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icallhimjoey · 1 year

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Never Over

♥ ♥ rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Following “Only Now”, “Over Now” and “Then Again”, the story continues. You agreed to have coffee with Eddie, because Eddie needs to speak to you. Sure, he wrote that letter, but he needs to have an actual conversation. So you do, and then, afterwards, it sort of… all just, goes to shit.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, fem!reader, mentions of smut, angst, substance abuse, hard drugs, alcoholism, lots of being sick, addiction, codependency, withdrawal symptoms

Author’s note: So, I was really convinced that this story was over for me. That the three prior parts to this would remain a trilogy, and that, if I were to ever write for Eddie again, it would be something entirely different. But then I got a message from my girlie and, shit. Here we are.

Wordcount: 10.7K

(find all four parts of this story here)

The rumbling of the engine and the gentle rocking of the vehicle did a good job of slowly letting Eddie fall asleep. It quickly became too difficult to keep his heavy eyelids open still, but the wide grin on his face was there to stay.

It was late, and the day had been long, but Eddie was happy. So very happy. Everything was coated in a light layer of joy, satisfaction, contentment, fulfillment and love. Even grumpy band members with snarky comments coming from the other bunks didn’t spoil his mood.

They weren’t rose-tinted glasses that falsely made him think everything was perfect, because he knew they very much weren’t perfect. However, there was a beauty in being sure.

Eddie felt sure, and Eddie would tell everyone that he felt sure all the time.

You, on the other hand, were very consistently unsure. About everything. Constantly.

The entire week leading up to meeting Eddie for coffee after Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding you’d been unsure. Eddie wanted to talk. Had to get things off his chest. And you’d said, or, had written in your case, that you’d go to meet him. But you were so very unsure about the whole thing.

You were very hesitant. Completely in two minds. On unsteady footing. Wobbly legs. Constantly all up in your head, overtaken by thought and hesitation. Yes, you were going to meet Eddie for a coffee because, why not? But no, you really shouldn’t go to meet Eddie, should you? Especially not after regret found you fast after what you’d done. It was sort of waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs in the grand lobby, where you spotted it in a huge mirror and it kind of scared you.

The person staring back at you was someone who just cheated on her boyfriend. With Eddie. Who was still upstairs, in Nancy and Jonathan’s bridal suite. Asleep.

Regret.

It immediately made you want to sneak back upstairs and take that note that you’d left. You should have never fucking done that. Everything about it had been delicious, but, at what cost? Thank God you at least looked fine. You’d been on top for a reason; not a hair was out of place. No one was to suspect anything had happened.

“Hey,”

Except maybe Steve.

“Where’s Eddie?”

You looked at Steve in the large mirror as you smoothed out your dress, and you didn’t really know what to say. You didn’t want to lie to your friend, but you could hardly tell him the truth, could you?

“Where’s Matt?”

You omitted Steve’s question with one of your own, as if knowing where Matt was at influenced the answer you’d give him. It would, actually, but that’s not what you wanted Steve to think.

Too late though.

Steve looked at you a second before answering, “Joyce has got him in a death grip, actually got him onto the dance floor– hey, are you okay? Did Eddie leave?”

“I’m fine,” you smiled, turned to Steve and tried to let your smile reach your eyes. “We talked.”

You did talk. Well, Eddie talked. Eddie got to say a lot of things, needed to get things out that you only half-listened to.

“Long talk,” Steve raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue. The judgment coming from him made you roll your eyes.

“Yea, well, there’s lots of things to talk about, isn’t there?”

You walked past Steve, ready to get back to the party, but Steve grabbed you by the arm before you could.

“You wanna be honest with me?”

“Steve,” you pleaded, not wanting to get into it. The ‘not now’ followed unspoken, silently. You were trying to do your best to keep all the bad feelings at bay. Everything was so fun a minute ago, you’d been so in control of everything. High on power. Where had all of it gone all of a sudden? You realised just then how fleeting all of it had been.

“Where’s Eddie?” Steve asked again.

“Upstairs.”

Steve’s expression fell and his grip loosened in surprise. You took your chance to escape him and power-walked as fast as your heels could carry you, back into the solarium. You saw Steve enter seconds after you did and were glad he hadn’t gone up to find Eddie but had instead decided to stay out of it.

Smart man.

Smart men minded their business.

But then you saw him walk over to Robin and nod his head before stepping outside with her following his tails. There was no way they weren’t going to talk about you. But, so what? They could talk. You made the conscious decision to not care, because your boyfriend, the very one who didn't dance, was on the dance floor, getting instructions from Jim Hopper as Joyce tried her best to get him to follow her lead. They had every onlooker in stitches.

Then suddenly something panged in your chest and realisation dawned.

Matt was too good for you.

You didn’t deserve someone like him.

Fuck.

Look at that goofy goober. There wasn't a bad bone in that body.

You were going to have to tell him. Tell him everything. Oh no, and he fucking loved Eddie too. Loved Corroded Coffin. Matt was such a fan, and you had just... ruined all of it, hadn’t you?

Shit.

You saw Hopper applaud proudly, booming voice going, "You got it, kid!" when Matt got something right, and he laughed as Joyce encouraged him, praising him for even trying with her at all.

Yea. You were going to have to tell him.

Not today, though. But soon.

Your coffee meeting with Eddie hadn't gone like you had expected. You hadn't known what to expect at all, really, but you had never anticipated for Eddie to be quite so brutal. So toxic. In a way it helped, because it just proved to you that Eddie was still Eddie, no matter how honest and up front he was now.

He was just sober now. Had a bit more insight and knew how to use his words right.

Walking into the coffee shop, you saw that Eddie was in disguise, already sat at a table in the far back. He had his hood up and was wearing sunglasses indoors which inadvertently only pulled more attention towards him, but it was whatever. It's what celebrities did, and sometimes it genuinely helped, so Eddie wore the uniform of a rockstar that didn't want to be bothered. You got yourself a coffee and sat down opposite him.

You kept your coat on and gave a tight lipped smile as Eddie removed his sunglasses and reached across the table to grab onto your forearm for a moment in greeting as he smiled warmly. Eddie seemed a little nervous, but excited to see you.

You were distant. Cold. You needed to be, because for seven agonizing twenty-four hour days you'd thought of everything Eddie could say that held potential to reel you back in, and you weren't going to do that to yourself.

Eddie wanted to talk. So you were going to let him talk. Talk, listen and then leave. That was the plan.

And so, Eddie talked.

Eddie talked to you with a tilted head, apologetic scrunched up eyebrows and hands that reached to touch you every time he mentioned you. Eddie talked and forgot all about his coffee.

He spoke of childhood trauma that shaped him, his attachment issues, his inability to root anywhere properly and of finding solace in familiarity. How he looked for escapes, easy fixes to cure him from the outside in, and how awful he felt about everything he'd ever done to everyone to make them feel bad.

"Especially you."

You had a hard time looking him in the eye, studied your coffee instead.

"I know you don't owe me anything... not your time, not your friendship, not your love... you owe me nothing, but, please let me give. I want to give, you deserve everything that I never gave before, and I want to give it to you now."

You could tell Eddie went to therapy. These were beautifully crafted words for you, but you didn't want to let them in. Didn't want to let them touch you. Didn't want to let them come even slightly close.

"I'm glad you're better now," was the first thing from your lips. Besides small nods and tight smiles, you hadn't said anything yet.

"I really meant everything I wrote in the letter I sent,"

You nodded slowly, then took the last sip of your coffee and looked at your empty cup for moment. Eddie took your silence as an invitation to repeat the things he'd written. After listening to it for a few seconds, you cleared your throat and interrupted him.

"You don't have to–... I read your letter. I know what it said."

You sounded colder than you intended, and winced inwardly. But maybe it was good that you came off extra harsh, because you saw it take effect immediately.

Eddie's jaw tensed as he sat back in his chair a little. He looked at you a moment, then asked, "Have you told him?"

Matt.

"There's nothing to tell," you shrugged, and it made Eddie scoff. He looked around the room, as if to check if anyone else was hearing this. Nothing to tell? Come on. There was plenty to tell.

Eddie reached into his pocket and retrieved a note. Your note. The note you had left on the pillow that said you'd go have a coffee with him.

"This was cute," Eddie held it up between his index and middle finger, then flung it onto the table where it landed in between you.

You inhaled a sharp breath as you looked at your handwriting.

"So, um, thanks for this Eddie, good luck with–"

"Whoa... hey, you're not just leaving?" Eddie sat up in his seat.

"We've had coffee. You wanted to talk, and you talked."

"But... no, wait, that's not– we slept together a week ago,"

"Shut the fuck up," you panicked, hissing through your teeth as you ducked into your shoulders and looked around to check if anyone had heard him.

"Tell me," Eddie sat up, moved in closer, both elbows back on the table. "What do I need to do to make it right?"

You blinked at him, a little dumbfounded.

"You putting that on me?"

"No, I– I just... I'm just asking, is there anything you think I could do or say that will fix everything I've done?"

"That's a big ask, I don't think so,"

"There's gotta be," Eddie said, confident. "There is. I'm gonna figure it out." and he sat back, legs spread wide with a disgustingly smug look on his face.

There he was.

Therapy and sobriety could do a lot, but it couldn't erase the man that Eddie had become over the past few years.

