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amywritesthings · 2 years

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Meet Me On the Other Side

PART ONE: THE PLAN

gif credit to @ joseph-quinns

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 4.9K

Summary: The Hawkins crew only has eight people in their three-tier plan to take down Vecna. Eddie makes a Hail Mary of a phone call to even the odds.

Warnings: SPOILERS AHEAD, VOL2 FIX-IT, Language, Angst (with a Happy Ending), Unresolved Tension, Yearning, Peril, Violence, The Upside Down, Desperate-To-Kiss!Eddie, we’re writing this entire storyline baybee let’s go

A/N: Are you hurting just as much as I am after Vol2? Cool, well that didn’t happen. This is the new canon. Within the ‘Freak & Valedictorian’ series. Separate Ways (Remix) intensifies.

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE

( Read on AO3 )

PREVIEW:

“Eddie?” Click.

And just like that, Eddie Munson is gone.

(You refuse to let that be the final say in this conversation.)

Leaving behind your homework and study for a pair of keys and sneakers, you burst from your dorm room and run down the hallway to the stairs, to the student parking lot, and beeline to your car.

Hawkins is a two hour drive.

If you double the speed limit down the interstate highway, then you can make it in half the time.

MEET ME ON THE OTHER SIDE

PART ONE: THE PLAN

“There’s only eight of us here.”

Robin paces back and forth in the small living room of Max Mayfield's trailer. Wildly her hands gesture at the surrounding bodies of kids, teenagers, and young adults offering to do the impossible.

From the doomed silence that follows her observation, the tension is palpable.

Eddie rolls a metal skull ring aimlessly around his index finger, deep in thought. Not about Vecna. Fuck Vecna. Fuck everything he’s done to this town, to Chrissy, to Fred, to Max.

Lastly, fuck everything he's done to him. How much his uncle’s life has been flipped upside-down on the account that Hawkins thinks he’s a satanic murderer. How much he’s slandered Chrissy’s reputation just because she died in his house.

He shouldn’t be thinking about the impulse of calling anyone, much less you.

You don’t deserve to get caught up in his tornado of bullshit, not when you’re busy with your own life two hours away. Thriving in a state college, enjoying friends, being seen. He promised those first few trips at the beginning of your freshman year, happy to still be a part of your life even when it feels hopeless.

The Freak doesn't win the Valedictorian in the end, not in a world where he's repeating his senior year for the third time in a row and — oh right, potential murder charges loom in the horizon.

(Yet two hours in that damn caravan were next to nothing when he saw you beaming from the other end of the parking lot like he held the fucking sun, ready to run.)

He wishes he could run right now.

Run north and never look back, leaving this insanity behind with the town that hates him — except he knows he can’t.

Chrissy Cunningham believed she could trust him. That he was safe, somehow, in this grand scheme of satanic panic.

She believed.

If he’s running anywhere, then it’s to the phone so he can say his proper goodbyes in case all of this goes south — he’s not naive enough to think it won’t.

“I gotta take a piss,” he mumbles out of left field, standing from the sunken middle cushion of the couch. Steve gives him a look — god, can Harrington stop figuring people out before they say anything? — while Dustin shifts from his space on the wall.

All scared.

Everyone’s so fucking scared and Eddie Munson hates that he thinks he’s the most petrified out of them all.

“Right now?” Erica snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What, a man can’t piss in this dire time of need?” Eddie replies with a flippant tone, forced but manageable. Erica rolls her eyes, waving him off.

Access granted from Lady Applejack herself.

Hastily he moves into the hallway, waiting a minute while the team curls closer to the coffee table in the middle of the room with the map of Hawkins in question. Another beat passes.

Instead of touching the bathroom door, his hand grabs the beige wall phone before furiously typing the number he knows by memory.

First ring. Silence.

Second ring. Silence.

Third ri—

The other side picks up.

He drops the unruly curls of his crown against the plywood wall. “Oh, thank fuck.”

“Eddie?”

He clutches both hands against the phone, angling himself away from the company in the living room to focus solely on the way you say his voice.

Melodic, like a hazy, eye-of-the-storm dream in-between a slew of nightmares.

“Hey, yeah, it’s me,” he responds as his eyes flutter closed. “Hey. Holy fuck, I missed your voice.”

“You sound strange,” you murmur on the other end, and he swallows thickly. “Is everything okay?”

