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hellfirenacht · 5 months

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Plus One Chapter 1

Summary: Once upon a time, you made a deal with the school freak that if he ever got famous then he'd invite you to be his plus one at a red carpet event. Now a decade later an invite shows up at your house asking you to be the +1 to Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin.

Tags: modern!au, Eddie and Reader are in their late 20's/early 30's after the deal is made. Rockstar!Eddie. Friends to strangers to friends to lovers, references to Flight of Icarus characters eventually

The squeak of desks being pushed across linoleum flooring made you wince as everyone adjusted the classroom for partner work. It was too early for this, you hadn’t slept the night before and had almost been late to this class, taking your seat at the last second just as the bell rang.

First period science wasn’t your hardest class, but it wasn’t exactly your best subject either. You’d been floating along with a solid C and that was as good as you were hoping to get. As long as you graduated by this point, you’d be happy. It was near the end of your senior year, and senioritis was hitting you hard. It was your hope that you could just coast these last few weeks, pass your finals and get the hell out of the public school system.

There would be no coasting this morning though as you were all assigned partners. No one was thrilled about this development aside from a few peers who had been partnered with their friends. You weren’t exactly unpopular but you didn’t have anyone in this class that you would consider a friend or even an acquaintance. You’d borrowed a pencil once from Randy who sat in front of you, but other than that you kept to yourself first thing in the morning.

Which is why when the name ‘Munson’ was called out along with your own surname you’d barely registered who that was. A few people snickered and you caught one girl giving you a pitying look as you tried to connect the name to a face. It took your partner sitting down across from you for you to realize who you’d been paired with.

Munson. Eddie Munson. Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson.

Ah. That Munson.

“Uh, hi.” he said, with a wave and you desperately tried to reconnect the tired wires in your brain to say hi back.

“Mornin’” you managed to spit out. He sat in the back of the class on the opposite side of the room. You rarely even saw him in class because you were usually here before him, and he was the first to get out the door when class ended. You never said a word to him the whole semester, but again, you didn’t talk to anyone in this class.

Worksheets were passed around and you stared at the different questions and equations. You might as well be sitting in Latin class with as much as this made sense to you.

“I know this is a higher level than what you all are used to, but this is what is going to be expected of you in college next year.” Your teacher explained, followed by a chorus of groans which included yours as well as Eddie’s.

The two of you stared at the worksheet for a moment before making eye contact. You felt a little nervous under his gaze; you’d seen him around school and had heard the rumors about the leader of the Dungeons and Dragons club. He’d been seen pushing around freshmen wearing the same shirt as him, and was often regarded as a loudmouth and a danger to everyone in school.

It didn’t help his case that he looked older than you. His broad shoulders were only accentuated by the heavy leather jacket and denim vest giving him the appearance of someone who absolutely should not be in high school. How old was he anyway?

“Eddie.”

You blinked, surprised he was the first to speak. You offered your name as well with a nod, neither of you going for the handshake.

“So... does any of this make sense to you?” he asked, looking back down at the worksheet.

You glanced down with a small laugh. “Not even a little.”

“Shit.”

He looked up at you with a sheepish grin, and you swear it took at least five years off his appearance. You found yourself relaxing just a bit, if he was as dangerous as everyone made him out to be, at least he wouldn’t do something stupid in the middle of class. Hopefully.

You grabbed your textbook and opened it up and Eddie leaned over the desk to read with you.

“Sorry, forgot mine.” He said and you adjusted the book so it sat between the two of you.

The next half hour was a testament of will as the two of you tried your best to work out the formulas put in front of you. The ancient calculators that the teacher had provided only caused more confusion between the two of you and you tried to figure out buttons that you had never had to press before.

“I’m sure someone, somewhere is using this on a daily basis.” you said as you jotted down a string of numbers that you were positive were wildly incorrect. “I understand that this is important to someone, but outside of a trivia game there’s no way I’m ever going to even think about this ever again.”

You were mostly talking to yourself, not expecting a response from your partner. He was looking at the calculator, and your string of numbers with equal confusion.