"Okay, well... enjoy that. I'm gonna go, good luck with... I don't know, life, in general–"

And as you got up, Eddie suddenly shot a hand out towards you and grabbed you by the wrist. For a small moment, you saw 17-year-old Eddie stare at you pleadingly. He almost looked... scared.

"I can't, Eddie..."

You thought of what else to say. Something good, to make him feel better. Something sweet, to make him smile, maybe. But then all you managed to say was,

"I'm sorry."

And with that, you gathered your things, turned your back and walked out. The second you were out of Eddie's sight, you broke, face scrunching up as you let the tears flow freely.

You were going to have to tell Matt. Tonight. You had to.

But then you didn't, did you?

Because what were you going to tell him?

"Hey remember that celebrity that you really love? Yea... same."

You couldn't.

And so, you didn't.

Until a few days later, Eddie called whilst you were at work. A classic move. Eddie knew you wouldn't be able to pick up. Knew he'd catch your answering machine instead. He wanted to leave a message.

"I know I'm not supposed to be calling you, I know this is stupid and I'm crossing all sorts of lines and boundaries, and I'll probably make things worse, but, fuck... what else am I supposed to do? Pretend nothing ever happened? Pretend that I don't think of you every second of every single fucking day? I can't... I don't know how I'm supposed to... that's not– I don't even want that to be an option. I don't want to pretend that having sex with you,"

Eddie paused. Sighed.

"That wasn't just a casual fuck, that was– we used that bridal suite for what it was meant for, I don't care if you don't want to hear it. That was making love. Shit, I fucking love you, I need to... You gotta– what do I have to do, you gotta tell me. There's gotta be something. There's–"

The phone suddenly clicked.

"Hey," a male's voice answered Eddie.

"Is this um... is this Eddie Munson?"

Just over a week after you and Eddie had met for coffee, Steve was meant to meet Eddie ahead of a Corroded Coffin gig. Small venue, not far from where Eddie lived, and they were going to get Indian food. That was the plan. But then Eddie didn’t show, and Steve waited for thirty minutes before asked if he could make a call.

No one answered.

Worry shot over Steve, because Eddie had been good. Eddie had been really reliable these past few months. They didn’t meet up often, but when they did, Eddie would check and confirm their plans several times. Eddie made sure to not fuck up anymore, to be there for his friend, to make this right and prove to himself and to everyone else that he was doing better now. That he was sober and present and better.

But thinking of it now, Steve hadn’t heard from Eddie since they said they’d go for Indian food ahead of the gig Steve was going to attend. That was well over a week ago. He contemplated for a minute but then decided, fuck it, and left the restaurant. Something wasn’t right.

When he rang Eddie’s doorbell, he was buzzed in pretty quickly and it gave him a little hope. Maybe Eddie had just forgotten. Had gotten stuck in a song writing mood where he’d forget all about time and space and was just creative. In the flow. Spaced out, but in a good way. Steve crossed his fingers that Eddie was spaced out in the best way.

But stepping out of the elevator, he walked past a sketchy dude, the type of smug, criminal-looking guy Steve would usually steer clear off, who he saw had left the door open to Eddie’s luxury apartment.

Inside Steve found Eddie on his couch, expressionless, sort of dead-eyed. He didn’t even look up until Steve accidentally kicked a glass bottle that clattered loudly against the floor tiles, and even then it didn’t really seem like Eddie was fully in his body.

“No, no, no, no… Eddie, what the fuck,”

There were fresh coke lines on the table in front of Eddie and bottles just, everywhere. Some empty, some still somewhat full.

Fuck.

Eddie had relapsed, and he had relapsed hard.

The place looked ransacked, like Eddie had partied for a full week and hadn't let the cleaners in. There was just, shit, all over.

Eddie barely even heard Steve, but there was a shimmer of recognition in Eddie’s eyes when he saw him, followed by a disconnected smile.

“Harrington,”

Steve had never seen anyone like this. In this state. He knew Eddie had problems with alcohol – everyone knew of the alcoholism, it had been widely reported before. Just like everyone knew of his stint in rehab. And sure, Eddie used to deal a little in high school. They'd get high on bad quality weed together on Fridays sometimes, but Steve never thought that Eddie was the type of dude to snort actual lines of cocaine off tables. Especially not in his own home. Especially not by him fucking self, alone.

Shit, Eddie had been so good. He’d taken responsibility for the bad things and he’d been so good about everything.

“Forgot about dinner?”

Steve knew logically Eddie probably didn’t know what time it was, or even what day it was. He was about to miss another one of his own gigs, for fuck's sake. But the mention of food did something to Eddie.

Steve saw Eddie grow green in real time whilst he stayed overwhelmingly calm.

He’s about to hurl, Steve thought, suddenly panicked because Eddie’s place only had expensive furniture, the type of stuff Steve could never afford. And Eddie remaining so deeply calm only fucked with him more, because, why wasn’t Eddie rushing to a toilet?

Eddie leant forward slightly, only a little, and was just going to throw up right where he was sitting, so Steve darted around, found a sort of long vase stood in a corner and planted it right in between Eddie’s legs. Eddie immediately started filling it up, emptying his full stomach contents until Steve was sure the vein on Eddie’s forehead was going to pop and his throat had to be absolutely aching.

“This isn’t… fuck man, what are you doing? What happened?”

Eddie spit into the vase a few times, wiped a hand at his watery eyes, then at his mouth and sort of... babbled something. Steve could barely follow any of it, none of the noises sounded like actual words, until he caught your name. Eddie said your name and Steve thought Eddie was about to throw up again, but instead, Eddie looked at Steve and seemed a little more present. Sad and fucking hurt, but present.

“Ed… you can’t be–”

A heartshattering sob burst from Eddie's chest.

Eddie broke down and let himself fall onto his couch, curling up into a ball as he cried. Maybe it was the realisation of it all. Maybe it was Steve being there and Eddie being able to see the sheer fear in his friend's face. Or maybe it was just that it had been six consecutive days of this bullshit and he'd barely slept.

Steve looked around, sort of… defeated. Everything was a mess. The apartment had drugs and booze all over. Eddie was drunk, had coke crusted around his nose, was sweating, was crying and was sick. It was all fucked up. He had a gig in two hours. Steve needed to call people. Steve needed to get help. Steve needed to call someone, get help and...

He needed to get rid of all of the shit.

If Steve was going to help, he needed to start with getting all the substances out.

“Here, come on,” Steve took hold of Eddie’s arm and pulled him up. Helped him into the bathroom and sort of, propped him up next to the toilet with his back pressed against the tub. Then placed a glass of water next to him.

“Small sips,” he instructed, not even sure if that really was what was best.

Eddie's cries sounded worse in the bathroom, and Steve didn’t know what to do. Eddie’s voice echoed throughout the whole apartment now and sometimes, it was just wailing that turned into more vomiting, but then other times they were words, things like, sorry, I fucked up, I can't, I don't and your name.

Eddie kept crying your name and it made Steve aggressively wipe at his wet eyes all angrily as he collected bottles and other trash into garbage bags.

When was this shit going to fucking end?

When Steve called you, you let the call go to your answering machine.

You'd been crying and didn't need to talk to Steve right now. You knew Steve knew. Had heard from Matt, who had probably told him everything. Steve would say things like, I told you so. And, you brought this onto yourself. Shit you didn't want to hear. Truths you couldn't really face right now.

But when you heard Steve's voice on the tape, everything changed in an instant.

Steve's voice cracked, like he'd been crying and he sounded desperate. Panicked. Completely stressed out of his mind.

"I need you to come over, I'm sorry... I didn't want to call you, but you need to– I need you. Eddie's been... he's relapsed. It's bad. I don't know what– how I can–"

The phone clicked.

"Steve?"

You'd picked up , and Steve sighed a breath of relief. You were both sniffing down the line.

"I'm sorry," Steve said again.

"Where are you?"

"Eddie's apartment. It's... you need to know it's bad." Steve's voice didn't leave any room for questions. This was serious business. Steve would never call you over to Eddie's apartment if it wasn't absolutely desperately needed for you to be there.

"I'm on my way."

You'd never been to Eddie's apartment before, but you knew exactly where it was. Knew to steer clear of the area. Avoided it at all cost for a very long time, and found stupid excuses when Matt asked about it.

Steve buzzed you in and waited for you outside Eddie's front door. He needed to warn you extra before you were going to walk in, but stepping out of the elevator in a frenzy, you didn't let Steve stop you.

Just waltzed right in.

But the apartment was quiet, and it was just... messy. Kind of disgusting, actually.

You'd already been crying, emotions had been running high all day, so tears found you fast as you clasped a hand over your mouth. Steve caught up with you, said that he'd been cleaning for a little while already, but he didn't know what to do with the cocaine on the table, or the pills he found in the kitchen.

You sort of looked around in silence together for a moment.

This was insane.

You were scared Steve was going to say anything about Matt. About Matt finding out. About you and Eddie fucking in Nancy and Jonathan's bridal suite. But Steve said nothing of the sort.

"Corroded Coffin was meant to be on stage in an hour," with a broom in hand, Steve was a little relieved to now share the burden of all the horror he'd walked in on. He'd also called Eddie's manager. Said Eddie wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be able to make it. Everything told Steve that his manager knew. Understood. But nothing else was said, nothing about drinking, or drug use, and Steve thought that maybe they already knew, because Eddie also hadn't shown up for sound check.

"Where's Eddie?"

Before Steve could say anything, you heard someone cough and retch. Bathroom.

