Chapter Text
Wayne Munson is quiet today.
Eddie’s uncle hasn’t said a word, which isn’t surprising. The guy is always silent unless he wants you to know something, good or bad.
Eddie leans back in his recliner, casually scratching his hair, feeling the afternoon humidity hit the back of his neck. He’s sweaty, his legs are sticky, he thinks he can see the formation of a heat wave, and he’s positive he’s not going to survive this without a pill.
He’s getting antsy.
But one thing about Uncle Wayne is that under his supervision, you’re not to be a total fuckhead. Wayne doesn’t like a lot of Eddie’s “mannerisms-” things that make him seem out of place, but he knows that’s just the way he is.
He just gets a look on his face sometimes when Eddie is high, a look of I love you and I trust you but I don’t want this to go poorly for you and that breaks Eddie’s heart. He knows that Wayne cares for him, so much more than he sometimes bothered caring about himself, and he doesn’t want to disappoint him again.
Eddie never liked his dad when he was around. Uncle Wayne is his old man, and he would rather die than just see that look on his face.
But that doesn’t mean Eddie isn’t a fuckhead, and he stretches up off the couch, teetering on his legs as his thigh skin sticks to the leather with a bit of pull.
“I’m gonna… go…” He says, and Wayne nods, barely listening, gruff as usual.
Eddie slips a baggie into his jean shorts and pulls on some sandals, and walks out the trailer, blinking in the heat of the sun.
—--
He sees clouds swirling quickly and then slowly all at once.
Eddie is pretty sure it’s a criminal offense to be this high in a public park, but he doesn’t really care. He knows the typical busybodies of Hawkins will try to push him back into the trailer park or the junkyard, but he really, really doesn’t care anymore.
He knows he’s offbeat, and he thinks there’s nothing really wrong with that. Why shouldn’t he be allowed to pop some pills in his mouth in the nicest park of Hawkins, where everyone lives in an actual house nearby and there’s even a school within walking distance?
He remembers the law about smoking near school zones and sits up off the picnic bench, way too quickly, thinking about if there’s any officers nearby.
Nope, not anybody at all.
He starts to lay back down, when he thinks he sees Jonathan-?
Not Jonathan. A woman who looks a lot like him, running down the street, clearly panicking.
Eddie wants to tell her it’ll be alright, but she passes a building and he can’t see her anymore.
He nonchalantly sits up and decides to follow her.
Somewhere in his half baked mind, he realizes this must be Joyce, as she enters Melvald’s General Store. Jonathan never shuts up about how busy his mother is and what a strain that can be on the family.
Eddie knows what he means. Sometimes he won’t see Wayne for weeks, as Eddie’ll be dead asleep when he comes back.
He stares, and then sits down on a curb, feeling himself sober a little bit. What’s he going to do? Wayne can’t take care of him forever.
Damn, he can’t just be high forever. He can’t just keep running away. But Eddie just feels worthless- ugly inside, as if he can’t do anything right- and he acts weird to pretend that he isn’t cowardly about life.
All he knows is his guitar, the most amount of LSD you can take before overdosing, and the intricate rules of DnD.
Eddie rubs his eyes, and turns his gaze a few stores down. Through the window, he can see a customer putting down several tubs of ice cream on the counter- probably for a summer party- and he glances at a girl just obscured behind them.
He feels warm when he realizes it’s you.
You seem to be making a quiet, snarky joke- not unlike how Eddie had observed you do a few days ago- but the customer responds with raucous laughter.
Ah, he knew you were cool. You might not know it, but Eddie can pinpoint that there’s something special about you.
You’re very tuned in, in a way that he almost purposefully chooses not to be. Or that he chooses to ignore things.
He thinks you do, too, somewhat, as the now evidently male, young customer appears to be asking you a question- Eddie assumes he’s asking you out- and you just shrug.
A simple no without hurting feelings.
“It’s always easier to shrug it off, isn’t it, Z?” He drawls to himself.
The customer leaves, looking dissuaded, and Eddie plays with a pebble on the curb.
He’s still looking at you. He knows it fits in with his creepy image, and he should probably quit it- but he can’t, for some reason. There really is something satisfyingly charming about you and it bugs him that you cannot see it, that you have a way in to popularity if you wanted that. You are non conforming, but unlike him, you have the choice not to be.
At least that’s what he’s assuming, as he gets up to leave.
Suddenly, Eddie feel a sharp pinprick sensation in his heart, and he wonders if he genuinely did overdose this one time.
He looks up, and you’re looking at him, dead in the eye. He gets an eerie sensation from it, because you’re not smiling- your eyes are wide, bugging out of your head, as if you just randomly noticed he was there. He immediately sobers up.
It only lasts a second. Suddenly, as if you noticed what you were doing, you stop, and you wave at him, looking bashful.
Eddie raises his eyebrows. Spooky, but cool.
He walks in, and the door jingles, and you’re just trying to play it safe. You know you did the classic Z bug eyes thing and it’s such a hard thing to explain, so you pretend it didn’t happen.
