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eddies-house · 8 months

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Five - Cold Eggs

W/C: 6K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety attack, mentions of drinking

Some early morning honesty on the rocks. Eddie is fucked. In every sense other than literal.

A/N: I'm getting giddy over these two please tell me yall feel the same

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The Munson bachelor pad wasn’t as boyish and messy as you initially thought. You were sober enough to make that observation. It was cozy, much like your own home and was around the same size. The kitchen was probably the messiest part of it however you didn’t get a peek at the bedroom which you assumed could also be very disheveled. There were cereal boxes left open on the counter, Cocoa Pebbles being the one that caught your eye along with a neglected box of Rice Krispies that laid on its side.

A few too many pots and pans cluttered the stove top and some empty cans of soup and Spaghettios were left to collect dust near the sink. His refrigerator held a collection of magnets, some being letters from the alphabet, although quite a few were missing, and others were ads from a pizza place and a few fruits and vegetables with cartoony faces. Among the mess on the counters, you also noted a few empty liters of soda and some crushed beer cans. Budweiser to be specific.

Other than that, the living room you’d been sitting in was tidy. There was a clearly used checkered blanket bunched up on the corner of the couch you’d been occupying for the past several minutes and a few car catalogs littering the coffee table along with a copy of Lord of the Rings, bookmarked with a coupon for ground beef clipped from the local ads. Next to that, an ash tray nearly overflowed.

His wallpaper wasn’t as ugly as yours, which you envied. It was maroon with even darker stripes alternating, creating a dark but homey atmosphere. The wall sconces on the other hand, we’re tacky. They looked more medieval than anything, almost like torches. The light wood floors contrasted with the walls and at your feet was a frayed rug that looked like it had seen better days. Not dirty, just tattered.

In the corner sat an acoustic guitar painted with the words ‘this machine slays dragons’ and next to it was an electric guitar, red with cracks of black. You’d never seen one like it before and it seemed to be well loved from what you’d heard every day, the endless guitar solos bleeding into your eardrums daily. At least he was getting his money's worth out of it.

You continued eyeing your surroundings, taking in the habitat that was Eddie Munson’s home when your gaze lands on a particular object that piqued your interest. It sat atop a shelf near the door, a lonely Garfield mug.

Before you could further examine the mug or even think of reasons as to why it was displayed, if it was even displayed, or perhaps it was abandoned in a hurry out the door, Eddie emerges from the bathroom just off the living room. His curls are now wet ringlets toward the bottom, and instead of wearing your puke, he wears a red sweatshirt that reads ‘Indianapolis, Indiana’ on the front along with some baggy black sweats. Despite his comfy clothes, his face is still decorated with that grouchy frown you’d grown used to. Did this man ever relax his face? His eyebrows were still pinched together either in thought or in irritation.

“I-um, I’ll wash the shirt and um the–the boots.” You stutter, rapidly standing from your perch at the edge of his couch.

Though still a little tipsy, more coherent thoughts flooded your mind. Guilt plagued you as you thought about the blanket of barf that coated his shirt and boots about a half hour earlier, abandoned on the front porch. You were smart enough to avert your gaze when he lifted his shirt off of his torso just to let it wrinkle up on the wood planks to be dealt with later. It wasn’t your fault that you’d caught a glimpse of the tattoos that adorned his body, some kind of dragon if you remember correctly, wound from his waist up to his ribs. The others you didn’t have long enough to distinguish their imagery, though there were several along with what appeared to be some scarring of some kind. You couldn’t be sure, the darkness from the night not allowing you a clear picture along with your hazy mental state.

“Don’t worry about it.” He dismisses while you bashfully sit back down on the edge of the couch.

It was hard to grasp whether he was pissed at you or just at life in general. You would take full responsibility for the vomit but everything before that was on him. Yelling at you over a pile of broken plates seemed far more degrading based on his tone, the way he reprimanded you and painted you as this stupid girl, unable to stand your ground. Maybe it was better that he fired you, you wouldn’t be subject to his obnoxious mood swings where he seemed to take everything out on you when shit hit the fan.