"Wait, stop," Steve tried, but it was to no avail.

You found Eddie, arms folded over the toilet seat, messy head of hair resting atop, heaving.

"My baby," you sighed upon the sight of him, voice cracked, immediately crying. My baby? Where the fuck did that come from? Somewhere deep within, you thought. It pained you on its way out, you could feel it pull up from the pit of your stomach.

Steve frowned at it. He hadn't called you over to let you fall back into old patterns.

Eddie heard you and dove down deeper into himself, moved away a little, but remained on the toilet seat still. Refused to look at you because you weren't meant to see him like this. Ever. Pathetic excuse of a person.

"Eddie?" your voice was soft, small and high-pitched as your throat constricted with emotion as you kneeled down next to him. Eddie turned away, and when you reached a hand to softly touch, not to startle, but to comfort, you felt Eddie was shaking.

Steve stood in the door of the bathroom and looked at his two friends. The two people who'd been his best friends for a long time. One hiding his face into his arms over a toilet bowl, the other now moving from her knees onto her butt to sit with him, resting her chin on the other side of the toilet seat, one hand touching his arm, thumb slowly rubbing dry skin, waiting for Eddie to acknowledge her presence. One of them pretending they weren't even there, the other desperate for a connection to be made. Both quietly crying; your lip quivering, Eddie's shoulders shaking.

If this moment wasn't encased in the most awful, absolutely horrid circumstances, in a bathroom that could really use a fucking clean, Steve would've thought it was almost sort of romantic.

But it was bullshit, is what it was.

Seeing the two of you together like this, something dawned on Steve. Something that he somehow had always known was now staring at him, right in his face.

This was just like when you were 18 and Eddie had been sick after a house party where he'd been laughed at, had been ridiculed by some jocks. You'd sat with him all night until you'd both fallen asleep in the bathroom where you'd left mascara streaks on the floor tiles.

Or like when you'd been in a fight with your dad and Steve and Eddie found you on the steps of Wayne and Eddie's trailer. You'd hidden in their bathroom all night with Eddie on the other side of the door, softly talking to you until Steve decided, this wasn't what he'd come over to Eddie's for, and had gone home.

Or like when Steve had thrown you a surprise birthday party when you turned 19, but Eddie hadn't been able to make it because of work, and you'd just sulked all night. Steve had put so much effort into the preparations, and then, all throughout the party, he had put effort into cheering you up.

It was always the same type of shit with the two of you. Always so much effort. And it was just, never ending. This was who you were. Three friends who just... had a lot of bullshit happening, all of the time. You and Eddie always with the drama, and Steve kind of always there to help. It was always the same story. This was never gonna be over.

"Eddie, what did you do?" you whispered, and your voice revealed a little fear, but it carried mostly care.

"He fucked up is what he did,"

"Steve," you scolded.

"Wha–... am I wrong?"

Steve's anger built. Completely inappropriate, you thought. This was a delicate situation. A situation you'd been completely kept out of before. All those times you hadn't answered Eddie's phone calls all those months ago. All those times Steve told you that, Eddie was going to be fine. He was going to be fine, at some point. Get the help he needed. Get over whatever the fuck he'd been doing. You'd protected yourself and you'd listened then. Trusted that Steve was right. Gained strength in yourself and didn't allow Eddie to be a part of your life.

You had felt guilty then too, but... never like this.

This was the type of guilt that made you pick up when Steve called. The type of guilt that made you not even question going over to Eddie's apartment. That made you want to fix things. Fix Eddie. Fix all of it.

Guilt was the main emotion of the day. The real star of the show.

"Well? Eddie?"

Steve stood in that doorway still, broom in one hand, the other on his hip. Brow furrowed. He looked like his mom and his dad simultaneously, which, you weren't going to mention. You had no death wish.

"You've been crying out for her for over an hour, so I got her for you. She's here. Now what?" Steve spat.

Frustration and fear accumulated into this anger cocktail that Steve was spewing out at Eddie. Inability and helplessness, the complete not-knowing-what-to-do of it all that really didn't help. And now Eddie hid away and pretended you weren't even there and it rubbed Steve wrong.

Steve threw the broom he was still holding which landed hard on the bathroom tiles, making you flinch, before he left the two of you alone. Went back to the kitchen. Started furiously clearing counter tops. Had to not see you for a second.

"Eddie," you whispered, hoping that maybe he'd look up at you this time. Look you in the eye. You recalled how just over a week ago you'd been so dismissive of him. Heartless. Tried your best to come across it, at least. When you still thought that if you let Eddie in, he'd come between you and Matt, not realizing that... Eddie had sort of always been in between you and Matt anyway.

Cold and heartless was not the version of you that Eddie needed right now. And it wasn't the version of you that you wanted to be for him.

Eddie made small noises. You thought maybe he was going to say something, but then you saw his whole torso tense up, making Eddie hunch his back as he threw up again. Your hands were fast to push back his hair, collecting it behind his head into a ponytail that you tied with a hair tie you found near the sink. It revealed his face to you. Bloodshot eyes. Pained expression. Wet from crying. Awful skin.

Jesus Christ, it had just been over a week.

Eddie looked dead if it wasn't for blotches of colour that heaving brought to his face.

Not much came out of him. It was mostly just bile, by now.

Eddie struggled through it, stomach muscles spasming, nose snotting, eyes streaming and you had curled yourself around him all the way, like a backpack, pressing a cheek against his shoulder blade. You held him like that for a while, not really knowing what to say, or what else you could do.

A sudden loud clang made you turn your head. You caught a glimpse of Steve walking away, a huge big stinking vase now placed behind you.

"Rinse that out," Steve called out.

Yes. Good. A task. You could help by rinsing out what was very clearly a vomit filled vase, but when you were about to get up, Eddie clasped a hand onto your forearm.

"Stay," Eddie trembled.

"I'm staying, not going anywhere,"

You squeezed Eddie, carefully, but tightly. He seemed to need it.

"Just gotta clean something. I'll do it in the bath, I'll be right behind you,"

Eddie breathed heavily, tried his best to control it, to relax his stomach and not let it spasm, and let go of you. Rinsing out the vase in the bath was disgusting, but looking at Eddie helplessly sat by the toilet still, you couldn't help the overwhelming feeling of wanting to take care of him.

Wasn't that what it had always been?

Eddie would come back to Hawkins to be taken care of. And you always took care of him without asking any questions. Loved it. Loved him. Just couldn't stand him leaving every time.

Vase clean and turned upside down to drip-dry on a towel, you turned back to Eddie, stepped closer to him and that's when Eddie reached back, took hold of your leg. Tugged your jeans, pulled you down, turned a little, found handfuls of your shirt and pulled and tugged until you were sat on the floor in front of him, legs curled around his hips and his around yours. Arms folded around his back, and his strongly around yours. Embracing each other, impossibly tight, clinging, like that would cure everything.

Eddie cried again, buried his head into your neck. He smelled really bad.

"You're such an asshole," you said, your own lips quivering again. You kind of meant it, but hoped it would bring a little comic relief too.

"I'm a fuck up," Eddie agreed.

"You're both bullshit," Steve suddenly deadpanned and it made the both of you turn your faces to look at him.

"I was thinking, I really shouldn't say anything, because who am I... you know? This isn't my business. But then, you made it my business." Steve rubbed his brow, frowning deeply, clearly annoyed.

"Steve, let's not–" you tried.

"No. Let's!"

Steve crouched down right in front of you, elbows on knees, eyebrows raised high and nostrils flared. This is what Steve did when he was angry and had things to say. He'd get real close before he'd scold. Would make sure that you really heard what he had to tell you.

"I don't care what the fuck is going on here right now, between the two of you, but I'm done with it. It's always the same type of shit with you, like I'm stuck in a loop and there's no way out! Fucking groundhog day!" Steve got back up, intimidatingly towering over you, both hands in his hair before he continued.

"I'm not gonna come 'round and listen to you bitch and moan about why Eddie left this time," Steve said as he gestured a hand at you. Then he turned to Eddie. "I'm not gonna tell you–" Steve suddenly closed his eyes, breath shaking, trying real hard to keep it together. "You can't even fucking look at me straight, dude,"

Eddie was still drunk.

"I'm not gonna do it anymore. You can figure shit out for yourselves. I'm done." Steve turned, was about to walk out, but you stopped him. Said, "Steve, he relapsed," like that magically excused everything. But Steve stopped in the doorway, turned his head a little and said, "Yea, but so did you. Eddie with alcohol and whatever his dealers will sell him. You, with him."

Steve walked away. You thought maybe he'd just go into the kitchen again, but when you heard the front door slam shut, you knew he'd been serious.

You looked at Eddie.

Steve was right. Eddie had no control over what his eyes were doing.

"Let's get you clean. Then, bed."

Eddie obliged. Happy someone took the lead for him. Happy you took the lead for him.

But Eddie wasn't so happy the next morning, when he woke up at 4AM, sheets drenched in sweat. He was fucking freezing. You hadn't been able to sleep much and had set up camp in a comfortable chair that you'd moved to sit closer to the foot of Eddie's bed, where it was easier to watch TV. Volume all the way down.

"You should leave," Eddie croaked when he saw you.

"You should sleep more,"

"Slept plenty," Eddie tried sitting up, but was quickly fought back into the mattress by his own nausea. The pain in his head, in his stomach... he knew just the fix for it.