. . . . . . .

You remember how terrified he sounded on the phone.

“Things got really fucked up here,” he croaks on the other line, causing you to leap out of your dorm bed with the phone line following.

“How fucked up, Ed?” you ask with a purposeful yank on the mustard-colored jacket hanging up on your wall.

“I don’t even know how to explain it to you without sounding like I’m losing my mind.”

“Try me,” you challenge.

He sighs on the other end, shifting the phone. “Has it been on the news?”

“Has what been on the news?”

“The whole… fuck, the whole Satanic cult shit with Hellfire?”

You pause, standing still in an empty room. “Hellfire? Something happened with Hellfire Club?”

“Chrissy Cunningham’s dead, kiddo,” Eddie supplies. His vocals strain against the syllables of her last name. “I saw it happen, but it wasn’t me. I swear, it wasn’t — Nancy Wheeler saw Fred Benson die, too, and things keeps happening—”

“Hold on.” Your stomach bottoms out as you interrupt in a cautious, small blurt. “You saw it happen?”

Eddie sighs, distorting the other end of the phone line. “I don't really have much time to explain, but yeah. I saw it happen. Something took her, alright? Something demonic, a Vecna’s curse-type shit, and I needed to call you because we’re going after it. I know this sounds insane, because I didn’t want to believe it, but when you’re kinda wanted for murder you don’t really have a choice—”

“You said ‘we’,” you interrupt again, swallowing the lump in your throat. “When you say ‘we’, do you mean the Hellfire Club is—”

“No. Fuck, I mean, kind of? Henderson and Sinclair and his sister are in the living room. And — get this, you’ll have a laugh — your old pal Steve Harrington’s sitting pretty on the couch.“

“Steve?”

Someone you once trusted. Someone you knew, before you high-tailed it out of town for school. From what you remember, he stayed behind to work the local stores after graduation. Not many people ever leave.

(Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson being friendly was never on your Hawkins Bingo card.)

“Yeah. For all the shit I used to give ‘em, he’s one tough son of a bitch. But listen, I gotta go. I just…” Eddie draws in a slow inhale from his nose, exhaling through his mouth. “...I needed to hear your voice again just in case this goes south. Sucks I can’t see you, but this is better than nothing. Thanks for indulging me.”

“Eddie?”

Click.

And just like that, Eddie Munson is gone.

(You refuse to let that be the final say in this conversation.)

Leaving behind your homework and study for a pair of keys and sneakers, you burst from your dorm room and run down the hallway to the stairs, to the student parking lot, and beeline to your car.

Hawkins is a two hour drive.

If you double the speed limit down the interstate highway, then you can make it in half the time.

Nerve endings set ablaze as your mind repeats the bizarre phone conversation like a broken record — demonic happenings killing students, Hellfire Club framed, seeing someone die in a gruesome fashion — but nothing adds up. How the hell did Steve Harrington get involved in all of this? Was Nancy Wheeler a part of the plan, too? Was this a bad trip with Gareth, or was seriously something wrong back home?

Nearly cutting off half a dozen cars to get to the Hawkins exit, it takes flooring two red lights to get to the trailer park where Eddie Munson and his uncle live.

You immediately notice two familiar cars: Steve’s, just on the roadway leading to the park, and Nancy’s, right outside of Max Mayfield's trailer.

The sound of a car screeching to a halt in the grass causes the front door to fly wide open, where two kids peer out with wide eyes.

You vaguely know of Dustin Henderson and Lucas Sinclair from how eager Eddie is to talk about his new Hellfire recruits. The descriptions match, with Lucas’ wide-eye stare and Dustin’s growing, excited smile.

“Eddie!” he screams, stomping his foot several times into the floor. "You gotta get out here, dude!"

The outburst summons several more faces in various states of confusion and height: Max Mayfield, the step-sister of the late Billy Hargrove, shoves Dustin out of the way to get a peek. Robin Buckley, Steve’s Scoops Ahoy co-worker, is the next to stand a foot above the rest.

Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington follow suit, both littered with dirt and blood and equally surprised expressions.

You slam the car door shut, exiting the driver’s side door to stare back without any real explanation in mind.