“Music is as advanced as my math skills go.” Eddie said. He’d removed his jacket at some point where you were staring at your textbook with a blank expression trying to understand how to apply the formulas. You couldn’t stop your eyes from occasionally flicking towards the tattoos that covered his right arm. So he was at least old enough to get tattoos... or to have a parent or guardian agree to let him get tattoos.

You weren’t sure why you were so hung up on his age. Maybe it was easier to focus on that mystery than the jumble of letters and numbers that was making your brain more numb than it already felt.

“What kind of music?” The question was out of your mouth without thinking. You didn’t think you’d seen him hang out with the band or orchestra kids before.

“Metal and rock music mostly.” Eddie said, erasing one of the numbers. His pencil was a cheap one, and only managed to make a huge smudge on his paper rather than clear his answer. You handed over your own pencil on instinct and he took it with a thanks.

“Do you play an instrument or something?” you asked, already checked out of the worksheet. Fuck it. It’s not like it was going to count for much anyway.

“Yeah I, uh, I’ve been playing guitar since I was a kid.” There was a light in his eyes that made you wonder why anyone would ever think he was dangerous or scary. In the half hour that the two of you had been struggling with this busy work the two of you had been making small talk that you’d found way more engaging.

“Electric or guitar?” you asked, and it was when Eddie let out a laugh that you realized what you had asked. You pressed your hands to your face with an embarrassed chuckle. “I didn’t sleep last night.”

“I play electric and guitar.” came the teasing response. “But I lean more towards electric unless my uncle is home or I need to keep it down.”

“Are you any good?”

“Good enough to have a steady gig at the Hideout.” he shrugged. “It’s not much, but it’s a stage. Sort of.”

Eddie had also given up on the worksheet and was using your pencil to absently doodle in the margins of the paper.

“I have no idea where that is.”

“Shady dive bar in the warehouse district. My band and I play on Tuesdays, you should come see us sometime. It’s a shithole, but it’s safe.” The last part was added hastily as he saw your weary expression.

A shady dive bar on a school night? Not a great chance of that.

“What’s your band called?”

“Corroded Coffin.” he dug around his pockets in his jeans and jacket before he pulled out a bent cut out piece of flashcard and handed it to you. It had the band’s name scribbled on it in sharpie and a list of socials on the back. It screamed home made and there was a charm to it that made you smile.

“I’ll check you out.” you said, tucking it into the book you had been reading for the past week knowing damn well that you were probably going to forget about it the second it was out of sight.

“Don’t worry about the worksheet being perfect.” the teacher piped up from their desk. “Just do your best, and it’s only being counted as pass/fail. I’m just trying to see that you’re all able to use your critical thinking skills to look up information.”

“I’m about to use my critical thinking skills to bullshit the rest of the worksheet.” Eddie muttered and you laughed.

You grabbed his worksheet and scribbled down a formula and some numbers and handed it back. “Long as there’s something written down she doesn’t care.”

That was good enough for the both of you as you set the papers aside. There was still a good fifteen minutes left in class, and you expected that the two of you would just sit awkwardly in your grouped desk facing each other until the bell rang. You almost laid your head down on the desk and try and get a power nap in, but curiosity was getting the better of you.

“So, you wanna do music for a living?” you asked, looking at him again.

“Ideally.” Eddie said, fidgeting with your pencil still. You decided that it was his pencil now, you had others in your bag. “I know it’s a long shot and most of my band is still gonna be in school when I graduate this year but we’ve got a few songs that we’ve been working on.”

“So you’re gonna be famous one day?” It wasn’t a sarcastic question, but a genuine one. Maybe this guy could be famous one day, you didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t even want to be famous.

Eddie shook his head and laughed. “I’ll be lucky to keep the lights on with my music, but I’m gonna try.”

“You’re going to be famous.” you told him with a firm nod. The lack of sleep was catching up to you. It’s not like anything in this class was going to matter in the future anyway. “I’ve decided it.”

“You decided that I’m going to be famous?” he asked slowly, as if trying to decide if you were fucking with him or not.

“Yeah, why not?” You replied.