"If you think you're going to be able to find anything, I threw all of it out. Vacuumed up whatever you had lying around, washed everything else down the drain." You said it a little shaky, unsure of how Eddie was going to react.

Eddie thought for a second. He could definitely stick his nose into a dusty dirty vacuum, didn't feel like he was particularly above that type of behavior.

"There's nothing here, so go back to sleep," you were trying to fight off sleep yourself. Wanted to be awake in case Eddie would... in case something would happen.

Three days passed where you didn't leave the apartment. Three scary days and four scarier nights of caring for Eddie, never knowing if what you were doing was right, but doing them anyway.

You cleaned, finished Steve's job and made the place look tidy. Mess free. Aired it out, let Eddie complain about the cold that you skillfully ignored as you worked. You'd thrown all of it out. All the booze, the pills, the coke, the one discarded dirty syringe you found that you really hoped somebody else had used - you'd gotten rid of everything.

You asked Eddie if he wanted water, tea or a nap every time you caught him awake. And every time he'd sort of, frown at you. Didn't need your soft care, just needed a bit of... anything to take the edge of, but then, he always took you up on it. Always had a sip of water, maybe a little bit of tea and then would lay back down, always tried to go back to sleep.

Eddie slept a lot, but pain would wake him at odd hours. Always covered in sweat. Always shaking. Sometimes you'd worry he'd be sick again, but he'd growl he was just hurting.

Anger seeped out through his skin, and you knew it was never aimed at you, but you'd secretly cry once Eddie would drift off again.

On the second night you'd stayed over, you'd woken up on Eddie's couch around 1AM, went to check on him, and found Eddie drinking his mouthwash in the bathroom.

"Eddie?"

"Oh, shit, fuck–" Eddie scrambled to close the bottle, to hide it from you.

"What are you..." you took a small step back, scared of what you were witnessing.

"Don't leave," Eddie said, voice already cracking, afraid that you'd actually walk out now.

You took another small step back which urged Eddie to launch himself at you, arms encasing your strongly, Eddie's damp body pressed harshly against yours in an uncomfortable hug. One you didn't participate in.

"I'll get you a change of clothes," was all you managed to say when you felt how clammy he was.

Eddie sobbed and muttered things about how pathetic he was as you helped him freshen up. You sat him down in a chair as you changed his sheets. He had to stay close, couldn't really be trusted to be left alone, not even in his own apartment, apparently.

"Go back to sleep," you said when you'd finished, and you wanted Eddie to lay back down in bed so that you could sit in that chair he was sat in now, and watch him. Hold guard. But Eddie sort of looked up at you, and you thought he was going to say something. Something sweet, maybe. Something important. But then you both heard his stomach churn, and Eddie had to make a run for it.

He threw up the mouthwash, bright blue vomit clattered into the bath. Eddie seethed with anger, told you to leave him alone. "Don't want you to see me like this," he cried, and he promised he wouldn't touch the rest of the mouthwash, but yelled at you as you washed it down the drain with shaking hands.

Eddie cried. Vomited until it was all bile again, and you urged him to eat.

"Eddie, what if you die?"

"I won't fucking die,"

"You drank mouthwash!"

Eddie retched more, unable to stop it and unable to quite believe people could feel pain like this.

"You wanna go back to rehab?"

Eddie looked at you as if to say, is that a threat? You looked at him, and your expression read that it was a threat. Eddie didn't want to go back to rehab. Really, really didn't. Couldn't have you near him, but absolutely couldn't have you far. He reached for you, scared fingers dug into your skin, and you held him whilst he held on.

On the third day, you'd gotten Eddie to have a little soup and a few bites of an apple slice. Quite a bit of water, too, and Eddie seemed calmer then. Seemed to finally have snapped out of his mood.

You sat up on top of the covers in bed with him, and put on Pretty Woman.

"I'm not watching that big mouthed wench," Eddie had objected. Didn't want to watch romantic comedies with you. Happy people with happy faces and huge fucking smiles.

But you pretended you hadn't heard him, kept the movie playing until you were both sat against Eddie's headboard leant into each other, Eddie's head resting upon your shoulder and your cheek pressed into his hair.

This was nice, you thought. Almost like old times, a little.

Eddie would cramp up in waves. He'd be fine for a while, lucid, and present, and then suddenly, he'd be writhing. You always had a bucket ready, and helped him through it. Eased him back into his pillows, and would climb back into bed next to him. Always over the covers.

It was awful, but this was the process, you thought. It was complete misery, all kind of gross and disgusting, and Eddie was mortified but grew clingy. Needed you there. And so you were, but always over the covers.

That was, until Eddie, when the movie was nearly finished, groaned a little. His face was blotchy, eyes all red rimmed and his hair a tangled mess. You forgot what Eddie looked like without his bangs stuck to his forehead. He always seemed to be wet.

"You all right? What do you need? Water? I can make you more soup,"

"No, I'm just... cold,"

Eddie let his teeth chatter, and you looked around the room for a second.

"Eddie, it's fucking boiling in here,"

"Can you turn the heating on?"

The heating was on.

You took a good look at him. He didn't look as grey as he had a few days ago, but he still looked miserable. Sick like you'd never seen sickness before.

"I'll run you a hot bath,"

You helped Eddie ease into the water and sat on the ledge behind him, Eddie between your legs, so you could wash his hair. Eddie always loved it when you washed his hair, would really melt under your touch as you massaged soapy suds into his curls. But, his hair was one bit bird's nest, and so now, it was an agonizing job that needed doing. You were as gentle as you could be, but Eddie would wince as you worked to detangle the matted mess in the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry, baby,"

"Why does everything hurt so much?" Eddie let his arms wrap around your calves and broke your heart as he silently cried.

Eddie let you wash him until he was all clean and then let you braid his hair after. His hands hadn't left your body since you'd helped him into the bath, and you hoped that it meant that he was over the hump. That this was a turning point, and everything was going to get better now.

That night, you'd slept with Eddie under the covers. You big spooned him. Held him tight. Whispered that everything was going to be fine, and the fact that Eddie didn't seem to be so sweaty confirmed that you were probably right.

It was all going to be fine.

At some point, Eddie turned and tried to kiss you. He pressed his lips onto yours, and for a second, you sort of let it happen. Let your mouths brush together. But it didn't feel right. Eddie was vulnerable, and you were exhausted, and it all felt wrong. So you stopped it. Broke the kiss. Moved your head away a little.

"Let me love you," Eddie whispered. "Let me love you like you always love me,"

"Later, Eddie. You're unwell,"

"I'd be yours, if you'd be mine," Eddie's voice cracked.

Beautiful words that made your chest swell. But these weren't things to dive into now.

"Later, baby. These are things for later."

You didn't reject Eddie, but to Eddie, it felt a little like a rejection, and he buried his face into your neck. Hid in there and kept it there, all snuggled up, until you both fell asleep.

The next morning you stirred awake at 8AM which really felt like sleeping in at that point. Eddie was bone dry. No sweat. No tears. You even detected a little colour in his cheeks.

It was time. Eddie had eaten, had managed to keep it all inside and so, it was time.

You'd done enough.

Home.

You slipped out, wearing one of Eddie's T-shirts still, and didn't leave a note. No dumb, stupid note. None of this was cute, or funny, or in any need of a sad little note that Eddie could keep and then throw at you later. Or, like you'd done, could keep in an old shoe box with other stupid things that you couldn't just get rid of.

You just left. Went home. Sort of trusted that you'd see Eddie later. Maybe. If he really had changed, was willing to at least try to change, like he'd said.

"I'd be yours, if you'd be mine."

You wanted it to be true so badly, but his actions were going to have to speak louder than his words.

You forgot what would be awaiting you at your apartment until you actually stepped inside and were greeted by your own mess. Drawers pulled open, half your clothes on the floor, big empty spaces left where Matt's things used to be. Slapped down and broken picture frames - completely your doing, not Matt's, but glass had shattered and you'd just... left it. You had even ran a bath for yourself, and then had let the soapy water sit and grow cold, because you didn't really deserve a bath, did you?

You remembered how you'd found Eddie's voicemail message two days after he had left it, listened to it with Matt in the room, and listened to it until you heard Matt pick up the phone. The tape had caught his voice, but then it cut off. Matt knew now, but Matt was just as non-confrontational as you were, and had known for two whole days. Hadn't said a word. But the truth had now been spoken into existence with the both of you looking at each other, and there was no way either of you could pretend still. Could pretend to not have heard it. Could deny any of it.

"What else did he tell you?"

It was the worst question to ask Matt, because it revealed there was more to your and Eddie's story than you'd ever told him.

"Enough," was all Matt said, never elaborated.

So, that was it then.

You'd sat on your couch, sort of dazed, stared into space, not even able to really cry even though this was a situation that deserved tears. Then Matt slowly started packing up all his things around you. Matt had stuff all over, hadn't technically moved in with you, but really only ever spent one, maybe two nights a week at his own place. Matt didn't move around with anger, but left the place messy, dropped your things on the floor without caring to pick up after himself. Good, you thought. Stand your ground, Matt. I deserve shittier treatment.

Just before Matt had walked out, he'd said, "If it had to be someone, it's pretty cool that it was Eddie Munson."

It was just like you'd fucking said all along: Matt was too good for you. You didn't deserve someone like Matt.

