I just wanna make sure you’re around tomorrow so I know to turn on my charm in the morning.”

“Oh, it’s not on right now?” you flirt. Eddie’s smile gets boyish and shy, tucking a loose salt and pepper collection of strands behind his ear. He’s too blushy to respond, thankful that the Trader Joe’s worker directs you both for the next cashier. He hands you your bananas and nectarines and you plop them into your canvas bag while he finishes up, walking together out of the double doors.

“Um, could I - uh – damn why am I so nervous to ask you this? What am I, sixteen?” he thinks out loud to himself, furrowing his brow at his own ridiculousness, “Fuck, could I um – get your number?”

“You already asked me on a date and you’re nervous to get my number?” you tease, “For real?”

“Long story, I’ll tell you one day,” he says, handing you his phone. He tucks in his lips while you take it, watching eagerly while you put in your information. You save it under ‘Peach 🍑’ with your real name in the second line.

“Oh what, did it happen all the way back in the 70s or something? Hard to remember?” Your mean girl tone of voice has a hold on him that thrums in his chest.

“So you’re one of those girls, huh?” he releases his lips, tip of his tongue pressing against one of his canines, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He takes his phone back when you offer it to him, taking a quick second to shoot you a text that just says ‘eddie m.’ Your phone dings in your hand, going to save his number while he watches.

“M’gonna put it in as ‘Sort of Rockstar’,” you giggle to yourself. “Please don’t.” “Too late.”

You drop your phone into your canvas bag, giving him a final once over. He does the same and his stare almost makes you nervous with the way his brown eyes soften when they find your face. Not one for awkward silence you reach your hand out like he did when you met outside of the store. “Pleasure doing business with you, Eddie,” you say, a lightness to your voice that has him swooning. His hand takes yours, big and slightly rough, calloused fingertips slightly brushing your wrist. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says, giving you a firm shake, “Same time tomorrow? At the park?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll um, I’ll text you. I’ll drop a pin,” he offers.

You’re both quiet for a moment, anxious with anticipation for tomorrow – for a real date. You say your goodbyes, your ‘see you tomorrows’. Only to both start walking the same direction towards Target.

“Oh,” you laugh, “Are you going to Target, too?”

He laughs back, slightly hoarse and rough, smokey sounding, “I am. Should I wait a little? Don’t wanna cramp your style or anything. I know we just said goodbye.”

“No, no, we can go together,” you smile, big and bright, “We can both decide on what I’m making for dessert.”

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #older!eddie #older!eddie munson #modern!eddie #modern!eddie munson #stranger things

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bettyfrommars · 3 months

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Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

Part 3: Crimson and Clover

Eddie x fem!Reader & Steve x older!OC

masterlist playlist

18+MDNI, not too many warnings for this part just mention of losing a parent, hint to an abusive relationship, alcohol consumption, tons of awkward flirting, eventual smut, but very much a slow burn. Steve is in his mid-late 20's, aunt Kim is mid 30's to early 40's, or whatever age you are, dear reader.

wc: 4.5k

Summary: Hello! We're getting to know a bit more about the character dynamics, listening to some of Eddie's thoughts, and catching a glimpse at a third possible romance on the horizon. Preparing us for the wild ride that starts in the next chapter.

Songs for this chapter: Under the Milky Way/The Church Edge of a Broken Heart/Vixen Seek and Destroy/Metallica

The shores of the resort were thick the next day with people who worshiped the sun, playfully kicking at the water in their bathing suits, stretched out in their lounge chairs, glistening in layers of Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil.

You, on the other hand, were still fully clothed, covered in SPF, under one of the big umbrella’s the resort offered with your headphones on to drown out the sound of the screaming children. Your dad was in the shade next to you, absorbed in a book, while aunt Kim caught some rays on her backside in a black one-piece that was high at the hip, flipping through an issue of People magazine. It was the Summer of Love issue celebrating the 1960’s with the Beatles on the front and the quote: “It’s 20 years later, do you know where your love beads are?”