It’s just that you knew something bad- well in this case, not bad, but just unexpected- was going to happen. You didn’t want to see Eddie, but you also did.
It was sickening feeling of an almost crush, and you were trying to squash that.
But as Eddie approaches, you feel a lot more calm, and you don’t feel so bad that your sixth sense had enabled yourself to feel him coming.
“Hey Z.” He taps his fingers against the counter, and you smile gently, if not trying to placate him somewhat. “How’d you know I was out there?”
You’re not smiling charmingly enough to stop him from asking that question, so you play around with some spare nickels from a cash roll to avoid looking at him.
“Just an instinctual sort of feeling, I guess.” You say super quietly, but he laughs.
“Instinctual? Is that what you call that scary face you made?” He chuckles, but he still checks out your expression to see if he’s gone too far. “I hope you can stare at my enemies like that.”
“Won’t be free of charge.” You answer, and Eddie grins, glad that you aren’t offended. “Yeah, Mandy calls it my ‘Weird Bug Eyes.’”
“Hm, I would’ve gone with ‘Z’s Scare Glare.’” He remarks, sitting on the ice cream cooler next to the counter.
“Okay, Dr. Seuss.” You laugh, and look back up at him. He looks like he just woke up, hair messy, shirt wrinkled, jean shorts unravelling by the second.
You try not to think about that last part.
“We should patent that name. Freak people out with it.” Eddie teases, but you don’t look particularly enthused about that, and he lets it go. “Or you could use it on guys who ask you out, instead?”
“It’s not a superpo-” You cut yourself off. “How did you know that?”
“Oh, you know, just kinda creepily watching through the window.” Eddie laughs but then looks apologetic. “Sorry, I know that’s weird. I won’t do that again, I swear.”
“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Evidently, I don’t always know what looks right, either.”
Eddie slowly nods, agreeing with what you mean. Maybe this is why you’re both on the outside- you both don’t know social cues like everyone else does. It’s not appropriate to randomly stare at people, it’s not cool to loudly declare your thoughts without a filter, so maybe it’s just easy to be yourself in your own little corner.
He might’ve been a little wrong before, but he still thinks you could be someone else, someone pretty and shiny like a cheerleader, if you really wanted to be- and Eddie realizes he doesn’t want that, actually. He likes when people stay true to themselves. He’s stopped giving a fuck if people stare at his new tattoo on his wrist, and he knows you could be the same way.
He thinks for a moment that he likes you how you are, and if the rest of the world can’t see that, then damn them . Maybe he’s also speaking for himself here, but he genuinely wants you to be a little more confident with yourself, popular or not, because you are funny and smart and sweet and you still have a very neat, endearing smile that he’s staring at.
Eddie suddenly snaps to life. “Hey. Your birthday is still coming up.”
You sigh loudly. “Ugh, you don’t need to worry about that. Not a big deal at all, it’s a whole month away still.”
“That’s a whole month to plan something.” Eddie replies, and begins drumming his fingers where he’s sitting. Always a rhythm going on in this boy’s head.
“It’ll probably just be me and Mandy eating a vanilla box cake per usual.” You point to the aisle of baking supplies, and Eddie shakes his head.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Z. You gotta up the ante- make two hundred boxes of cake batter- fill it with sprinkles and booze- and that’s the way to celebrate seventeen!” He cheers, and you snort despite yourself.
“I guess I could up the ante by inviting you and Jonathan…” You say slowly, because you really had thought this was just a joke, a few days back. “And maybe instead of a box cake, we do a bender?”
“Now we’re talking.” Eddie points a finger at you, and he strolls around for a moment, searching through the different aisles as you wait.
He reaches into a shelf, rummaging around. “What if we…”
Eddie holds up a bunch of sparklers, to your bemused expression. “Shoot some fireworks?”
“I mean, it’s no Fourth of July barbecue, but it sounds fun. We can sit on the rooftop.” You point upwards. “There’s a huge empty lot behind us, so nothing will catch on fire.”
“What if I want things to catch on fire?”
“Arson? Really?”
“C’mon, Z, live a little. Hawkins needs some shaking up…” He leans in really close, for some reason, and Eddie himself can’t place why he likes being this close to you. “And I think you’re the one to do it, Miss Weird Bug Eyes.”
You’re blushing, but your stomach quakes at that. Eddie doesn’t know who you really are, what you used to be capable of. You really are a sign of how Hawkins is different, just beyond his and everyone else’s scope. There’s a whole facility for people like you, churned out at rapid paces, while the town is none the wiser.
He doesn’t even know that he touched upon the weirdest leftover thing about you- your expression, that you just cannot manage or control. You cannot figure out a damn poker face.
Eddie senses he’s said something that maybe went too far, and he pulls back, slightly to your dismay.
“I don’t mean that you look weird. It’s a little spooky but it’s a good nickname.” He adds, and now you’re really red. You think you see his smile widen in enjoyment.