Self-hatred, absolute vile loathing of every single aspect that build your person, completely consumed you. Regret. Shame. So much guilt. You felt like you needed to hurt yourself because Matt hadn't hurt you enough. He hadn't yelled, hadn't shouted, hadn't said mean things. You only started crying once Matt was gone, and that alone added to all you had to be embarrassed about.

And then Steve called and offered you the greatest distraction of all. Eddie needed taking care of. And Steve was going to let you.

Back in your home now, it all came flooding back, and you sort of fell into the same state you'd been in then. Slumped back on your couch. Crying. Drowning in a weird version of self pity, sort of overwhelmed with how shit it all was. Steve mad. Eddie a mess. Matt gone. You empty. Alone.

You just sat like that. Stared into space, tears running all the way down your neck into the collar of one of Eddie's T-shirts you were still wearing.

Then, your doorbell rang.

You looked at your buzzer a minute, not really moving.

It rang a few more times, until it stopped.

A little bit later, footsteps followed on the stairs, and then, a knock on your door. A muffled mention of your name.

"Eddie?"

You got up, opened the door and found him there.

"I rang different doorbells until someone let me in," Eddie explained, but you didn't really react to that.

Eddie was here.

Actions were going to have to speak louder than words.

He was here.

Eddie looked over your shoulder, behind you, eyes scanning your pigsty of an apartment.

"Oh, shit," he commented, looked at your tear-stained face that was still staring up at him, gaze empty, because that's how you felt. All empty.

"Okay. Come on, your turn. Go sit down." Eddie took you by the shoulders and guided you back to you couch where you let yourself fall back on your spot.

"Tea?" Eddie asked, and then answered for himself, "Tea."

Eddie made you tea. Then started tidying. Cleaning. Just started putting everything in places where he thought they belonged. Did things wrong, but you didn't correct. He took broken picture frames, threw out shards of glass and tucked the photographs into a drawer. Ran a laundry after. Emptied the bath and rinsed and scrubbed the soap rim the water had left behind. Dishes next.

Eddie was sweating, more than was normal, and you knew he was struggling still. Probably felt sick to his stomach. But he was here, and for the first time in for fucking ever, you felt your battery charge with Eddie there. Eddie was charging your battery instead of draining it. Weird, but this was it. The thing. Eddie said there had to be something he could to do fix it. This was it. Eddie was fixing it.

Eddie saw you had three messages waiting on your answering machine, then told you, "Hey, you've got three messages waiting on your answering machine. Want me to play them for you?"

You nodded.

They were all from Steve.

"Hey, are you still not back home?" followed by a heavy, frustrated sigh, "You're going to end up killing each other, you know that right?", then a silence, followed by a loud beep.

Second message.

"I hope you're not answering because you're at work, and not still wiping vomit of Eddie's chin..." a beat, then, "You're like the wrong sides of two magnets who try to keep pushing themselves together. It's not gonna work!" another loud beep.

Third message.

"If you're not answering because you don't want to talk to me, I get it... I shouldn't have called you over to Eddie's place, I didn't know what I expected to happen, but... I spoke to Matt, just that afternoon, and he... sort of explained what happened, and, seeing you and Eddie be all cutesy– it made me mad for him. Matt's a good dude, you know he didn't deserve that... but guess what he said? He was like, this is going to be the best story ever – Eddie Munson stole my girlfriend. Can you believe that?" Steve fell silent for a second, then said, "Sorry I yelled at you. Please call me back when you get this... I'll call again tomorrow if you don't."

Loud beep.

No more messages.

Eddie just looked at you, tried to gather your reaction, but you were giving him nothing.

"You OK?"

With your eyes trained on your coffee table, you gave your head a tiny shake no.

"You wanna nap? Lay down for a little bit?"

They were words you'd said to Eddie many times over the past three days. Instead of answering him, you slumped sideways, rolled yourself up in a little ball, knees against your chest. Eddie immediately stepped closer, took a throw blanket and tucked you in.

"Can I lay with you?"

Eddie hovered, but you didn't answer. Couldn't answer, your throat had closed up with all these negative emotions, all of them aimed at yourself. You didn't deserve softness right now. So then, Eddie didn't lay with you, but instead sat down in a chair. He could just sit there while you slept. Not touching, but, he was close. That was all he wanted, anyway. To be close.

You woke up when your phone rang.

Eddie was quick, tiptoed to the phone as fast as he could and hoped it hadn't woken you up.

"Hello?" he answered, voice hushed.

There was a silence on the other end of the line, and then, "Munson?"

"Harrington," Eddie smiled a little smug smile, happy he caught Steve on the phone.

"Yea?" Steve asked, and Eddie knew what he meant. "You're actually doing this?" Steve challenged.

"I think we might be... well, I am, anyway. We'll see if she'll let me."

Steve laughed, but it was humorless. It said, yea, we'll see about that dipshit. Eddie understood. Therapy had made him understand that everything was going to need proof. He'd ruined trust with everyone. This was nothing new, especially not now that he'd relapsed.

"I swear to God, Eddie. I'm not-"

"I know. I heard you the first time."

Steve scoffed.

"You seemed pretty out of it then,"

"I was," Eddie confirmed. "But you were very clear,"

"No fucking it up, Eddie,"

"I won't."

"Remember? Be mindful."

Oh, Eddie remembered.

"Hey Steve?" Eddie swallowed, knew his words weren't enough, but needed to say them anyway. "I wanted to say I'm sorry, and, um... thank you... you didn't have to, you know... just, thanks."

"You're good. Is she there?"

Eddie turned around and saw you were awake.

"Just woke up, hang on - it's Steve, you good to talk to Steve?"

You held a hand out as you sat up, knowing the cord could easily make it to your couch, and Eddie passed you the handset as he sat back down in his chair.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing out of your mouth, voice all strained.

Steve was silent for a second. He couldn't just accept that and move on.

"You were right. I'm total bullshit," you admitted.

"Hey," Eddie frowned.

"Sorry, we're total bullshit,"

That wasn't what Eddie meant, but that did make him smile. You heard Steve sigh.

"You're not bullshit. I actually think, and this is going to sound fucking wild coming from me, but I talked about it with Robin and she agrees... I think you actually might just be perfect for each other,"

Eddie was close enough to hear Steve on the other end, and he placed a hand on your knee. Let you know he agreed, too. He really fully fucking agreed.

"Stop, you're going to make me cry," you joked, but actually meant it.

"You gonna let Eddie comfort you this time?" You could hear Steve's smile in his voice, could picture it perfectly and copied it.

"I think I might, he's doing a fairly okay job right now," you looked at Eddie. "You've done plenty, Steve,"

Passage of the token. Eddie squeezed your knee.

"I love you, but..." Steve searched his mind for the right words. "But, you're just... a lot, the both of you,"

That made you laugh. He was fucking right.

"Could you still handle, like... 50 per cent of me?"

Eddie leant over, whispered, "Ask him if he can do 40, I'll easily do 60,"

"40?" you asked Steve, and Steve laughed.

"30 and it's a deal,"

Eddie heard, loudly said, "I'm not watching romantic comedies with her, dude!"

"All right, all right. 40."

You laughed and loved how it felt to laugh together, all three of you. You couldn't remember the last time the three of you laughed together like this.

"Love you Steve,"

"I love you too. Hey, is it weird if I come over? We could do a late lunch, maybe?"

Eddie took the phone from you, said, "Yea, no, that's gonna be weird,"

"What? Why?" Steve was confused, but it only lasted a second. "Oh gross, you're going to be open about fucking now, aren't you?"

"Bye Harrington,"

Eddie didn't even properly hang up the phone, but had simply dropped it to the floor instead before moving over to kiss you.

He then fucked you right there on your couch.

Afterwards you'd looked around, had said, "We're even now," and Eddie had burst out laughing. "Oh no, sweetheart, we're far from even. Are you forgetting who caused you all this trouble?" Eddie said, and when you just looked at him. He then pointed a fat finger at himself.

"Yea, but, did you not reach for a bottle after what I said to you?"

You'd placed blame for his relapse fully with yourself, and Eddie gasped, couldn't believe you were actually being serious and hugged you close.

"Baby, I'm not the way I am because of you. It's because of all the..." Eddie waved a wild arm around.

You understood.

"Foundations for this shit show were laid long before I'd ever even met you," Eddie kissed into your hair. "Don't you ever say anything like that to me again. We're not even. I've got a lot more work to do, trust me."

And so you did. Decided you were going to trust him.

Eddie got more help. More therapy. More AA meetings. More keeping busy with other hobbies, like cooking. And baking. He made sure he'd see you every day, would never stray too far, even though you literally lived above and worked in a bar... this was never going to be easy. But Eddie had you, and he promised he'd take care of you and of himself.

You found a way to be together, and then, seemed to never not be together. Joined at the hip again, but without Steve this time 'round.

Steve came over all the time, though. Visited at least once a week. For lunch, or for dinner. To watch romantic comedies with you, and Eddie would join, just because actually, if he didn't focus on her mouth too much, Julia Roberts wasn't that terrible of an actress.

The band had taken a short break, and Eddie had decided they should be open with the public about why. Said it would actually help a lot if people knew about how difficult addiction could be. Would make it less of an awkward conversation whenever he had to explain to people he was actively practicing sobriety.

And Eddie did good. Got real good at all of it again. Had good days, and then good weeks. He felt more and more himself, and Wayne recognized it too. He kind of had his nephew back, said he'd missed him a lot and hadn't known if he'd ever really would get to see him again which had made Eddie cry.