“Don’t you want to get in the water, Bird?” Your aunt cooed politely, adjusting her big sunglasses on her face.

You shook your head, pulling your headphones down. “I think I’ve developed a phobia of public watering holes.”

“Suit yourself,” she sat up and brushed herself off. “I think I’ll take a quick dip.”

“Watch out for sharks,” you quipped, earning the weight of a magazine being thrown at your hip.

“This has been enough excitement for me,” your dad cleared his throat, placing a bookmark to save his spot, standing from his chair, knees popping. “I think I’ll head in, get some writing done before dinner.”

“Later dad,” you mumbled, wishing you had an excuse to hide in a room by yourself all day.

Once he was gone, Kim took a drink out of her water bottle and heaved a sigh. “I wish the two of you would give this place a chance. Look at that lake!” She stretched her arm out, pointing. “It’s breathtaking.”

You gazed out at the expanse of the cheery, vacation scene, bursting with melancholy. “Mom would’ve loved this place,” you choked on the last word, not sure where that fresh pang of emotion had come from.

Kim chewed the inside of her cheek, equally adrift in reverie, when a body stepped up to block the sun, putting her in its shadow. “I was hoping I’d run into you again.”

The body belonged to Steve, and he was shirtless, in a pair of navy-blue Staff swim trunks, short and slightly snug against his hairy thighs, and flip flops. His lips were glossy, and even though he wore sunglasses, he had to shield his face with his hand, squinting against the sun so hard that his top lip curled.

Kim tried to speak so fast she coughed, wondering if she looked too frumpy in the suit she had on. What was she thinking? He had to be a good 10 years younger than her, no way he was interested in—

“Kim, right?” He aimed a finger gun at her, but then he struggled a bit with your name, snapping his fingers to ignite recollection.

“And you’re Steve,” Kim's eyes couldn’t help but land on the silver chain nestled in his ample chest hair. “Did you, um, are you working on your tan?”

It took him a second to catch what she was referring to, and then he smirked, pulling a crumpled polo from his back pocket. “I jumped in to cover lifeguard duty for a buddy of mine,” and then he shifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and so did she. “If you ever need a swimming lesson, I’m your guy.”

“You’re a swim instructor too?” Kim asked, impressed. Steve put his hands on his hips, accentuating broad shoulder muscles.

“Nah,” he shrugged, tucking his chin. “But I’d do my best.”

You dropped your gaze to the sketchbook you’d been doodling in, trying to pretend like you weren’t listening. From the headphones around your neck, the song Under the Milky Way by The Church played and a handful of kids ran by you giggling, dusting sand onto your blanket.

Steve wished you a good afternoon just before he excused himself, seemingly headed back to the pool area. You thought he’d been on his way somewhere else, but you were mistaken.

“I think he likes you,” you swirled a few doodles, raising an eyebrow.

“Noooo,” Kim gave a long protest, adjusting the straps of her bathing suit. “He works here, it’s his job to be friendly.

“Yeah? Is it his job to keep checking over his shoulder at you as he walks away?”

Kim peeked just as the man in question tripped over his own feet. Regaining his balance, he waved and said, “I’m okay,” and then proceeded to put his shirt back on as he approached the lifeguard station.

It was your turn to stiffen and feel tingly all over when you spotted Eddie strolling down the sidewalk from the main house, wearing a tool belt loose at his hips to accompany his denim and staff shirt attire.

From the way he knocked that Lance guy out with one punch the other night, you wondered if his hand hurt. Adjusting yourself, you wet your lips, as if he’d spot you or something, which was impossible from that distance. He cut in front of the fenced pool area, heading for the outdoor bar that had a thatched roof like you’d see at a tropical beach. For the first time that day, you noticed that Chrissy was working the area, carting fancy drinks around to the guests at the pool. Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she turned from what she was doing to talk to him.