He stared at you and his gaze turned intense as he sat up straighter. Eddie’s gaze swept over your face, looking for any sign that you were speaking with ill intent, when he found none, he gave you a smile.

“I’ll hold you to it then.” he said. “If I don’t get famous I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“Alright, but there’s a catch.” your smile widened.

“A catch? You won’t let me get famous on my charm and talent alone?” He tilted his head with a grin.

“Nope. I need payment. Deciding things isn’t cheap, you know.” you were delusional from lack of sleep, and you probably sounded crazy to him.

“Alright, what’s your fee?” Eddie leaned back in his chair, looking as if he were trying to start a business deal. His demeanor change starkly contrasted the long dark hair, band t shirt, and heavy metal rings he wore and you had to stop yourself from laughing.

You thought about it for a moment. “I want to be your plus one to at least one of your red carpet events.” you said. “I think that’s payment enough.”

He rubbed his chin in thought, as if carefully considering your offer. “And if I don’t.”

“If you forget to come back for Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.” you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing now at how ridiculous you sounded.

“Holes? Really?” Eddie snorted. “Alright, I know how that story ends. You have a deal.”

He offered you his hand and you two shook on it.

And because you two had at least ten minutes to kill, Eddie took out a beat up notebook and started drawing up a contract to make it official. The two of you debated on the wording, and how it should be drawn out. In the end, it was decided that Eddie would have at least five years after his first red carpet to invite you to an event (your idea) or else he’d be cursed and he’d end up on TMZ in a scandal involving a goat and a runaway parade float (his idea).

You each signed the fake contract, dated it, and had the teacher notarize it.

“Did you two even try to do the worksheet?” they asked, signing and stamping the notebook with a ‘GOOD JOB!’ stamp.

“We tried.” Eddie smiled at the teacher, taking the notebook back and trading it for the worksheets.

The bell rang and you two shook hands one last time. The last few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of spring break, prom season, and graduation. You barely talked to Eddie after that class, occasionally saying hi to him in the hallway, or the odd small chat during class. You’d managed to get him to sign your yearbook, but he hadn’t asked you to sign his. You felt a little sad about it, looking back. He’d been nice to talk to, and his reputation hadn’t lived up to that hour that you’d been forced to spend with him.

Graduation was the last time you’d seen him, when he’d run across the stage, flipped off Principal Higgins and ran off like a bat out of hell. You had looked for him passively in the chaos and sea of graduates and their families taking photos and congratulating each other. Okay, maybe you’d looked for him a bit more deliberately than you’d let on.

Maybe you had developed a small crush on Eddie in that hour that you’d spent working on that stupid worksheet. Maybe you had hoped that when you gave him your email in that contract he’d reach out to you to say hi. Maybe, yes, you did eventually remember the handmade business card for Corroded Coffin and had looked up their information a month into summer to find them as dead and dry as the Sahara desert, with only a muffled .mp3 of one of their songs to go off of.

There were a lot of maybe’s that came with being in high school.

But life moves on. You forget about the man with the long dark hair and boyish smile. Your yearbook gets tucked away in a box, out of site and out of mind. The homemade business card gets lost under the bed and eventually tossed in a deep clean as you get ready to move to college and move out. The muffled .mp3 sits in your computer for years until you get a smartphone and stuff a ton of your old music on it, shuffling it into your streaming playlists.

The song gets skipped over more often than you’d ever admit.

And now there you were in your new apartment a year after graduating college, living on your own for the first time. No dorm, no family, no roommates, no partner.

It was the middle of your work week, and you were outside checking the mail. You flipped through the envelopes of junk and bills for anything that would have been worth the walk from your apartment to the community mailbox.

A thick envelope with your name and address was in the middle of the pile. Your name was hand lettered in fancy script and you glanced at where the return address should be.

WR RECORDS

Who?

You pulled the envelope out and glanced at the rest of the mail to make sure there was nothing important there before tossing it into your neighbors recycling bin. You ripped open the envelope.

Inside was a thick black card, and your name was once again written in beautiful red ink that reflected off the dark card stock.