Eddie was doing good, and Eddie knew a large chunk of it was because he had you now.

But then, after a few months of doing good, touring was back on the table, and Eddie immediately grew nervous.

Loneliness was Eddie's biggest trigger, and it wasn't being alone that was an issue, because on tour, you were never really one hundred per cent alone. There were always people all over. Everywhere. All the time. The real issue was the feeling of being alone, especially when surrounded by so many. Eddie's cure for this dull ache of loneliness had always been a lil' drinky drink. Just, a little sippity sip, a tiny little drop. Just one drink, you know, to take the edge of.

Eddie knew this about himself, and so, he was nervous. Scared. Sort of, riddled with anxiety.

You'd suggested some form of training. "We can sleep apart from each other for two consecutive nights, only call each other when we can find the time, just to try it out? See what that does? And then if that goes well, do three or four nights next..."

At 3AM on that first night, Eddie had snuck his way into your apartment and into your bed. Hugged you real tight, like he'd been gone for months.

"That was only a few hours," you'd croaked after checking the time.

"Few hours too many," Eddie'd whispered.

"How are you ever going to do this?" you were more awake then, wanted to have a talk. Face this head on.

"I don't know. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't cling to you so much," Eddie said, worried you'd judge.

"That's all right," you were quick to make sure he didn't feel any judgment. "I quite like being clung to,"

"I promise I'll get better at this,"

"It's going to take time," you warned, knowing tour started just over a month from then.

"Someday, I'll be better." Eddie snuggled closer, eyes closed, tired.

Someday didn't come fast enough, just like you'd predicted, and so, with some creative paperwork and serious conversations with your landlord, your boss, Eddie's management and the band, arrangements had been made.

Eddie needed you there. And you had your own thing, your own personal problems, serious issues, with Eddie leaving. So, it really worked out for the best for the both of you. The solution to both of your problems was one and the same. You were going to go on tour with them.

"Did I not tell you that you're perfect for each other?" Steve had said with a goofy smile when you told him.

You became part of the Corroded Coffin entourage, not with any other specific job than just... being there. It took a some adjusting, because Eddie was different when he was Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin. There were certain expectations, and Eddie felt like people wanted him to fall into his rockstar patterns, do the things he always did when out on the road. Go to parties, bring parties back to hotel rooms, invite who ever seemed like a fun time onto the bus, drink a lot. You had no idea how Eddie would've even done this if you hadn't been there and, you'd never tell Eddie this, but you were convinced that he probably would've killed himself.

You slept on the tourbus together, had tried to squeeze into one bunk together, but that was only really doable for naps. There wasn't enough room to even roll over without shifting and scooting your whole body when you laid in a bunk alone, by yourself, so doubling up was never comfortable for long. Not for the long stretch of rest Eddie needed after shows. That's when you'd sleep on bunks opposite each other. You would remind each other how many more nights until you'd share a hotel bed again, and then let the rumbling of the engine and the gentle rocking of the bus lull you to sleep. You'd close the curtains to your bunks enough, but never all the way, always leaving a gap so you could see each other.

And sometimes, even the small distance between your bunks was too much distance, and Eddie would reach out a hand from underneath his curtain. You'd grab it and then you'd fall asleep holding hands that dangled in the middle of the walkway.

Everyone else hated it.

"This is worse than when they'd sleep on top of each other in one bunk those first few days,"

"Close your eyes and go to sleep, man. You don't have to look at it,"

Salty comments would come from bunks beneath you, and from behind your curtains, you'd smile sleepy smiles at each other.

Happy.

Eddie was so happy. So sure that this was it now.

Not perfect. Far from perfect actually. There were going to be hard days to struggle through, difficult moments he wouldn't know how to deal with.

But he knew you were going to be there. Was so very sure you'd be there. And he'd be there too.

Eddie was happy.

Had his past with you.

Cherished his present with you.

Felt sure about his future with you.

And that was all he'd ever really need. You.

the end

---

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icallhimjoey · 1 year

Text

Not Enough

♥ ♥ rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie's hauled you off to LA because, turns out, when you're not throwing your life away on booze and drugs, opportunities tend to lead to more opportunities. LA's amazing, and Eddie's amazing, and suddenly life is all about sun-freckles and exciting accomplishments but... something's missing.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, fem!reader, angst, mentions of substance abuse and addiction, trauma

Author’s note: This story continues my Eddie story that consists of “Only Now”, “Over Now”, “Then Again” and "Never Over". I've done my best to make it so that you don't really need to read all previous parts, but, it always helps.

Wordcount: 5.2K

(find all other parts of this story here)

The mattress dipped behind you before cold air wafted underneath the covers. Movement, noise of skin against fabric, fabric against fabric, and then the noise of a heavy head meeting the pillow next to you in an exhale.

Eddie was home.

Before you knew it, you felt a hand wander over, finding its way in between your thighs, pushing through soft flesh, and curling up until Eddie’s hand splayed out just below your bellybutton. With a strong yank, you were pulled backwards, right into him, butt first. You didn’t know why he had to pull you over to his side of the bed by your vagina, but, here you were.

Arms curled around you, a knee pushed your legs apart, just to sit in between, and within just a few seconds you found yourself fully tangled up together. Heavy limbs, deep inhales, bodies wiggling until they fit together just perfectly for sleep.

“Mhm,” was all you managed as Eddie used careful fingers to move your hair aside before he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You felt the brush of his lips all the way down in your toes and relished under his protective touch.

“You smell like the bath,” Eddie whispered, inhaling the sickly-sweet artificial scent bath pearls had left on your skin.

“Mhm, you smell like studio,” you croaked back, meaning you could smell cigarettes and stale sweat the long day had left on him. It wasn’t meant to be a dig at how you thought he smelled bad – it was fine. Kind of nice, actually. It was more a dig at Eddie having spent all hours of the day, and some of the night too, cooped up inside a dark little room with a bunch of other men. You’d have liked for some of those hours to have been spent with you.

“I think we’ve done it,” Eddie’s voice slipped into a whisper mid-sentence. “Finished it.”

You hummed in reaction, just to let him know that you heard him. Eddie'd said the same thing two weeks ago, but then, the next day, there were a million things to change and redo and add and take away - this album was becoming the bane of Eddie's existence.

But he said they'd finished it now, and you hoped it was true this time.

Maybe that’s why they’d worked until the early hours of the morning. Creative work didn’t really stick to set schedules – didn’t really stick to time in general. Which... it wasn’t a problem. Not really. Not in the grand scheme of things. But time and you weren’t really getting on all that well lately. There was just so much of it.

Ever since you’d moved to California with Eddie, there’d been so much time.

Too many hours in a day. Too many minutes in every hour. Too many seconds to make you think because there wasn’t really anything to do.

Turns out that when you’re sober and learn to actually show up to things; gigs, radio interviews, award shows, TV performances, movie premiers, photoshoots, writing sessions, and even things like fundraisers, album release parties of other artists... if you show up and do the work, act and behave like the professional musician that you are, you actually... make the money.

And there was a lot more money in this game than you thought Eddie would ever be able to make.

It also really helped that he wasn’t spending all of it on substances and hotel room damages. Not that Eddie didn’t have other ways to blow through his cash, though.

But, what the steady income of insane amounts of money mostly meant was the lack of work it left for you.

Eddie had hired designers to do the interior design of the LA house. Eddie had hired a personal chef to take care of every meal the two of you could ever want. Eddie had hired gardeners, a pool guy, cleaners, and a personal assistant who got fired almost instantly because they ended up just doing your laundry.

You knew it was all coming from a good place. The best place.

It had taken a lot from Eddie to work himself up to ask you if you’d want to move to LA with him. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel forced to move halfway across the country, just because he kind of needed to for work. Correction, he didn’t really need to. It would just be easier, way more convenient. Half the band was already making plans to leave Indiana and sure, Eddie could travel. He could fly in and out and you could too, and you absolutely could’ve figured out a way to live like that.

But when Eddie carefully asked, you’d not even hesitated for a second.

It actually took some real convincing from your side, because Eddie immediately backtracked and said to forget it. He didn’t want to burden you. It was a stupid idea to begin with, he could tell his manager to work out something else, because you had a job and an apartment and a life and how could Eddie ever even think to burden you like that?

“Burden me with what? Your life?” you’d asked, looking at him like he was insane. But Eddie had shrugged his shoulders up and you’d realised that that was exactly what it was.

Over the years your heart had shattered many times for Eddie. Looking at him then, all tall, hair longer than it’d ever been, tattoos on show, sort of... flashy looking with all his chains and rings and his shiny black pointed toe boots – he looked like the rockstar the public knew him as. But all you could see was a fragile fearful little boy who seemingly had shrunk down enough for you to fit him into your pocket, and your heart shattered once more.

“Baby, come here.” You’d reached for him, and he’d instantly fallen into you, both arms around your waist, face pressed against your chest, your hand in his hair.

“We live in a shitty little apartment above a bar where I serve beers to the same seven middle aged men all day,”

“But your life is here, you love your job,”

“No, I loved the sense of independence it gave me when I moved out of Hawkins, I loved learning new skills, getting better at working with new people,” you needed him to know within his bones that what he was asking of you wasn’t a burden.

“What I love more,” you elongated the word more and felt Eddie nuzzle his nose against your collar bone, ready for you to list some shit that would make him feel better.