The last to arrive is Eddie, who comically pushes Steve by the shoulder in order to stand on his landing in perfect view of the newcomer in question. Eddie looks like he’s been through hell and back: his Hellfire Club staple raglan shirt is dirtied, hair matted, with dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Until he sees you, really sees you, and a lifetime of sorrow is lifted from his expression.

He bolts.

Skipping all three stairs to the dirt, he falters in landing but propels straight forward like a linebacker towards you. You take two steps to meet him, but Eddie Munson scoops you high into his arms in a twirl, holding you like he’s afraid you'll disappear like a ghost.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs into your shoulder, his palm cradling the back of your head. “Holy shit, holy shit, please tell me you didn’t—”

“Drive?” you ask breathlessly. “Two hours to get here? More like one. I may be wanted for speeding in two states.”

“Are you insane?” he replies, voice cracking. He sets you down to give you a once-over of disbelief. You hold his face palms on either side to steady the manic shock. “You’re not supposed to be here. It isn’t safe here.”

“You said you were in trouble.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean you end up in trouble right along with me.”

You shake your head, leaning your cheek into his palm as he moves to cradle your face close. Forehead to forehead, it feels like it’s the first time he’s taken a breath, a real breath, in maybe days. It’s scary to think so much has happened in your absence.

“You made me an honorary Hellfire Club member, remember?” you remind under your breath, a murmur, to keep it between the two of you. “You don’t get to do whatever this is alone.”

“You have no clue what you’re signing up for,” he warns, closing his eyes at the scent of your perfume. “Please, go home.”

“Munson!”

The sound of Steve Harrington’s voice carries as he drops down the front stairs of the trailer, walking barefoot and worse for wear in the grass. Around his middle is makeshift dressing, broad chest shirtless and speckled with hair.

He’s wearing Eddie’s Dio denim vest.

(What the hell happened to all of them?)

“I’m going to ignore whatever it is I just witnessed, alright, and say we should get inside.” Steve’s hair flops as he regards you with a smile, small and warm. “Hey. Long time no see.”

“Right back at you,” you reply breathlessly. “You look like shit.”

“Feel like shit,” he quips in return. “But, hey, I never made shit look so good.”

You laugh with your own tiny smile. “Glad you’re still the same Steve.”

Eddie finally lets go, gesturing to your car. “Harrington, tell her she shouldn’t be here. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

Steve makes a face, lips pulling downwards. “Nah, I don’t think she’s ever listened to me, man. Not in school, not in life, not ever.”

“And we need the numbers!”

Robin shuffles out of the trailer, her gangly limbs waving a quick hello. Her vocal fry returns as she sheepishly motions to you.

“I mean, we… are one person down on Dustin and Eddie’s distraction team. Nine people, instead of eight. Three teams of three. It works.”

“Robin’s right,” Nancy confirms with her own subdued, honey-lemon tone. Her arms are crossed over her chest, shirt mangled and torn and matching the fabric around Steve’s torso. Nancy holds up a hand with a mouthed ‘hello’ to you. You mirror the softness of the greeting.

“Okay, but what about Eddie?” Eddie says, rubbing the bangs on his forehead. “Does Eddie get a say about how batshit it would be to bring anyone else into this insane asylum mission?”

“Three is better than two,” Nancy apologetically disagrees. “We don’t have El, we’re running low on time, and she’s willing to at least hear us out.”

You nod once, leaving Eddie’s side to decidedly make your way to the trailer despite the sounds of protests he makes by your car.

“Just fill me in on what’s happening,” you tell them. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The group of seven remaining at the door all turn inward, leaving an air of uncertainty with them.

. . . . . . . .

Vecna’s curse. Clock chimes and nightmares. Demogorgons. Demobats.

The Upside Down.

End of the world type of shit, according to Max. She wasn’t kidding.

You sit between Erica and Lucas as the adults of the group explain the last few years of what Hawkins has had to offer: how the disappearances of several students of the years, and the death of Billy Hargrove, weren’t mere accidents.

Everything was connected.

Everything in this town, this never-ending Hawkins curse, finally began making sense.

To your right, Eddie stands in the corner of the Mayfield living room. He’s white as a sheet and grief stricken when Nancy reaches the part where he comes in: how Chrissy Cunningham died on his very ceiling with her limbs mangled and eyeballs carved from their sockets. How the town blamed Eddie and went on a town-wide manhunt in Chrissy’s name against him.