You continued watching Eddie move about his surroundings, taking in how he interacted with his day to day environment. What did he look like fully relaxed? Lounging around, playing his guitar without a care in the world. It was difficult to picture; the image of a moody man with a tensed facial expression the only one you could seem to conjure up every time rather than the vision of him with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, enjoying coffee out of that stupid Garfield mug. You wonder if takes his coffee with cream and sugar. Maybe just cream? Or just sugar? Maybe he drinks it black, that would be the most sensible option if you were going by his grouchy nature.

“Gonna find my keys, then we’ll go back to the bar to get yours.” Eddie decides, shuffling through some items on the kitchen counter.

The irony.

Agreeing with a hum, you allow yourself to lean further into the couch while trailing your finger over the faded plaid pattern, lines of beige crossing over white that temporarily held your focus. The clinking of empty beer cans against the linoleum counter can be heard, and then footsteps into the bedroom just off the living room to your left. Two idiots with misplaced keys under the same roof.

It feels as if the couch begins to mold around you, welcoming you into its springy cushions that otherwise wouldn’t be very comfortable but considering the night you had and the state you were in, you felt like you were on a cloud. Your thoughts drift back to curious visions of Eddie. What did his hair look like first thing in the morning? Was it as wild as you imagined? Curls sticking up every which way, frizzy and matted? Or was it somehow still perfectly messy? Boyishly messy.

Did he take those chunky rings off every night, leaving them on his nightstand until the morning? How many more tattoos did he have? What movies did he watch? What did he do for fun? You suppose plucking at his guitars was a main contender with the way it would constantly invade your ears. Obviously he read, your eyes catching that copy of Lord of the Rings on the coffee table again. Maybe he worked on cars too, based on those car part catalogs.

The image of him working under the hood of a car, all sweaty in some kind of tank top occupied your brain, his usually tense face hard at work with grease smeared along his cheek. And his hands. His hands would be coated in oil and he’d pull a rag out from his back pocket to wipe them off. Then he’d smile and reveal those deep dimples framing his face so perfectly. And then you would–

“Uh, Bambi?”

Eddie’s voice doesn’t do much other than cause you to stir in your sleep, snuggling a pillow while curling into yourself. You were nearly drooling, completely content. He couldn’t help but stare a little longer than necessary before realizing what a creep he was being. Was he supposed to wake you? If he was, he felt wrong doing so with how peaceful you looked. He rolled his eyes but truthfully, he didn’t mind having a guest for the night.

Maybe he’d be able to get some sleep for once.

–

Tossing around as the springs beneath you squeak, your mouth feels like it had previously been filled with sand. Not an ounce of saliva coated your tongue, you were severely dehydrated. You flung the knitted blanket that had rested on top of you off–when did that get there? You don’t remember grabbing a blanket before drifting off into a deep slumber.

This wasn’t even your house.

Collecting your thoughts, you recall that you had been sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch before apparently falling asleep. It was still dark outside, signifying that it had to be early in the morning which meant you’d only slept for maybe two or so hours. A lamp set atop a beat up side table in the corner was the only thing illuminating the room now. Sitting up and stretching, your bones ached from the way they were piled on top of each other in the position you had been sleeping in. Your right arm had pins and needles running up and down it from being cut off from circulation for so long.

The groan that threatened to escape you was held in your throat as you scooted forward, only to find a full glass of water right there on the coffee table. This was beyond embarrassing, this was humiliating. If you could scurry out the door and across the yard back to your place you would, but you were in this predicament due to your own negligence.

With no other options available to you, you gulp down the lukewarm water, just grateful that your tongue was no longer dryer than the Sahara desert. But it still wasn’t enough. Your thirst seemed unquenchable, at this rate you’d need approximately five more glasses. So you stood yourself up, legs shaky and stomach a tiny bit queasy, and wobbled over to the kitchen. You’d have to pace yourself to avoid throwing up a bunch of water since your stomach was so sensitive right now. Food was out of the question but water was a necessity.

Twisting the sink handle with a small screech of the metal, you fill the glass with a shaky and weak arm before sipping away.

Slowly. You remind yourself.