WR Records would like to invite you to be the +1 to Mr. Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin to this year's annual Hellfire Awards.

And below that in chicken scratch handwriting that wildly contrasted the careful lettering of the rest of the card:

A deal’s a deal.

You stared at the words and read them over and over and over again, trying to make sense of them and only one question passed your mind.

“Who the fuck is Eddie Munson?”

---

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hellfirenacht · 5 months

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Plus One Chapter 2

No beta, we die like Jason Carver.

Eddie Munson

The name echoed in your mind for the rest of the day, bouncing around and trying to connect a name with a face the whole time you were at work. Of course this was the one day that you had forgotten to charge your phone, and were stuck in an endless loop of trying to figure out who it was.

Without your phone you were stuck listening to the radio on the way home. You flipped through the different stations, trying to find any channel that was playing music and not on a commercial break. The screech of an electric guitar gave you pause, giving the song a good five seconds to impress you before you continued your channel surfing.

The sting of the guitar rocked through your car and penetrated your brain in a way that felt electric. In five seconds you had removed your hand from the radio dial and were focused on driving again. The roads were empty this late at night, allowing you some extra room in your mind to enjoy the song. Vocals came in, scratching your brain in a pleasant way as you caught the final chorus before it faded out and the DJ came back on.

“And that was Corroded Coffin with their latest single Storm.” Announced the DJ, and you nearly slammed on the breaks from shock.

Corroded Coffin. The invitation. Okay, so it had to be a joke, right? There was no way that the letter that had appeared in your mailbox was really addressed to you from them.

It was only by pure luck that you were able to speed home without any cops pulling you over. You rushed into your apartment and grabbed the invitation that had been left on your counter before shoving your charge cable into your phone.

When it didn’t turn on right away you hurried over to your laptop and opened it, thankful that there was no delay. You made quick work of typing in ‘Eddie Munson’ and ‘Corroded Coffin’ into the search bar.

The results were instantaneous as pictures of a band popped up, as well as a flood of articles about the band’s latest goings on. You scanned the results and pulled up the latest one about how the band had been nominated for Best Metal Album at this year's Hellfire Awards. You quickly learned that the Hellfire Awards were a pretty big deal in the alternative music scene as everything was decided by the fans rather than a panel of industry judges.

You pulled up another article focused on Eddie himself and you stared at the picture as you started to remember who this man was. You got up and went to your closet, haphazardly pulling out boxes and bags until you found an old stash of high school memorabilia that you never looked at but never could bring yourself to toss.

At the bottom of the box was the thick yearbook from your graduating year. You flipped through it quickly to the Senior photos, singing the alphabet song in your mind as you made your way to the M’s for-

Eddie Munson. (insert funny senior quote here)

You stared at the picture for a good long while as you tried to comprehend what was actually happening. You brought the book to your laptop again, comparing the pictures of the Rock God on your screen to the awkwardly smiling kid in the photo. Yes, that was definitely him. He hadn’t changed much physically, his hair was still long and wavy and he still had bright and expressive brown eyes.

Memories began seeping in, as you thought back to the few weeks before high school ended. You flipped to the front cover of the book now, scanning the many signatures of long forgotten friends and the few of those you still talked to. There in the corner of the page was a message in scratchy handwriting, as if the pen had been refusing to work.

See you when I’m famous! Eddie Munson

You grabbed the invitation again.

A deal’s a deal.

His handwriting was somehow worse. Didn’t he have to write his autograph a million times a day? How was it worse? But it was still the same, and you found yourself laughing. Actually, you were in damn near hysterics as you pressed your face against your hands. This had to be a joke, right? One of your friends realized that someone that you both went to school with was famous, and had made this elaborate invitation to...

A deal’s a deal.

And if you forget to come back for Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.

You set the yearbook aside, sliding the invitation safely inside. Turning back to the computer, you started looking through Corroded Coffin’s past accomplishments; they'd been on the scene for a few years now, but had exploded in popularity in the past year and a half. They’d even played in Indianapolis just a few months ago and you were none the wiser.