She dipped her chin a few times in answer to whatever questions he was asking, and then he squeezed her arm affectionately before taking off again.

“Do you want anything from the bar?” You got to your feet, dropping your Walkman to the towel.

Kim cocked her head, considering the question. “Is it too early for alcohol?”

Eddie was back on the path, his back to you as he got further away, but your attention was on Chrissy mixing cocktails in a metal shaker.

“I can see if they have mimosas?” You weren’t thirsty, really, but you were curious.

Kim decided on a bloody mary and asked you to put it on her tab, slipping you a few bucks for a tip.

The smile Chrissy gave you as you approached was polite, but it did not reach her eyes. “What can I get for ya?”

You told her, fumbling over your words a bit, and then waited on one of the five stools for her to make your drinks. She scooped ice into a Styrofoam cup and tossed in a jigger of alcohol. You noticed a gold, heart shaped locket around her neck with something engraved on the front.

“Is it true you used to play with Vixen?” You asked, in awe.

Chrissy’s face fell and she paused to stare at you. “Who told you that?”

“Oh, um, Joyce, she, well—sounded like she was proud of you.”

Chrissy went back to work. “That was a long time ago, back when life was good.”

“It’s not good now?” You were intruding, and you knew it, but still, you couldn’t help yourself.

Chrissy scoffed. “You could say that. Lemon in your tea?”

You nodded, wondering if there was anything you could say or do to cheer her up.

“How long have you and Eddie been together?”

She frowned down at what she was doing. “Eddie’s not my boyfriend,” she corrected. “He’s like a brother to me. Known him since I was a kid.”

“Oh I see,” you pressed your lips together, trying not to appear relieved at that news.

There was a lull of silence as she finished up and you felt compelled to fill it. “I saw you play with the house band last night. I think you’re really talented.”

You could hear the click of her molars gnashing together when she placed both drinks in front of you. “Playing lame cover songs for a no-name house band is the best I can do with my life right now. Music is the only thing I’ve ever cared about.”

You used some of your own cash to give her an even bigger tip and scooped up your drinks.

“Hey, wait,” Chrissy called after you. She rubbed her forehead and tried to smile. “Listen, I’m sorry that I’m, that I’m being such a bitch,” she shrugged. “It’s been a shit couple days.”

You shook your head, cold drinks sweating in your hands, about to tell her that you understood, but the two of you were interrupted.

“Bird, there you are,” you froze at the sound of Troy’s voice. “Glad to see you’re enjoying the amenities.”

Troy had a green and white tennis outfit on with a racket in his hand, and you caught the way Chrissy tensed and quickly turned away at his entrance. She folded the tip you’d left and put it in the front pocket of her apron. He came up close to you—too close, invading your bubble—and so you shuffled back, bumping into one of the stools.

“The staff is treating you well, I hope?” He leaned against the tiki bar, and it was not lost on you that Chrissy pretended to be so busy she didn’t notice him.

“Just about to bring this to my aunt,” you lifted the red drink with the celery stick sticking out of it. You glanced at Chrissy, but she went to the other side of the bar to help someone else. “The service here is impeccable,” you said, loud enough for her to hear.

You headed out and he kept up, sticking by your side. “I’ll walk with you,” he winked.

“Great,” your smile was a tight, thin line.

—-------

Eddie bent at the waist to sip from the stone drinking fountain near one of the utility sheds and splashed water on his face a few times, combing wet fingers through his hair so that his bangs were off his forehead. He worked the cool water around the back of his neck, wondering if he had a sunburn. He loved Indiana for the fall colors and the long winters, but the summer? The summer heat could go fuck itself.

Water was still dripping from his chin and nose when Steve walked up, sunlight through the leaves making patterns on his face.

“Did Robin mention we need to borrow your van tomorrow night?” Steve bent down to take a sip from the fountain after he asked it.

Eddie pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face, exposing his stomach and trail of hair from his belly button to his waistband. “As long as you don’t bring it back on empty. What’s wrong with your car?”