It must have taken around eight minutes to finish that second glass of water, coaching yourself through it the entire time. You grew tired of drinking it but persisted anyway. As you reach to fill a third glass, you’re startled by a figure in the doorway to Eddie’s room, unable to make out any features in the dim lighting. With a yelp, you manage to drop the glass in the sink, it clanking around noisily but thankfully, not breaking.

“Shit, why are you awake?” Eddie asks, hands raised in surrender as he emerges from the shadows.

“Why are you awake?” You counter.

He raises a brow, clearly wide awake. He didn’t even have that gravelly, sleepy voice. Maybe he hadn’t even gone to sleep at all. There was no evidence that his hair was any frizzier than before and his face didn’t have that puffiness to it when you wake up. It’s also possible that he just looked perfect when he woke up but if you’re being honest, no one really woke up perfect.

“I, uh, I was reading.” He admits, scratching the back of his head.

“Oh.”

An awkward silence trickles in, causing you to cross your arms as a means to close in on yourself, steadily backing up until you hit the counter behind you. Eddie maintains eye contact with you as he retrieves his own cup from one of the cabinets, filling it up and chugging it down with ease. You suddenly feel so out of place, like you were supposed to leave but there was nowhere else to go.

“I, um, I’m sorry for…for the puke. A-and for falling asleep. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You tell him honestly.

He only nods.

“I can go…sit on my porch until you go into the bar. And I’ll get my keys and be out of your hair.”

A few drops of water roll down his chin as he continues drinking, the back of his hand coming up to swipe the liquid away. He appears to be lost in thought, eyes concentrated on the counter in front of him where a few rogue Rice Krispies live. You let your legs carry you a few feet away, your goal being the front door until he speaks up again.

“I’m not gonna be responsible if you get eaten out there.” He grumbles.

“Eaten?”

Eddie looks you up and down as if to say ‘are you serious?’. To be completely honest, you hadn’t taken into account the wildlife that thrived throughout the area before you moved in. Now you were looking more and more dumb by the minute.

“Bears?” He offers an anxious head tilt. “We have fucking bears here, Bambi. You can’t just wander around in the middle of the night.”

“I wouldn’t be wandering.” Why were you trying to make an argument? Out of all the things you could fight him on, why were you choosing whether or not you’d get eaten by a bear? “I would be sitting on my porch.”

You felt like the dumbest woman on the planet and you knew you should’ve stopped talking but the words just…came out.

“Bears can reach your fucking porch, you know that, right?”

His large eyes bored into you in disbelief, his mouth slightly hung open as he awaited your answer.

“Y-yeah.” You gulp.

“God.” He scoffs, turning away from you, perplexed before muttering something under his breath that you happened to also catch. “Christ, they shoulda turned you away.”

“Who?” You pipe up, feeling a bit daring.

For a moment, he turns to stare at you blankly. It’s almost as if you’re the only two people awake and if either of you happened to raise your voice in the slightest, it would awaken the town.

“The assholes that sold you that house.” He just about whines, his voice an octave higher, frustration obvious in his tone.

The refrigerator light briefly appears over the blue and green tiled floor as Eddie opens it, reaching for something before turning around toward the stove and kicking the door shut.

“What–what do you mean? Turn me away? What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask in offense.

“I mean…” He cracks an egg into a pan, followed by another. “They shouldn’t have sold it to someone so clueless.” Another egg.

The shells are discarded in the sink, further cracking into smaller pieces at the impact he’d thrown them.

“What? Were they just supposed to reject me until someone more ‘qualified’ came along?” You try to catch his gaze, ducking your head as he reaches for the salt and pepper. “And–are you seriously making eggs right now?”

You earn a scowl from him as his pan begins to sizzle, his hand quick to grab a spatula from one of the pots on the stove to flip the eggs. This had to have been some weird dream or manifestation. And there they were again, those three numbers falling from his lips in a whisper as his eyes shut temporarily while his eggs simmered.

“I was already qualified before you came along!” He raises his voice, not quite to a yell but not very quiet either.

Silence.

Your eyes must have bulged out of your head, Eddie’s features softening by the second. Regret settled in his eyes, your face the vision of pure horror and all because of him.

He got impatient.