That night was spent in a spiral of reading over articles, and (admittedly) stalking social media. Each of the band members had their own socials combined with the main Corroded Coffin page. You also skimmed the socials for WR Records, but didn’t find much interesting other than tour dates and updates on the other artists under the label. Oh, and you now knew that Eddie was about two years older than you. Huh.

The band was... chaotic. They posted a lot of videos behind the scenes, of them playing pranks on each other, lip syncing to other songs, and there seemed to be a running joke of everyone hiding Gareth’s drumsticks in weird places.

Magazines also seemed to love getting Eddie shirtless, especially tattoo magazines. They also liked him not wearing pants. They liked him in as little clothing as they could legally get away with.

It’s research. You told yourself, attempting to justify it. He has nice tattoos and I just want a good look.

Managing to tear your eyes away from the photos, (and ignoring any warmth you felt in your stomach from them) you found yourself smiling as you turned on their music as you watched years of curated material unfold in front of you in a few hours. Their music was good, really good, and you wondered why you hadn’t heard them until recently.

Oh right, you were stuck on listening to the same couple hundred songs since high school. You really should branch out.

It was really late when you finally forced yourself to close the laptop and go to bed. You laid down and stared at the ceiling, holding the heavy yearbook on your chest thinking back to those last few weeks of school. Some memories were sharper than others. You closed your eyes trying to remember as much as you could. Eddie. An old notebook. A stupid worksheet. His smile. Some were less clear. Prom night. Graduation, forgotten small talk in the hallways.

Your crush.

Your heart jumped in your chest as you remembered that. Oh, right. You had a crush on him for those last few weeks, hadn’t you? You pressed your face to your pillow and let out a groan. Actually, this was no longer today’s problem. This could be tomorrow's problem. You put the yearbook aside and turned off your lamp and went to bed.

---

So as it turns out, tomorrow’s problems do, in fact, become today’s problems. You weren’t very thrilled about this as you read the invitation for the hundredth time over breakfast. How the hell were you even supposed to respond to this invitation? There was no RSVP or return address or phone number!

Maybe it was a prank? But the only other person who would know about that deal you two had made was Eddie right? Or maybe you’d told one of your friends back then? But then why would they just now try a prank?

Your phone buzzed and lit up next to you and you looked it over. A notification from WR RECORDS was blaring at you from your screen. You turned the brightness down on your phone hoping that it would help lessen the shock. It did not.

With shaking hands you fumbled to open the message. It was clearly addressed to you.

“Hello! This is Paige Warner from WR Records reaching out on behalf of Corroded Coffin to confirm that you received the invitation that we sent out for this year's Hellfire Awards.”

You stared at this for a long time. You closed the message and checked the account that it was sent from. It had the official small check that meant it was a verified account. You felt like you were going to be sick.

You re-opened the message, read it again, closed it, checked the account again to make sure that your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you, panicked again, set the phone down, did a lap around your house and opened the message again.

This cycle would repeat at least two more times before you finally forced yourself to type a reply.

Which you instantly deleted and opened the message on your laptop instead, as if changing the technology you were viewing it on would somehow make this any different.

Read receipts were on. FUCK.

You googled how to turn them off for this platform. You could not. Double FUCK.

You’d left WR RECORDS on read for going on 45 minutes. Triple FUCK.

“Got it!!”

You sent the message before you could stall any longer. You cringe at the two words. Why did you double up on the exclamation points? Anxiety was spiraling through you at a million miles per hour before another messaged popped up.

“Great! Would you have a moment to talk to me about making arrangements? I have a few moments free right now.”

You hadn’t felt this nervous since you interviewed for your current job.

“Yes, I have time!”

Your answer looked so robotic and generic on the screen, but there was no time to think about that as your laptop screen lit up and started ringing. A video call. WR RECORDS was trying to video call you. This had to be illegal. It had to! You were in your fucking pajamas and WR RECORDS was trying to video call you.

You spent ten seconds trying desperately to make yourself look presentable and threw on your robe over your pjs. At least the robe was clean and didn’t have any holes in it. You tightened it around you as much as you could. Took a deep breath and answered the call.