“Is how you sold your massive penthouse of a place for me, how you came to live with me above a bar, how you trust me with your schedule, how you always check in with me, how you value my opinion, how you don't hesitate to cancel plans because of me, how you come and pick me up from work which, I don't know how you do it, but you do do it, you do it all the time– Eddie, you keep choosing me, and–” your voice went up an octave as your throat closed up.

“Don’t cry,”

But you couldn’t help it.

Eddie had sold the penthouse because it reminded you too much of bad times. Awful times when Eddie drank mouthwash and tried to convince you he wouldn't finish the bottle but then had called you all sorts of names when you tipped it over and washed the remnants down the drain.

Eddie came to live with you, because he practically already was anyway. But your place was a small apartment, a place that smelled of beer and liquor 80 per cent of the time. And Eddie said he was fine. He'd bake bread and cake and pastries, and you'd cried when you realised it was to cover up the smell of bar you carried on you after a shift.

Eddie was kind and nice and would call his therapist whenever he needed to, would go see her on a semi-regular basis. He'd tell you about his schedule and it was never just an announcement, but instead was always a question: does this work for us? Are we okay with this?

Eddie always chose you and made sure you really felt it because Eddie knew. Eddie understood that for fucking years you’d felt the exact opposite.

Eddie would sort of choose you, just for a few days, and then he'd leave and not contact you for months.

But that was before. Eddie chose you every day now.

He wasn’t a burden to you.

He truly wasn’t.

Eddie had burdened you. For years. Not anymore, though. Everything was fine now.

Wasn’t it?

Eddie had been good. So good. He’d found ways to wade through life without the drink. Got so deeply into cooking and baking for a bit as his new obsession. Needed all the best pots and pans, until he had a whole collection of expensive kitchenware that cluttered up all kitchen storage.

Then, he’d moved onto something else. Needed something different to spark all the things within him that needed sparking.

Now that you lived in LA, in a much larger house with so much more space, the garage, one of two, was filled with Eddie’s latest hobby: pinball machines. He’d get them shipped in from all over, all special kinds, real rare ones, machines crafted by specific craftsmen, graphics designed into specific themes.

It wasn’t even about playing, Eddie just… wanted to collect the best ones and wanted them all lined up, all shiny with lights flickering and music playing.

Sometimes you'd tell him, come on Eddie, invite over the old gang, get Mike and Dustin and Lucas in here for a weekend, do a big pinball tournament. But Eddie'd just smile and tell you when he'd be expecting the next one to be delivered.

Before pinball machines it had been neon lights. And you’d been supportive. Would drive out to weird thrift stores, vintage markets and often times random people’s houses until you’d said, “Ed, I’d like the bedroom to be calm and neutral… we don’t need a big blue neon sign in here that used to hang outside of that restaurant you really like...”.

Eddie had laughed at himself then and realized the absurdity of what the house was turning into, had apologized, and then had sold all of them.

Except for the blue one.

The one that used to hang outside that restaurant he really liked. Where the owner would serve him apple juice in a wine glass and would seat Eddie in an area where he wouldn’t be able to see the bar. And then he’d play a Corroded Coffin song – just one, to show his appreciation for the visit, and then, wouldn’t let you pay the full bill, some dishes would always miraculously go missing.

Eddie kept that neon light which found a proud spot in a hallway upstairs that lead to one of the guest rooms.

Yeah.

Overall, Eddie had been good.

But some days, he’d wake up and he’d feel an inside want. Knew it meant something else was wrong, and this was just how his brain was wired to cope with it. He’d done work to rewire, but sometimes, wires crossed and all he really wanted was quick relief.

In those moments, he knew he’d have find something else to satisfy that inside want. The need for quick relief.

In those moments, he’d find you.

Eddie had you there. Always with him. Stuck to his hip, and vice versa.

So, you had quit your job for him. You had moved across the country for him. You had given up your whole life for him Eddie thought, even though you assured him time and time again that this was the exact life you wanted. All you needed was Eddie. Eddie was your home, and Eddie was your all, and you loved LA.

It was the perfect place to be for Eddie’s work. It was warm all the time, gave you permanent freckles that graced your nose. Your house was big, lovely, huge backyard with a big pool. You had ample room for people to come visit and stay for a few days. Weeks if they wanted to. Guest rooms with en suites and the one downstairs even with its own entrance, so when Wayne stayed over, he could go for early morning walks without fear of waking anyone up.

The only thing about LA you didn’t like was that there was so much time.

And it was just you.

And Eddie.

And sure, the Corroded Coffin guys. And Eddie's manager was nice. Their producer too. But they all had work, and sometimes you tagged along and it was so exciting, always so fun. Red carpets and sound checks and green rooms and festivals – it was always new and your excitement for it fueled Eddie's excitement for it.

But then there were also days– weeks like these, where all Eddie did was write, and record, and rehearse.

You remembered being 18 and hanging out with Steve a lot, sometimes Robin too, when Eddie'd be busy writing, recording, and rehearsing with his band.

But Steve wasn't in LA.

Wait.

Scratch the time being the issue – the only thing about LA you didn't like was that Steve wasn't there.

Your tripod was your tripod no more.

Steve had come to stay for a week when you'd just moved, and your week had mostly been the two of you figuring out where to buy groceries before Eddie hired someone to get them for you. After that, you'd just lazed around the pool for the rest of the week until Steve had to fly back home.

A lot had changed in the 1,5 years that followed that week.

But you missed Steve.

Steve, who had met a girl he really liked, who Robin said was lovely, but also said that she probably wouldn’t really gel with you and Eddie. Something judgmental about her. Kind, though. And very pretty.

You were glad Steve had Robin nearby still, because you knew Robin, and you loved Steve. Steve deserved the best. Deserved someone who could love him like you loved Eddie.

Robin said she did, which was good. Reassuring.

And Steve loved her.

You’d only met her a couple of times before Steve had proposed to her. Engaged to be married, just a few months in. And barely a year later, you’d been invited to a home coming big barbecue pool party at Steve’s parents’ house in Hawkins. You'd barely been able to make it, but Steve had been very adamant about it.

"I never have parties anymore, you have to come,"

"There'll be a whole non-alcoholic section of drinks, don't you even worry about it,"

"I've already talked to Eddie's manager, he said he has the time,"

"Please,"

Like you really needed convincing. Of course you'd be there, wouldn't fucking miss it for the world. Neither would anyone else, because everyone was there. The whole gang and then some. Matt was there too, and seeing an ex was never fun, but it was actually sort of okay. You didn't love the fact that you were there with Eddie, because it felt like you were shoving it into his face a little bit, but Matt was still Matt, ever the Corroded Coffin fan, and walked up with a huge smile the second he'd spotted you.

You'd learned that late afternoon that Steve had been just as pushy with everyone else about coming to this party. He'd been calling around, double and triple checking to make sure everyone really was going to be able to make it.

That's when you found Eddie narrowing his eyes at you. Pondering. Something didn't add up. Or it did, but it felt like the math problem you'd been given wasn't the correct one. You knew exactly what Eddie was thinking, and about thirty minutes later, Eddie was proven right.

The party turned out to be Steve's surprise wedding.

Eddie and you had clutched your hands tightly together throughout the whole ceremony, because what the fuck was happening? You kept making eye-contact with Robin, and she kept shrugging as if to say that she knew just as little about all of this as you did.

"Steve's married," you'd said to Eddie afterwards, stood in the Harrington's kitchen, both sort of.... defeated. Unsure of what to make of it all.

Eddie leant against the counter, arms crossed and teeth biting into his lower lip, scraping off dry skin the plane's aircon had left him with.

"I don't know why I feel offended," you'd huffed a laugh at how ridiculous that sounded.

"Offended?" Eddie asked, eyebrows quirked, clearly confused.

"Yea, I don't know... I always thought that, if any of us were to get married one day, we'd all be... more involved? Like, you'd be Steve's best man, and I'd... you know, know the bride,"

Steve didn't owe you shit, you knew that. And you'd moved away. You supposed that's what happened in life – things changed. But this all seemed very drastic. Insanely sudden. Almost out of character.

"She seems like she's good for him," Eddie offered, and you immediately agreed. Not because you thought Eddie was right, you had no idea if he was, but because that's what you wanted to be true.

A silence fell where you both stared into space for a second to let the day sink in a little.

"Steve's married... this is so weird," you'd grimaced a little at it which made Eddie reach for your arms to pull you into a hug.

It was nice how you just got to hug and kiss in the very same kitchen where before, when Steve had you over for movie nights, you'd have to sneak around a little. Not be too obvious when Eddie pretended there wasn't enough room to move around whilst preparing popcorn and you basically ended up grinding up against each other until someone would call out what was taking you so long.

"Should we get married?" Eddie asked after a beat, obviously joking, and it got you into giggles immediately.

"I don't know of a better way to make my mother both the happiest and most disturbed woman alive," you said, cheek pressed up against his chest, knowing your mother had been waiting for most of your life for you to get married. She really wanted to have that huge wedding she could get all dressed up for, to be mother of the bride for a whole day. It was just that she wasn't the biggest fan of Eddie. If anything, within your little group, she'd always really pushed for you and Steve to get together.

"She'd be so conflicted," you imagined, which meant, maybe not right now, but you added, "Let's do it!" which got Eddie right in his funny bone and pushed a barking laugh from him.