His therapist would be disappointed in him. And so would Wayne.

“I-I just…I was going to, um…” He starts calmly. “I was gonna buy it. And, and I was—” His breathing is now shallow, his eyes wet and pleading. “It–it was–I don’t–”

“Eddie.” You whisper, trying to break through whatever trance he was in.

He seemed stuck in his own head, eyes darting back and forth while he struggled to find words. The eggs were on the verge of burning which prompted you to reach over him and turn the stove off. The spatula he previously held clung against the tile.

“I-I–um, I was–”

It’s as if he isn’t even in the room, totally removed as the same few syllables fell from his tongue.

“I’m–I-I–”

“Eddie, it’s okay.” You attempt to soothe him. “Do you wanna sit down?” You ask, trying to catch his eyes but failing as he squeezes them shut.

Again with the counting.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

All under his shaky breath.

“I-I’m fine. ‘M fine.” His voice cracks, eyes opening timidly.

When you go to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, he flinches, a gasp leaving his lungs. Forcing yourself a few steps backward in order to provide him the space he needs, you recognize a hint of fear within him. It’s not of you, it’s something else yanking at his thoughts.

“Sit down, let’s sit down, okay?” You instruct, gradually lower yourself, waiting for him to follow your actions.

Nodding, he slowly slides his back down the side of the counter, falling into a position where his knees were to his chest, hands resting against the floor. You join him, still keeping your distance but wanting him to know that despite the previous tension, you were being supportive through his episode. Whatever it may be.

“Breathe.” You tell him, just as he had done with you back at the bar. “In…and out.” You encourage him.

He follows, his breathing still labored but improving. Continuing for a minute or so, his shoulders finally loosen up, his face relaxing. You let him guide the situation from here, if he wanted to talk or remain mute. Either was okay.

Moments pass, the hard kitchen floor causing you discomfort that you willingly take, not daring to shift around too much as to keep the tranquility finally falling over the two of you. Instead, you take interest in the wood grain of the cabinets, eyes wandering around each curve like a maze, sometimes identifying shapes along the way. A dog’s face, a ghost, and occasionally the haunting silhouette of a human.

Sneaking a glance at Eddie, you find that his eyes are shut as he rests his head against the cabinet behind him, his hands fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie, tying little knots and then undoing them just to repeat the process. Your watch indicates that it’s 4:03 AM. You would usually be sleeping however you can’t really offer yourself much sympathy when it seems this is the norm for Eddie. He always had tired eyes though you’d never put much thought into it until now. He must not be sleeping. Which could also be a contribution to his moodiness.

“I’m gonna lose the bar.” Eddie speaks up from beside you, eyes still shut as he continues to fidget.

“Hm?” You turn your full attention to him.

There’s a pause, a moment of thinking. You can tell as he opens his eyes and side-eyes you, not with malice but more so to collect his thoughts. Lips pinched in between his teeth roughly, you could almost wince at the way blood surfaces from the poor abused skin. Not too obvious, but obvious enough as you await clarification, the tiniest bit of crimson seeping out from behind his teeth only to be left to dry out on his perfectly shaped lips. Then he breaks the silence with a heavy exhale.

“I, uh, I’m pretty close to losing it. Can barely pay the bills on the damn place. Been going downhill for a few months now.” He elaborates, spinning a ring around his finger repeatedly . “I was gonna use the rest of my savings that my grandpa left me to buy that house. Rent it out. I talked to a friend who’s really good with all that financial shit and he said I could get a steady income and most likely keep the bar running and profiting again.”

“Oh.” You whisper, a huge sensation of guilt overtaking you.

“Not your fault.” He sighs. “Guess I’ve been kinda taking it out on you.”

Now he avoids your gaze, far more interested in the cracked tile beneath him. A curse can be made out from just under his breath while he buries his head in his hands, running them up and down his face, almost as if to relieve some of his stress but having no such luck. His admission catches you off guard, not at all suspecting that this morning would turn into honesty hour.

“No.” You reply quickly. “I mean…yes. But I-I didn’t know. If I knew–”

“Don’t give yourself a stroke, Bambi.” He cuts you off, turning to look at you. “I’m not proud of how dick-ish I’ve been. It’s nothing personal though.” Eddie confesses, seemingly annoyed with himself.