A woman a few years older than you appeared on screen. She had short dark hair and a face full of freckles. “I’m so sorry for the last minute call.” she said. “I’m Paige Warner, I’m the manager for Corroded Coffin.”

Your throat felt dry as you choked out your name with a nervous smile. Of course you’d left your drink in the kitchen and there was no graceful way to grab it now.

Paige wasn’t here to waste time or make small talk, she jumped right into it. She didn’t even blink at your outfit. “The annual Hellfire Awards will be held a month from now. We are willing to offer you travel expenses and hotel to come down, and the band has also agreed to pay for any hair and make-up as well as an outfit to wear onto the red carpet.”

“Red carpet.” You said dumbly. Wait you were going to- they wanted you to what.

“Yes, Eddie specifically requested that you join him on the red carpet.” Paige said, furrowing her brows. “He said that you would remember your deal.”

“I, uh...”

Paige looked at her watch and you could tell that she was starting to get antsy. “I can have plane tickets and a hotel booked for you by tonight. All I need is for you to sign this agreement and have it sent back to me before 5 pm PST. I’ll have it sent to your email. Now, about your involvement with-”

She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence as there was suddenly a lot of background noise as it sounded like people were filing into her office.

“Paige, can you hide the drumsticks this time?” came a voice off screen. “We’re running out of ideas.”

“Jeff, I can’t right now I’m currently talking to-”

“OH! Is that her? Let me see!” Jeff suddenly ran on screen and your eyes nearly popped out of your head at the site of the bass player appearing behind her.

“Hi! You’re Eddie’s friend right?” He smiled wide at you, and all you could do was nod.

Friends? That seemed generous for the situation but it would have been rude to say otherwise.

“Oh shit, I should go get Eddie to say hi!” Jeff said, tossing the drumsticks down onto Paige’s lap and running off.

“Jeff, no!” she called after him but you had a feeling that her protests weren’t going to mean anything. You froze up as the idea of seeing Eddie again started to sink in.

“I’m so sorry for him, they all get excited too easily.” Paige said. “Jeff, I said no I need to finish this call and then I have other work to do! Work on this computer!”

Jeff just appeared again, grabbed the back of her chair and rolled her away with the biggest grin. “You can pretend to be us and post boring updates on our account later. The internet isn’t going anywhere.”

The absurdity of this was not lost on you and you covered your mouth with your hand to stifle a giggle. This was playing out as if it had happened a hundred times before, and off screen you heard Paige’s exasperated sigh. “Five minutes.” she said firmly.

“Thank you, five” Came the sound of not just Jeff’s voice but another voice.

The sound of another rolling chair echoed through your crappy computer speakers and at first all you could see was the lower torso of a t shirt as someone moved into frame before they sat down in front of the camera.

Eddie Munson. Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson.

Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin.

“Uh, hi.” he said with a wide grin, and a wave and you desperately tried to reconnect the wires in your brain to say hi back.

Last night you’d seen carefully curated pictures of him, making him look untouchable. You’d seen him on stage holding his guitar, looking like a Rock God. You’d seen him spread out over pages of magazines, wearing clothing that was specifically tailored to make him look like, well, like he was better than any normal person. You’d even seen him wearing damn near nothing, covered in tattoos making him damn near look like a porn star.

Now he was sitting across from you (virtually) with his hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, and a faded t shirt with a questionable stain on it. There was unshaven stubble that looked like it didn’t know if it was growing out or if he’d forgotten to shave for the past few days. For five seconds, you felt like you were in high school again, as you finally managed to talk.

“Hey.” you said back. Nailed it.

“So you’re coming right?” Eddie said eagerly, and even with the lower quality of the video call (which was because of your internet, and not Paige’s webcam, you were sure of), you could see the way his large brown eyes showed excitement.

“You really want me to?” you blurted out. You couldn’t help it, none of this seemed real. Hell, you hardly believed that someone from Hawkins High School had managed to get out of the sad town and become famous. This was a lot to learn in two days.