“We need to pick up a bunch of Robin’s stuff from her ex’s house,” Steve raised his brows high, locking them in place. “Girl is a bit of a psycho, I don’t want Robbie to go alone.

Over Steve’s shoulder, he caught sight of you making your way back to the umbrella with Troy by your side and he hoped that you were smart enough to know that guy was a piece of shit.

“I work late tomorrow, but I’ll help you unload when you get back,” the tip of Eddie’s tongue rested at the corner of his mouth, eyes darting to you again. You weren’t some goddess from the cover of a hotrod magazine, or one of the metal babes who always tried to go down on him when he used to play shows with his old band, but yet, without knowing anything about you, the sight of you made his heart jump into his throat.

“Nah, we got it,” Steve talked as the two started walking. “It’s just a mattress and a chair and some clothes I think. I told her just to let them go, but it's the principle I suppose.”

“I get it man, believe me,” Eddie once drove three states just to get a rare Scorpions concert tee back from an ex who stomped his heart.

“Hey,” Eddie caught Steve before he headed off in the other direction. “Jam at the Hideout tonight?”

They bumped fists. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

—-------

The movie Casablanca was the offering at the outdoor theater that night, and respective families cuddled on the lawn on their various blankets and camp chairs under cover of generous tree branches. Halfway through, you excused yourself from your aunt’s company to find the restroom, and that was when you spotted Chrissy and Troy having what appeared to be a heated conversion at the curve of the sidewalk near the rose garden. You ducked behind a tree just as Humphrey Bogart said one of his infamous lines on the screen.

Since everyone’s attention was occupied elsewhere, no one but you saw the way Chrissy pointed in Troy’s face, only for him to snatch her wrist in a way that made you gasp. She yanked her arm away and turned on her heel, but then he caught up and lunged in front of her. Whatever he said to her then calmed things down for a moment, she stopped trying to break free, and then he cupped her face as if he were about to kiss her, but she shoved away again. That time, he let her go. Hands balled into fists in his pockets, head down, he stormed off in the opposite direction, toward you.

You stood very still, hoping to be mistaken for the thick trunk of the tree, and thankfully, it worked. You came around to glare at his backside, but then trotted after Chrissy. She was long gone, walking as fast as her feet could carry her along the treeline, and you didn’t think she’d appreciate you screaming her name at the top of your lungs in front of the other guests.

It was pure luck that made you take notice of something shiny on the ground, a pile of glistening gold on the sidewalk.

It was a necklace, a heart locket to be exact, much like the one you’d noticed around Chrissy’s neck earlier that day. You ran your thumb over the engraving on the front and let the delicate chain drag along the back of your hand.

You were sure that it belonged to Chrissy, the clasp must’ve broken during the struggle with Troy. You had to get it back to her somehow.

—-------

“Where are you going?” Your dad asked as you sailed through the living room on your way to the door later that evening. He looked at his wristwatch. “It’s almost 11.”

You’d planned on him being in bed already. “I, well, I ahh—” you scrambled for an excuse, something that wasn’t “I’m going off the property to where people fight and get drunk and listen to metal”. You were 21 and technically, by the law of the land, could do anything you wanted, but anyone who has ever traveled with family is familiar with the tendency to be treated like a child infinitely. He loved you, he worried about you, and you didn’t want him to stay up all night pacing, so, you lied.

“There’s a meteor shower tonight, and a bunch of the guests are watching from the boat docks,” god, you hoped he wouldn’t fact check you on that.

He shuffled some saltines absently out of a tin. “You’re still coming on the boat with us tomorrow morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you beamed, clenching the front of your jean jacket closed to hide the revealing shirt you wore underneath.

You raced down the porch steps once you were able, dashing into the night with Chrissy’s necklace safe in your pocket.