Sincerity floods his eyes, a cry for help. But how were you supposed to help him? Before you can muster up some kind of response to his almost-apology, he continues.

“I-uh, I just can’t lose this bar. I inherited it from my grandpa and he had been running it for…years.” Behind his persistence, there’s hints of defeat. A bitterness that you’d come to recognize in the last few weeks. “And, uh, I didn’t know ‘im for very long but, I kinda feel like it’s my responsibility.”

“Didn’t know him for very long?” You asked before even calculating the consequences. You had no right to pry into his personal life.

His hands begin to move up and down his shins, a self-soothing gesture from what you can tell. Eddie was very fidgety, and you’d only just started noticing.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “I moved here like four years ago. Some bad shit happened back home and I–” There’s a moment of hesitation, a sudden panic lurking behind his gaze. “I can’t go back.”

You want so badly to ask him where ‘home’ used to be but decide against it. He had already willingly offered you more information than you would have originally been brave enough to ask for.

“Anyway, I never really knew my grandpa until I came here to live with him. He died last year. I’ve been trying to keep things afloat since then.” He explains, pinching the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know.”

Genuine sympathy drips from your voice, the kind that felt like hot honey running down a sore throat during flu season. During the moment it feels…good. Comforting. In the way that only his mother ever was in the brief time they had together. And then the sting returns.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” The walls are rapidly raised once again and god knows when you would get to peek through the cracks again. “We should, uh, we should get to the bar so you can get your keys. And your car.” He suggests, pulling himself up from the floor with a groan.

“Wait–what about your eggs?” You mention, gripping the edge of the counter for leverage as you stand.

The eggs were long forgotten about, now all sad and cold in the pan. Unappetizing. One of the yolks had somehow broken among the commotion of Eddie’s panic and left a disgusting coating around the gaps, that eggy-wet-dog smell nauseating you. They were trash in all honesty but Eddie didn’t seem to mind, quickly lifting the pan and grabbing a fork to shovel them into his mouth.

You can’t fight the urge to stare, cold eggs and runny yolks being tossed into his mouth without a second thought.

“What?” He glances at you in irritation.

“You could’ve at least heated them up.” You complain, nose crinkled in revolt.

He rolls his eyes but his annoyance quickly melts away, a fraction of a playful smirk pulling at his lips, eyes gleaming with something captivating.

–

The scent of tobacco and motor oil invades your nose, the smells of Eddie’s truck, much different than the little pine tree air freshener in the car he’d driven you in last night. The engine rumbles down the road, startling the birds as he drives by. Some kind of guitar riff blares through the radio, his ringed fingers tapping along against the steering wheel. Instead of his sweatshirt and sweatpants, he now wears a long sleeve covered with his leather jacket along with some ripped up blue jeans. As far as you’re concerned, he’s way underdressed for the brisk morning air, only getting colder and colder by the day. Though, he may run hot and the drop in temperature just doesn’t faze him. Even so, it’d make you feel better if he at least put on a heavier coat.

Regardless, you can’t seem to control the shivers that rattle your body, your teeth nearly chattering, jaw clenched tightly. You were mentally scolding drunk-you for forgetting your jacket at the bar and though you were on your way there now, it didn’t do you any good with the way you were practically an ice cube. It was apparent that the heater of Eddie’s truck wasn’t very efficient as the air coming out was slightly warm but not warm enough to relieve the cold nipping at the exposed skin of your arms. You could see your breath, only further reminding you of how cold you truly were.

Attention was the last thing you wanted as you subtly moved your hands that rested politely in your lap, up your arms to offer the tiniest bit of skin-on-skin warmth. Any kind of relief would do. You only hoped he wouldn’t notice as you began to move your hands back and forth as a means to create some friction, more heat.

Buy a large, fuzzy, soft coat, ASAP. You note to yourself.