“We had a deal, remember?” Eddie said. “And I’m not gonna risk you cursing me because I forgot to invite you the last four and a half years.”

“Well... I guess I should go then.” you replied. “I mean, if I don’t then I’m going to have to learn how to curse-”

“You’re allowed to say ‘fuck’, we do it all the time!” yelled out Jeff from behind Eddie.

“Shut up, Jeff!” Eddie grabbed a piece of paper off of Paige’s desk, crumpled it up and threw it at his bandmate. He was laughing through and when it made contact with Jeff, he fell down dramatically. “Ignore him, we’re all idiots.” Eddie turned back to you.

There had been a time in high school where Eddie Munson was regarded as a freak, a delinquent, a druggie, someone dangerous. When you had been paired together for a worksheet, you found yourself at ease with him, talking to him as naturally as you would any other friend. And now, nearly a decade later, he was a celebrity, a legend, constantly being swarmed by fans and groupies and paparazzi. Yet here you were, laughing at his antics the same way you had all those years ago.

Freak. Rock Star. Eddie Munson.

You found your shoulders relaxing and you were smiling at him. “It’s fine, I guess I’ll start with cursing Jeff and working my way through the band until I get to you.” you told him.

“You can’t!” protested Eddie. “I’m holding up my end of the deal! We said five years and if you don’t come to this one you’ll have to come to the Accolades and I think you’d curse me for that one anyway because it’s so boring.”

“Boring? The Accolades? You mean the biggest event of the year for all the tabloids?” you asked. It was hard imagining any of Eddie’s life being boring.

“Worse than Higgins’ speech for our graduating class.” Eddie said seriously. “You thought he was long winded? The Accolades are just a bunch of old farts who like to pat themselves on the back and insult anyone who doesn’t meet their standards.”

You nodded. “Alright, yeah, I guess I would have to take up witchcraft for that.”

“Wait, is she actually a witch?” Jeff said, finally getting up and walking back over.

“If she comes to Hellfire we won’t have to find out.” Eddie laughed and looked directly into the camera. It was unnerving, because that meant that he was getting as close to direct eye contact with you as he could in this current situation. Your heart jumped as his expression shifted. “You are coming, right?”

Maybe it was his big brown doe eyes, or the sincerity in his voice. Maybe it was the small ember of a crush that you had long thought was snuffed out. Maybe it was the way you had already exhausted yourself from your earlier anxiety. Hell, maybe it was the fact that you’d seen him nearly naked for a magazine spread just hours before.

You couldn’t say no, even if you wanted to. And you really did not want to.

“Yeah.” you said quickly. You’d figure out getting time off somehow. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Just tell me where to go.”

Eddie’s chair was pushed away and Paige returned to the camera with a small protest. The five minutes were up.

“I’ve sent you an email with an NDA. Sign it, and we’ll get everything taken care of.” she said.

You wasted no time pulling up the email on your phone, giving it your electronic signature, and sending it back. Though, maybe you should have wasted a little time reading a legal document. Well, it was too late now.

“Alright, you two need to leave now.” Paige said to Eddie and Jeff. “I have to finish up with her here.”

“Wait, what about the drumsticks?” Jeff asked.

“I already hid them.” There was a light in her eyes that you liked. She wasn’t all business, it seemed.

Eddie stuck his head back into view, giving you a full smile with teeth. “I’ll see you when you get here!” he said before Paige shooed them both away again.

The last words you caught from Jeff were a muffled ‘day off’ and ‘campaign’, followed by the clicking of a door.

The next few minutes was Paige gathering your information and giving you a brief rundown of the papers you had just signed. She said that she’d be in touch with you within the next week to send you all of the travel information and to email her with any questions or concerns.

When the call finally ended, you were left staring at the last message sent by WR RECORDS with Paige’s personal email address. It wasn’t even noon and you’d already talked to a former-classmate-turned-rock-star, dodged allegations on being a witch, spoke to the manager of a metal band that you had only just started listening to the night before, and RSVP’d yes to walk the red carpet for one of the biggest alt music awards shows.

You closed the laptop, called out of work, and went back to bed.

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