How he hid in a boat house without a means of escape.

Now it makes sense why you hadn’t heard from him in days.

You finally speak up once the room simmers to silence, the tale coming to a close. “So you… managed to get into the Upside Down and get back to Hawkins?”

“Yes,” Nancy responds. “That’s… where we are in the plan right now. The only way this ends is if we go back in and kill him.”

“You mean Vecna?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers for Nancy, running a hand through his floppy hair. “Kind of our only option at this point so we can make sure Max doesn’t… y’know. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” the redhead pipes up from the corner, fiddling with her cassette player at her hip. “He means so I don’t become his fourth victim. Everything’s happening in fours, so… makes sense that I’m still marked.“

“But we’re going to figure out how to kill him,” Lucas reassures with soft sincerity.

Steve pushes his index finger into the map where the red ‘X’ covers a drawing of a house. “Nancy, Robin, and I will be going to the house to kill Vecna. Erica and Lucas will stay with Max to ensure the bait plan stays that way.”

He blinks up at you, chewing the inside of his cheek with contemplation.

“Dustin and Eddie are a distraction in the Upside Down.”

“Which is why she’d be safer with one of you,” Eddie finally pipes up as he chews on his ring fingernail, staring intently at the map from a distance.

“I know I’m taking a crash course in Hawkins 101, here,” you start, rubbing your palms gently against the thighs of your denim jeans, “but I feel better if I went with you and Dustin, Ed.”

“And we have extra weapons!” Robin pipes up with forced excitement. “Well — we will have extra. See? Extra hands all around, it’s a great thing.”

“It’s not.” Morose, Eddie shakes his head.

You watch him for a minute, assessing and reassessing the news, before glancing back at Steve.

“Will… fighting this thing clear Eddie’s name?”

“Maybe?” Steve replies honestly. “That’s the goal. Kill Vecna, set things right. It’ll be… it’ll be a tough sell, but we have to try. Only other option is to let Hawkins cave in on itself.”

Max shifts awkwardly against the wall, fixing her headphones strapped around the back of her neck.

“Then I’m in.”

“Hey—”

Eddie removes himself from the corner to protest, but you lock eyes and shake your head.

He stops dead in his tracks, shoulders deflating with each passing breath at your determination.

“You need a third.” You glance around the room. “I’m your third.”

. . . . . . . . .

By the time you all return from the weapons and ammo store, the stolen mobile trailer finds its way parked in the outskirts of the park — not quite where it was hot wired, but close enough to feel familiar.

One by one, everyone files out and into the open field for their preparation stations.

Dustin drags Eddie off to make shields worthy of their campaign before you can ever say a thing. Erica and Lucas do their own thing with spears and leather in hand, while Nancy and Max take a spot to the far east to get to work on the shotgun modifications.

It leaves you with Robin, who already set up a spot at the mobile trailer to make homemade Molotov cocktails.

(Absolutely nothing to worry about.)

You’re in the midst of creating an inventory sheet when a tap on the shoulder surprises you from behind. Steve, still a dirty mess but at least covered by a new long-sleeved shirt and jacket, waggles his eyebrows in your vicinity.

“So… this is weird.”

“What is?” you ask, placing the pencil down on what little surface you had to write.

“Seeing you, of all people, in Hawkins again. You actually managed to get the hell out of here.”

“That was always the plan, Harrington. Wasn’t it yours?”

“Eh,” Steve scoffs, waving a hand. “I got a job at Starcourt… then Starcourt burned down because — well, now you know why — and then I just kinda… stuck around. What’s college like?”

“Peaceful,” you joke, placing your hands on your hips. “When you don’t have a sorority sister as a roommate, it’s very peaceful.”

“So what you’re really saying is: boring. I missed nothing at all. Gotcha.” Steve rocks on the balls of his feet. “Miss Valedictorian of ‘85 herself, in the flesh.”

“Oh, God, stop. Not the Valedictorian thing. It really didn’t make much of a difference, by the way, so studying all the time was for the birds.”

“Uh-huh. Still, I can’t believe you risked a speeding ticket for two hours to get here,” Steve teases, suppressing a smirk. “I didn’t think you knew how to break the law.”

You snort, leaning over to bump your arm with his. “Yeah, well, I don’t have to think to know Eddie would probably do the same for me.”