As a distraction, you begin to identify objects within the truck, a solo game of ‘I spy’ if you will. At your feet, there’s a small crate of cassette tapes. An impressive collection, mainly metal and rock from what you can see. Maybe a few folksy ones behind those based on the labels, John Denver being the one that stood out to you. Then, another car parts catalog on top of the dash. An empty can of Dr. Pepper in the cup holder. Or what you assume to be empty. A definitely empty cigarette carton abandoned in the other cup holder–

“Shit, here.” Eddie says, reaching behind into the back seat only to magically pull out a denim jacket covered in several patches and pins.

Evidently, you weren’t playing it as cool as you thought, clearly somehow exposing that you were in fact freezing. He showed no emotion as he urged the jacket into your reach, eyes still focused on the road. Your hesitation only had him pushing the denim into your hand, wordlessly cautioning you that he wouldn’t have your modesty or insistence that you were fine. Clutching the rough fabric in your hand, you pause to stare at him, as if he was going to change his mind any second. He doesn’t. Only keeps his eyes forward, brows furrowed in that grumpy manner.

His nose is pink again and you were willing to bet that the tips of his ears matched if they hadn’t been hidden by his wild hair. Even his cheeks were dusted with the lightest rosy shade. Fall looked good on him. You couldn’t even imagine how amazing Summer would look on him.

Quickly, you undo your seatbelt and shrug the jacket on. It’s cold from living in the truck all night but warms you up regardless, much cozier than your bare arms out in the open. And it smells like Eddie, a smell you can’t quite pinpoint to one specific thing. A little bit like cigarettes, maybe a hint of cologne, spicy but not overpowering, and a whiff of rubber. It almost smelled like a garage.

The sun was just rising on the horizon, the lake coming into view perfectly as if to put on a show. Hues of orange painted the sky, birds chirping and squawking as they announced the arrival of a new day. An apricot dream accompanied by peachy tones.

–

The Bourbon was a shell of itself at 5:00 AM. The morning was bright and early though the bar wasn’t ready to awaken just yet, not until the evening when it thrived. Until then, it slept peacefully throughout the day, forgotten about until Happy Hour. Ribbons of light snuck in through the blinds, illuminating the smallest sections of the tables and the floorboards.

The lights quickly took over that magical early morning feel as Eddie emerged next to you, hands tucked into his pockets while you scanned the room. And there they were, your keys. Sat right on top of the bar just as you had remembered. Your jacket, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Bummer.

You could’ve sworn you grabbed it from the back lockers before you declared war on Eddie last night. It wasn’t there either, your locker devoid of your belongings other than a pad of paper and a pen.

“Have you seen my jacket?” You ask Eddie, checking the barstools just to be safe. Nothing.

He had slipped right back into work mode, even at the crack of dawn. You suppose it's fair though, the information he had shared with you in the quietest hours of the morning resonating in your mind. Work never stopped for him.

“Hm? No, I haven’t seen it.” He answers, collecting the dirty rags from their designated bin behind the bar to start them up in the wash.

With a soft pout, you trace your steps in your head but can’t seem to recall where you’d left it, your brain failing you. Maybe it would eventually pop up again, it wasn’t anything special anyway. It just happened to be one of the heaviest jackets you owned so you would have to remember to stop by one of the shops to search for something equivalent. Beginning to pull your arm out of the sleeve of the jacket you currently wore, Eddie’s voice stops you.

“Just–keep it ‘til you find yours.” He says. Like he knew.

Were you that obvious? Girl moves to a random town miles and miles away from home only to be unprepared for the weather conditions in which you would think she would be aware of before committing.

“No, it’s–”

You immediately shut up when you see his expression, something that says ‘for the love of god, just listen’ with glaring eyes and furrowed brows. Instead of fighting him on it, you offer your gratitude in the form of labor.

“Um, I could stick around…and help. If you need.”

Your words float in the air, so delicate it makes him want to vomit; not out of disgust but out of confusion for whatever feeling was swirling around in his head, making him dizzy. Each word was too sweet, cavity inducing sweetness that he wanted to lick up like icing. He wasn’t used to being presented with such regard, a candied offer delivered right from your pretty lips to his ears.

“If I still have a job.” You add. Sugary syllables pouring from your lips unintentionally. He may have a heart attack from the amount of sugar.