—-----

A guy in a Black Sabbath shirt and a drastic mullet with hair down his shoulders moved out of the way for you as you crossed the bridge, and then you had to stand there and take a breath. Robin wasn’t with you and you hadn’t been invited to the Hideout this time, maybe they wouldn’t want you? Surely you could find Chrissy at work the next day and give her the necklace then? Fuck it, you were almost there.

You could hear the shrill feedback from a guitar and then someone speaking into a microphone. Was that Eddie’s voice? Your heart raced. People cheered at whatever was said, and then the drum beat kicked in a few times, followed by guitar riffs, and a woman’s voice singing the Vixen intro to Edge of a Broken Heart.

“I can't believe I could have been so blind

But love is strange

I thought about it for a long long time

But the truth remains”

You could feel the music in your chest. Was that Chrissy? Perhaps it was the “band practice” Robin told you about, but the music didn’t sound at all like what you’d expect to hear from the conservative house band. The sliding door was open once you were in view, with people mingling outside, and you dodged around them, sucking in a plume of secondhand smoke from a passerby.

Slithering through a few more bodies, you stepped right over the spot where Lance had gone down the night before, and then you had the perfect view of Chrissy exercising her impressive pipes on the microphone under a few ropes of tiny, pale string lights.

Steve was on bass, hair flopping in his face, his mouth holding an “O” shape as he played. He had on a thin white tee that was soaked through with sweat on the front atop belted blue jeans. Eddie arched back, exposing his throat, his fingers deftly working the strings on his smoke black Warlock guitar. He had a Bark at the Moon shirt on with wide, ripped out arm holes exposing the tattoo work on his ribs. His hair hung in his face when he bent over to play, a frown of concentration knitting his brows together.

Chrissy jabbed her fist in the air for the chorus and the crowd screamed it:

“I've been living on the edge of a broken heart

I don't wanna fall, I don't wanna crawl

I've been living on the edge of a broken heart

Don't you wonder why I gotta say goodbye”

She commanded the stage, playing guitar as she sang. You were too absorbed to realize that you had made your way forward and were right there front and center when Eddie glanced up.

He wasn’t expecting to see you, so he did a dramatic double take, nostrils flaring the moment your eyes connected. Why couldn’t you just stay away?

A smile teased at the corners of your mouth, but faded to an unsure lip bite when he averted his gaze, scowl deepening. He ignored you for the rest of the song.

When it was over, there were cheers and whistles all around. The drummer with the mop of tawny hair twirled one of their drumsticks in the air with a flourish and caught it, clapping the high hat. Voices murmured around you as people fell back into conversation while they had a break from the volume of the amps, and you shuffled to the side, following Chrissy as she took her guitar off and held it by the fretboard. She had on a cropped shirt with her shorts, golden hair loose and wild around her shoulders, her short fingernails painted black. There were a few old, wooden apple box crates stacked on top of each other to act as a makeshift table, and she grabbed the neck of the beer that was waiting there to take a sip.

Eddie continued to play, wailing on the guitar with precision, while Steve and the drummer followed his lead to the tune of Seek and Destroy by Metallica.

You tapped Chrissy on the shoulder, and she jumped. “Oh shit, you scared me,” she said, spinning around. She checked around as if she were expecting to see someone else there. “Where’s Robin? Is she with you?”

“No, I, just a sec—” you dug around in the front pocket of your jacket, panicking for a moment that you forgot to bring the locket with you. “I found this on the sidewalk, and I thought maybe you dropped it?”

Chrissy gasped at the sight of it and her eyes began to water. “How did you–?” A sob caught in her throat, and she reached out to gently take it from you. She shook her head in disbelief. “I looked everywhere, I thought it was gone forever, I—”

“I thought that was you!” It was Robin, bobbing on the balls of her feet as she came up to nudge your shoulder. But then, her attention turned to Chrissy and her face tensed with concern. “What happened, why are you crying?”

“No, no,” Chrissy sniffed and opened her fist to show Robin the piece of jewelry. “It’s my grandmother’s locket I told you about. Bird found it.”