“Still, it’s ballsy. Where was this version of Vale-’85 when I knew you back in high school?”

“Oh, she was always there, Hair Harrington,” you grin as you watch Dustin follow Eddie’s lead in the field, pounding nails into the back of a metal trash can. “I guess you just do crazy things when you’re—”

Stop.

You freeze before you can finish the sentence, instead squaring your shoulders and trailing silent. Dustin dive bombs into Eddie with a cackling laugh, leading to Eddie hugging the little freshman into his side with adoration.

“Hey, I get it.”

Steve speaks up beside you, forcing you to turn to your left. He glances at you through his peripheral, giving a one-shoulder shrug.

“Trust me, I get it way more than you think.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We don’t have to talk about it.”

He swallows a lump in his throat, shifting in his stance to briefly look to his right. Belated you follow where it lands on Max Mayfield and Nancy Wheeler hovering over a crate, sawing off the barrels of shotguns.

I get it.

Maybe he does.

For a while, it’s like this: silent while the rest of the crew prepares their weapons, talking and bantering amongst themselves. Dustin and Eddie play their own version of in-person Dungeons & Dragons in the field, laughing to the sky.

If he hadn’t looked so petrified just a few short hours ago, then maybe you’d forget why you were even here.

(Why any of you are here, in this field, preparing for war you've only learned about hours ago.)

You lean closer to Steve, debating on your next question. “Are the odds good, Harrington?”

Jaw clenched, he rips his eyes from the two girls modifying weapons to look down at you. You press on.

“I mean it honestly: is fighting this Vecna person a pipe dream, or do you guys really believe this is possible?”

Steve waits, kicking a pebble of dirt with his newly-bought boot. “We’re kind of all Hawkins has left. And if I can do something about it? Then I won’t let this son of a bitch take anyone else.”

Your heart skips a beat when Eddie turns from his embrace with Dustin to search — until his eyes land on you. His shoulders drop in relief as his smile remains.

It’s Steve’s turn, now, to lean over in a murmur into your ear so the rest can’t hear.

“I know this isn’t my place, because I was today year’s old when I found out you had a thing for Munson — which, if we come out of this fight in one piece, then we’re gonna talk about that, but… I think if you were going to have any sort of talk? Now might be a good time to do it.”

“Calm before the storm?” you add, returning the smile in Eddie’s direction despite the heaviness of the conversation at the present.

“Something like that.” Steve nudges you with his elbow. “I’ll keep watch on Dustin-o. You just do what you gotta do.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Got any speeches you wanna workshop before you dive head-first into some Upside Down hellscape?”

Steve snorts, waving you off. “Oh, way ahead of you. But we’ll get there when we get there. For now? You first.”

You first.

Yeah, there’s a lot here with not enough time to say it.

Once Eddie squints towards you, you jut your chin up and to the left where there are woods. Woods that you’ve frequented with him before in late-night meetings. Trees that have seen things, heard promises — what’s one more?

Eddie pauses, makeshift shield in hand, and tilts his head in response. You jut your chin twice to the left — woods, Munson — before he gets it: lightbulb turned on, he shuffles his shield to Dustin Henderson with a hasty goodbye.

Dustin raises his arms and drops them with disappointment, but you don’t get to see how the conversation plays out when you disappear into the wooded area.

Waiting.

“Harrington bothering you, angel?”

Angel. The nickname could melt your heart.

When you turn, Eddie Munson appears around a tree. Meeting you in the small circle of trees far enough to keep this conversation private, he still looks like the skittish little boy you met the first week of school all those years ago.

His hands are lodged into the back pockets of his denim jeans, eyes curious yet apprehensive. He still has spots of dirt all over his clothes — not nearly as bad as Harrington, yet enough to make you worry.

All this time.

All this time and you didn’t know he’d been in this much trouble.

“You two were talking an awful long time over there,” he adds, tilting his head with an unspoken question: wanna talk about it?

You shake your head. “Just old friends catching up. You… sort of surprised him with the whole PDA-thing outside your house.”

“Well you surprised me. I didn’t really have time to, uh, plot a course of suave action.” Eddie’s smile drops as he takes another step to minimize the distance between you. “You can leave, you know.”

“Ed—”

“Let me fin-ish,” he warns in a sing-song tone. “No one is going to fault you for hearing about a psychotic, telepathic Freddie-demon and wanting to go right back to college. I’d feel better, actually, if you did. Run, I mean. I’ll drive you back to your car right now.”