Eddie collects himself, clears his throat as if to also clear his conscience, not succeeding. You’re so unlike everything that he knows. He knows of friendly conversation and boyish banter, endless nights followed by endless days without sleep, he knows of his shitty attitude that comes around more often than not, but he’s never been one to know pure kindness, a certain tenderness radiating from you and seeping into him. Sure people are kind to him, especially here. But you’re something else.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course you have a job.” He affirms.

The small smile you grace him with makes him want to jump off of a bridge. Because he is such a cruel being, such a monstrous man awaiting further punishment from the universe for being much less than gentle with such a sweet-tempered, sympathetic human that may even be a gift from god himself if Eddie believed in all that.

And then Chrissy crossed his mind. He could not endure another loss. Chrissy was never even his but he used to mourn what could have been had she lived. Perhaps she was his first love. A miserable little middle schooler pining after Hawkin’s Sweetheart all the way up until highschool. And the moment he got close enough, she was gone, right in front of his poor traumatized eyes. It was enough for him to swear off love for good.

For some reason he was finding himself wanting to dial back on that promise. He had only known you for around two weeks and was going back on his own word. It was freaking him out, making him want to yank his hair out from the roots and collapse onto the floor. He felt like a teenage boy again, going through puberty and trying to work out all of his jumbled feelings and hormones.

You were staring at him expectantly and it was only then that he realized he had been lost in thought. A pool of thoughts actually. Maybe even having a revelation?

“You can uh…” He clears his throat, nearly hacking up a lung. “You haven’t…you haven’t eaten, have you?”

Internally, he’s scolding himself.

You’re gonna get hurt before you can even get close. People are not meant to love you, Munson. It’s been proven time and time again. Quit while you’re ahead.

He was too far ahead anyway. Would he ever learn his lesson?

People are not meant to love you.

“No.” You answer sheepishly. “But I-I’m fine!” You try to say convincingly. The reality was that your stomach was swallowing itself, the fact that your dinner had been four tequila shots was not favoring you.

“Bambi.” Eddie says sternly.

God she’s gorgeous.

He was fucked.

“Okay…fine. I haven’t eaten.” You admit. “But I can help out a little and then–”

“C’mon.” He demands, abandoning the bin of dirty rags to head for the kitchen.

And on the way, he reasons with himself as you follow.

Just be friendly. There’s nothing wrong with being friendly. We can be friends. Stop scaring the shit out of yourself. She wouldn’t even like you beyond that. No one would.

“So, what are you feelin’?” He asks, knocking his knuckles against the metal worktop.

“Oh, I-I don’t know. Whatever is easiest. You know what, I can just go get something from one of the shops, I’m sure that little pancake place is open by now.”

“You don’t trust my cooking?” He jokes, amusement written all over his face.

To be fair, he hadn’t given you much reason to trust him since you arrived. But somehow, layers were starting to peel back and you were getting the tiniest glimpses of his true self. And you’d be stupid not to indulge when he had practically propped the door to his mind right open. At least for the time being.

“Should I?” There’s a huge grin on your face, a stupid grin that you try to conceal but can’t. “I dunno, you kind of have me wondering if you’re gonna spit in my food or something.” You quip.

“Ouch.” Eddie feigns hurt by bringing a hand to his chest. “You think I’m that scummy?” He asks, raising his brow playfully.

“Oh, the scummiest.” You banter back.

“You’re breakin’ my heart Bambi.” He frowns before disappearing into the walk-in freezer, discarding his leather jacket on a hook on his way.

Truth be told he was breaking yours too, with his handsome face and his dumb smile, deep dimples you could think about for hours, and those eyes. They told a story, a tragic story that maybe he would never care to share. And that’s what broke your heart. Suffering in silence. You knew that feeling all too well.

“By the way…” Eddie shouts from the freezer before appearing once again. “I’m Eddie.” He sticks his hand out toward you, two eggs held in his free hand.

You look up at him, bewildered.

“I never asked for your name.” He reminds you with a shit-eating grin.

The Eddie you met weeks ago was gone as far as you were concerned. All within a few hours, he seemed to warm up to you.

The scary dog was rolling over…for you.

~end~

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