Robin bent to get a closer look and the two women knocked their heads together, sharing a laugh. “The clasp is broken though,” Chrissy mused. “It must’ve come off when—” she swallowed, deciding not to finish that sentence. “I’ll take it into town to get it fixed this weekend.”

“Give it here, I’ll fix it for you,” Robin volunteered. “Not only can I unclog a toilet, but I’m also pretty crafty.”

“Y-you’d do that for me?” She asked as she was passing it over.

“Of course,” Robin chuckled. “I’d do anything for y—I mean, what are friends for right?”

Chrissy turned her attention back to thank you properly when Steve pushed in between the other two girls and slung his arms around their shoulders. “What's going on?”

Robin cringed. “Gross, Dingus, you’re all sweaty,” to which he shook his head and droplets from his hair flew everywhere, making the girls scream and push him off.

The three of them got into conversation about something and you sank back against the corrugated metal wall to observe. You hadn’t noticed the music stopped but the drummer was in the crowd having a beer and just as you were on your toes trying to find Eddie, a warm body sank in next to you.

“Hey,” Eddie said.

You looked just in time to catch his gaze traveling down your body, but then he was quick to lift his beer to his mouth and pretended to be watching the crowd.

“Hey,” you returned, suddenly full sentences and conversation felt so foreign. You were acutely aware that there was plenty of space along the wall, but he was pressed close, bare arm touching yours.

“They let you stay out this late on a school night?” He grinned against the aluminum rim, amusing himself. He had a second beer in his other hand, and he passed it to you.

“Ha. Ha.”

He had one knee bent with his foot on the wall while the other leg stretched long to show the heavily scuffed toe of his black boot.

You shuddered despite the heat. “So, how long have you and Chrissy been playing music together?”

He hummed, shifting so that his bicep rubbed against you, squinting one eye shut in thought, tilting his head back. “Been something like a decade now, I think? Feels longer. Feels like I’m 60 years old some days.”

“How old are you though?” You swallowed so hard your throat clicked. “45? 50?”

He leaned into you, hard enough to push you over if your feet weren’t planted, his hair skimming your shoulder. “Close enough,” he paused to say something else, but then puffed out his cheeks and exhaled.

He wanted to ask how long you’d been playing the cello, but how would he even know you did without admitting he’d watched you that night from the street like a stalker? “Do you think you’re gonna stick around, watch us play some more?”

“I could,” you were about to add something super cheesy like, “if you want me to,” but opted for nonchalant. “I love watching Chrissy play.”

He nodded a few times, and pushed off the wall, handing you his beer. “Hold this for me?” His silky brown eyes locked onto yours, the tip of his tongue resting between parted lips. “Please?”

There you were, holding Eddie Munson’s beer. He got behind the mic and took his shirt all the way off to wipe his face with it before strapping his guitar on. The next song they did was an original, something that Eddie and Chrissy wrote, and Chrissy came in on backup vocals, while Eddie growled out the lyrics, banging his head every so often. He swiped his bangs from his forehead, wet with perspiration, and his fingers worked like magic along the strings. At one point, he and Chrissy shared the same mic, belting out the words.

He made eye contact with you three times, not that you were counting. Each time longer than the last. When it was over, he came out and took his beer from you, fingers touching as he did so.

“Eddie, I think I—” you were about to let him know you should probably get going, but he’d already turned, chugging the rest of the beer as he went, and then they were right into the next song.

Eddie wasn’t sure why you made him so curious, but the voices in his head were screaming at him to shake it off. Somehow, he’d gone four years without getting involved with a summer person, he’d never even been tempted really. Nothing good could come of it, especially since he’d probably end up being nothing but a vacation fuck for you to brag to your friends about.

He glanced around but couldn’t find you during the song. When he went to check for you at the wall, you were gone.

---

thank you again for the love on this and for reading!

---

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