“There’s no way I’m going back now that I know that there are literally demon bats.”

“Seriously? That’s the first reason I would be high-tailing the hell out of here.”

“You’ve seen one?”

“Chyeah, I’ve seen one. Absolutely… fucking terrifying,” Eddie admits with a breathless laugh. “You got out of Hawkins, sweetheart. Like properly, actually, got to leave and—”

“My home’s still here, Eddie.”

There is a heaviness to your double-meaning confession that takes Eddie a second to recognize, but when he does?

His puppy eyes round in disbelief, taking one small step at a time towards you. Your nose scrunches to avoid the passing emotions from overwhelming you.

“If I had known about anyone calling you a murderer? Eddie, I would have ran home sooner.”

“I didn’t have any way to call—”

“And you’re fucking insane if you think I’m going to abandon you while you’re… gearing up like you’re Rambo to kill these things—”

“Wait.”

“—and there is so much I’ve wanted to tell you since I met you and the fact that I see Nancy Wheeler sawing off the barrel of a shotgun with my own two eyes makes me feel like I really need to set a few things straight, and I need to tell you—”

Eddie crosses towards you in three great strides, before pulling your head in with both hands. He presses a searing, desperate kiss to your lips, effectively dissolving your panic.

Clawing your hands into his hair, you pull him impossibly close. The force of him pushing into you knocks you back, barreling the both of you straight against a tree. Eddie pins you there, teeth grazing your lower lip with a sense of urgency.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” he breathes against your mouth, left hand dropping to wrap around the base of your neck before diving back in to kiss you.

You rake your nails against his scalp, earning a whimper along your lips. “Wasn’t leaving you.”

“You need to.”

“Eddie, let me say this—”

“No.”

He lets go of your face and neck to place both hands on your shoulders, pinning you to the trunk of the tree. His matted, curly bangs fall forward until his headache presses to yours. Eddie’s eyes squeeze shut in his plea.

“Please don’t say something like we’re at the end of a… terrible fucking action movie where this is a goodbye. This isn't Rambo. I can’t let it be a goodbye, and I won’t run, but I refuse to let this be it.”

His eyes finally open, observing yours. Memorizing yours.

“Look, I’m not a hero. I’m never the hero, okay? I run, I always do—”

“—you’ve never run from me.”

Your interruption falters his shame, allowing the silence to envelop the forest surrounding you.

“Even when we were placed in different classes. Even when things were weird at Snowball. Even when I told you I was leaving Hawkins. Do you know the first thing you said to me when I told you I wasn’t staying in town?”

You allow a pause, but Eddie doesn’t dare speak.

“You said you’d run to me. You’d follow me up to state college. And you did. No one visits me like you do. No one makes the effort like you do. And we could say fuck Hawkins, but what are you doing instead? Fighting for them?”

His fingertips tremble against your shoulders.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he mumbles, regretting every word.

“People who run don’t care about the right thing to do, Eddie. Never did. You always try to be polite, to be kind, even when people are kind in return.” You brush wayward strands of hair from his face. “That is brave. That is heroic.”

And for what feels like hours, Eddie stands there, eyes downcast. Processing what you said, what you believe, when so many refuse to see beyond the unruly hair, chains, and metal skulls.

He never feels worthy.

You hate that he never feels worthy.

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, holding it for a beat, before exhaling his resolve.

“Promise me that when we get back, princess, that you’ll let me tell you everything I’ve ever wanted to say to your face. I need to earn my little bat slayer wings, earn you, and if you confess shit here and now? I may not go.”

He drops a small kiss to your forehead, dragging you in for a tight embrace. You reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He doesn’t need to earn you. He needs to know he’s never needed to earn you.

“But I’m not holding back, alright?” he murmurs into your hair. “We do the plan, I shred, we get the hell out of there, and I just… Fuck, I’ll tell you whatever you want, just not before we go back up there. Deal?”

You want to protest, but he presses his lips back to yours. Gentle this time, like he’s found his footing back on solid ground. You want to tell get everything off your chest before the final clock bell chimes, but it’s his only request.

(Let me earn you.)

After this is over, he’ll learn it was always the opposite way around.

You nod into the kiss, pulling away to reply.

“Deal.”

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