“It’s cool. It’s not a nickname, more a dumb thing she says.” You laugh, and Eddie sits back down on the cooler. “Z is my nickname.”
“Oh, right, for Daisy!” Eddie giggles. “What a cute, little girl name that is.”
“Shut up, Edward.” You flip him off, and he gasps.
“All I mean is that Daisy doesn’t match you at all.” He states, as if it’s totally obvious and not something you’ve been trying to tell adults your entire life. “Z is cool. Z is rock, it’s metal, it sounds badass as hell.”
He totally gets you, somehow. Z means a lot to you because it means you’re not lying to yourself about who you are, and it still kind of works as a nickname for Daisy. It’s not Zero, either, which would be a little traumatizing, but it is you, and it deeply means so much- so much more than you can say out loud. Not even Mandy fully understands why you like the name Z.
You finally, thankfully nod. “I agree. Not that I’m all metal or whatever but I like Z because it sounds… cool.”
“Yeah, Z Glass? That’s definitely the name of a singer or a celebrity or someone. I don’t know, you didn’t plagiarize your name or something like that, did you?” Eddie lightens up. “After your birthday, we should start a band.”
“You don’t even know if I can sing.”
“Psh, yeah, well, you can do anything, so like- I would not be surprised if you suddenly just aced a super hard ballad.” Eddie flaunts his hands, so easily convinced that you are just a master of all trades.
Eddie is thinking that. He knows you can write- he’s practically got your writing style memorized- and the emotions you evoke so easily is what some songwriters dream of doing. He feels like you’ve got the right lilt in your voice to do something with it.
You do look interested.
“Is that a smile, Z?” He starts grinning. “Are you a singer? Do you secretly croon in the shower when no one is watching?”
“Why the hell would someone be watching me shower?” You snort, arms crossed.
“...No comment.”
Eddie snickers as you gasp in laughter. He would never say anything too forward, but maybe it would be worth it just to see the look on your face, like how you’re trying to keep a straight, serious face right now, but failing to do so.
“Anyways, if this is all a ruse to get me to sing Happy Birthday at my own damn party, you’re evil.” You say after finishing your wheezing.
“No, just a ruse to make a super profitable band so I can die rich. My first attempt didn’t work out so well.” Eddie retorts, and you glance at him.
“You’re in a band?”
“Was. Was in a band.” He does some air guitar, and you get what he means.
Suddenly you can hear the clock ticking and you know this isn’t good. No one is coming into shop, and you keep babbling away as the sun gets lower and lower.
“Eddie, how rich are you at the moment?”
Eddie raises his eyebrows.
“Just because it’s not great for the store if we don’t have a customer in here. I mean, I don’t mind talking but-” You get cut off by Eddie running and then rummaging around in a different aisle.
He comes back with not one, not two, but three vanilla box cake mixes.
“Oh, Eddie, you don’t have to-”
“Do you need a paying customer, or what?” Eddie scoffs, not actually mad. “I’m not wasting your time now.”
“You were never wasting my time.” You say sincerely enough. “Just the store hours for other customers.”
“Thanks for your overly candid response, Z.” Eddie snorts, and then hands you a ten dollar bill for the whole thing. It’s three boxes for three dollars each.
You hold up a dollar bill to give to him, but he raises his hands in protest. “Keep it as spare change.”
“Eddie-”
“No, I’m serious. People don’t tip enough. Jobs are fucked as it is.” He neatly folds the bill and then places it back in your hand, his hand enveloping yours with a soft feeling of warmth. He has a callus between his index finger and his thumb, and you find yourself tracing it for moment- just until you embarrassingly realize what you did and snatch your hand back.
He doesn’t seem to mind, though.
“Well, thanks for the tip, I guess.” You answer, smiling cheek to cheek, which you know you haven’t genuinely done in a while. “I promise I’ll repay by joining your band.”
Eddie looks a bit caught off guard, and he is. He’s feeling like he needs to stop staring at your face so much. Your nice, neat, endearingly good smile.
It really does brighten up his day, and he has half a mind to come in here everyday. But that would surely be a little annoying.
“You’re welcome. Always welcome.” He does a silly salute motion, scratches the back of his head, and then takes the boxes, while you start.
“Are you really going to-”
“Yes. You’ll see!” Eddie leaves through the door with a jingle, and waves back at you, while you wonder what Eddie’s birthday cake for you is going to look like.
You smile sheepishly thinking about that. You’ve never had a friend offer to make a cake or even share one with you before.
Eddie feels weirdly renewed as he walks back home. He never really had something to live for, not like this- other than a new Metallica album- and it scares him, a little. Just earlier he was wondering what he was going to do for the rest of his life, and now?
He’s making a cake. He’s getting ready for a birthday party. He’s looking forward to possibly making a new band.
Sure, it’s all stuff to do with you, but Eddie feels like if he gets to see you smile like that again- he tries to tell himself if he gets to see anyone smile like that, but to no avail- he’ll keep going. He’ll keep doing new things.
He’s going to try living.