"Maybe I should start playing golf,"

"Wear pastel polo shirts,"

"Take some etiquette classes, be more like Matt,"

"Stop, she'll marry you herself if she could– don't," you saw Eddie raise his eyebrows, pretending to consider it, so you'd shut him up before he could say anything and it reduced you both into giggles.

You'd decided to be the supportive friends you both imagined Steve needed. Decided you weren't going to mention how insane and sudden all of it was. Just be happy for him. Which you were.

You just... missed him, you guessed.

"I kind of need to get out of here," Eddie sighed, looking out into the backyard where a wedding was in full swing, people getting more tipsy with every sip of bubbly they had.

You knew what he meant. Feeling anxiety creep up in a place where there were drinks up for grabs was the exact wrong environment for him to be in.

"Yea, let's go," you pecked Eddie on the lips, went to find people to say goodbye to, and then it took two hours before you had finally walked through the gates with lots of promises to come visit LA in your pockets.

Yet, Steve hadn't come out to visit you since that first time when he'd stayed over for a week.

So, yeah. The only thing you didn’t like about LA that was it was far away from Steve.

Steve who had gotten married about four months ago.

Steve whose phone calls had dropped in frequency over time, because d’uh, Steve was married now and you lived far away from each other, and you had your own lives. Were busy. Didn’t have time for dry catch-up conversations if the only updates were that Eddie had spent a lot of nights in the studio, and you kept busy managing his agenda.

Except you did have a lot of time.

It's just that people thought you didn't. All they'd see was Eddie's life. Eddie's life was on TV, on the radio, in the magazines and newspapers and people automatically assumed you'd be so busy.

You'd spent the day reorganizing your vanity as you'd heard the cleaners downstairs, and the chefs preparing food that they'd box up and leave in the fridge for you to have later. It was something you could've done within fifteen minutes, but you'd managed to stretch it to three hours. You weren't fucking busy at all. You could've easily spent hours on the phone to Hawkins.

But Steve was married, and you had cheated on Matt with Eddie which probably never sat right with Steve's new wife - not that you blamed her - and so you didn't call. Not often. Very rarely, actually.

When you woke up that next morning, Eddie still snoring into his pillow next to you, you'd gotten out and promised yourself that you'd call Steve that day.

When Eddie eventually made it down, sleep still in his eyes, hair everywhere, you apologised to the chef that was working on lunch for him being in just his boxers.

"Morning, babe," Eddie said before pressing a kiss into your hair as he ran a warm palm over your back.

"It's afternoon," you smiled over your mug of coffee.

"Well, was the morning good?"

"Morning was lovely, had a little swim," you watched Eddie as he moved to make his own coffee, and the chef behind him started making up two plates for you.

"I don't use that pool enough," Eddie said mostly to himself.

When he turned back to look at you, you inhaled sharply and gave him a polite smile. It made him frown a second. "What?"

"I'm going to call Steve today,"

You said it like it was something you could never do behind Eddie's back. Like it was a secret you'd feel bad about keeping to yourself.

"See if I can convince him to actually come over,"

Eddie nodded through his first sip of hot coffee, his face giving away that it was definitely too hot and burning his tongue.

"Tell him to bring Robin,"

You narrowed your eyes in thought.

"Do you think that'll help?"

Eddie shrugged. It might.

It shouldn't though. It was always you, Eddie and Steve. Just the three of you. And then, for a long time, it was you and Steve and only sometimes Robin.

But fine. You could always tell Steve to bring Robin if that would push him to actually take the time to come visit you.

When you called, you got Steve's wife.

"Hey, um, sorry, I was calling for Steve?"

"Yea, he's out. Can I take a message?"

"Oh, no, that's OK... I'll try again later, when do you think–"

"He's going to be out for a while."

"Oh..."

You didn't know how to react to that.

"Can I take a message?"

"No, I–"

And then she hung up. Just, hung up on you. No polite goodbye. No nothing. You looked at the receiver, then at Eddie.

"That was weird."

You didn't want to worry, so you chalked it up to bad timing. They'd probably just been in a fight. And, everyone fought, didn't they? Especially married couples who hadn't even known each other for a full year, you thought.

But of course you worried.

So you rang back a little later, but got told that if you didn't have a message for Steve, there was no use in calling because, like she'd said before, he'd be out for a while. There was something sad to her voice. Something that made you not push further, that made you not just ask, where is he, what happened?

When Eddie suggested for you to call Robin, you did, but got her answering machine. Three times.

You'd left a message that started out all up beat. Asked her how she was doing. Told her that you missed her, that she should come visit, the weather in LA was lovely and you had a guest room waiting for her to come and occupy for a little bit.

When you got all pleasantries out of the way, you mentioned Steve. The weird and very short phone calls you'd had with his wife.

And you wanted to tell her how it had never sat right with you, that Steve had met someone the second you'd moved away, and that he'd gotten engaged just a couple weeks after he'd been out to visit you in LA, and then a couple months later, he'd thrown a surprise wedding. You wanted to tell her that you thought this is how he'd gone about things, because maybe he'd been scared no one would've RSVP'd if you all had gotten wedding invitations in the mail. But you didn't say those things. Just said you missed them, her and Steve, and wanted to see them.

The more you thought about it, the more worried you got.

"What if something's wrong?" you'd asked Eddie when he was on his way out.

"Call again tomorrow, it'll be fine. People argue. Give it a little time,"

Logically you knew he was probably right, but something had taken residence within the pit of your stomach. Set up camp there, and you knew the only way to flush it out was by speaking to Steve directly. Or have Robin call you back to tell you Steve was doing just fine.

Fuck, if you could, you would've just made your way over to go and see for yourself.

But you were in LA.

And Steve was in Hawkins still.

Until he wasn’t.

"Um... babe?" Eddie called from the front step, door handle still in his hand, sunglasses somehow balanced on his forehead, just above his brows. His other hand shook his car keys into his fist when he looked back at you.

It was the next day, and Eddie had a meeting with his label. Nothing crazy, just a word on the tapes the band had dropped off the day before.

You looked, and from where you were sat, you weren't able to see much of what Eddie was looking at. Until he stepped aside a little, and someone stepped onto the threshold.

Suitcases came into vision first, one in either hand, and then, Steve was suddenly there, on your doorstep in LA, dark sunglasses hiding his emotions.

And he hadn’t known what to say, just looked at you as you'd gasped upon seeing him.

You’d rushed over immediately, arms open and you were so ready to fall into him, but you hadn't anticipated that he'd fall into you as well. Suitcases dropped and you crashed into each other. It audibly pushed the air from your lungs, and it hurt, but that didn't matter.

You heard a soft, "Careful," coming from Eddie, who held out both hands in case you were to lose balance, which you didn't.

Steve hugged, and you hugged and Eddie stood and watched, waited his turn to hug Steve. When he realised his turn wasn't going to come, because you were pushing fists into Steve and his grip didn't seem to be faltering soon either, he turned your hug into a group hug and you stood like that, on the threshold of your open front door for entirely too long.

"I called you yesterday, twice." you murmured. "Robin too,"

"I know," was all Steve said, and you wondered how he knew. Were the phone calls why he'd traveled to LA? Or had he already been on his way? Had he already booked the flight before you'd reached out?

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really,"

You felt Eddie's arms tense up, squeeze a little tighter, and you knew it was because he was about to pull back.

"I'm sorry, I've got... work, but please, come in, make yourself at home, have some food, take a shower," Eddie listed things off on his fingers as you finally broke the embrace.

"Are you telling me I stink?" Steve asked, the humorous undertone easily detectable in his voice.

"Yes," Eddie deadpanned before wanting to carry on the list, but your laugh interrupted him.

"We were never this blunt with him, were we?" Steve looked at you, and you recalled all the times Eddie had come to visit Hawkins, looking worse for wear and smelling like the men's room of a dirty dive bar. Steve immediately received a punch to the shoulder from Eddie.

"I'll be back in a couple hours,"

And so you'd said goodbye to Eddie, had invited Steve inside and had shown him to his room - the same one he stayed in last time. Not the one with its own entrance, but the one upstairs, close to your own bedroom.

Steve put his suitcases down on the ottoman by the end of the bed and sighed deeply.

"Sorry I didn't call before flying in,"

"Don't be, I literally called you yesterday to tell you to fucking come over already,"

Steve smiled as he started moving clothes from one of the suitcases onto the bed, stacking things in neat piles. You leant into the doorway, arms folded over your stomach, and you felt all sorts of feelings that all lead straight to guilt.

There was obviously something going on. Steve had taken off his sunglasses and revealed puffy skin and red-rimmed eyes. The hostile tone his wife had spoken with to you hadn't left your mind yet, either.

But, Steve was here now. Right where you wanted him to be, and you were reunited as the three-piece that you had always been. Morning, noon and evening. Sun, wind and rain. Birth, life and death. Past, present and future. It had always been the three of you, and even though you'd grown up, and lives had changed, having Steve over gave you the opportunity to drown in nostalgia for a few days.

Feel... complete for a little while.

Wait, that reminded you.

"How long are you staying?"

Steve kept busy and didn't look at you as he shrugged up both his shoulders.

"I don't know,"

You didn't respond. Just watched him unpack. Gave him the space to think his thoughts before he vocalized them which you knew he sometimes needed.

Then he turned his head to look at you, eyebrows scrunched up a little, almost as if he was apologizing.

"How does a month sound?"

---

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