Chapter Text
The honey jar sits on Eddie’s shelf with the rest of his favorite things (his Dio albums, a battered and dog-eared and notated thrift store copy of The Hobbit, a framed and absolutely sick watercolor Chrissy painted of his current and best D&D villain), and he waits for it to do something.
Argyle told him he should start seeing results (whatever that means) in three days, give or take—lotta threes in witchcraft, apparently—and in retrospect Eddie sort of wishes he hadn’t asked. It’s like if you knew the exact date and time of your imminent death, y’know, you’re just fucking waiting for it and panicking the whole way there.
He doesn’t avoid Chrissy by any means—maybe that would make things easier but, then again, not seeing Chrissy is never easier, so, fuck that, actually—but maybe he’s a little more twitchy than usual, a little more nervous, a little more please God I’m so desperately in love with you please do something about it because I’m a fucking spaz just put me out of my misery.
(Not that he’s overdramatic or anything, but. Anyway.)
But if he is a little more anything than usual, Chrissy doesn’t point it out. So maybe he’s just always this twitchy nervous desperate around her.
Jesus. How does she put up with him?
(The possibility that it’s because she, too, is twitchy nervous desperate around him crosses his mind. Eddie tries not to put too much stock in it, if only because he will almost definitely implode with hope so soundly that he might as well bust his gallbladder while he’s at it, because he’s pretty sure health insurance will take care of that before it covers being stupid.)
And, the thing is, it’s like he told Argyle—he doesn’t know how much sweeter on Chrissy he could get, but even so… Well, maybe the honey jar’s going to his head, but, nerves aside, things do feel… different. Not in a bad way, not at all, but he wouldn’t call it better, either. Just different. Anticipatory, maybe, like they’re on the cusp of teetering past some kind of will-they-won’t-they straight into they-will-they-are.
Or maybe Eddie’s just full of shit, y’know, that’s always the go-to probability. But he feels better, like maybe he’s not actually full of shit, so, a welcome change regardless.
Otherwise, it’s business as usual, and Eddie’s always liked business as usual—he won’t say no to a nice surprise now and then, sure, but he doesn’t need that kind of overstimulation on the regular, that’s why he can’t go to the grocery store alone, it’s overwhelming—especially now with this inexplicable but gratifying skip in his step.
He trips over it, though, when Friday rolls around.
The honey jar’s been sitting on his shelf for the promised three days now, so the last thing Eddie expects when he gets out of his evening lecture is the ping-ping-ping of his group chat with Robin and Steve.
harrington: Man get to Bennys STAT
roberto: STAT MEANS NOW
harrington: fr tonight is NOT the night for you to actually go to class
eddie: fuck you i always go to class
i’m omw now, order me two shots and a beer i gotta catch up with u goddamn degenerates
roberto: ?? how drunk do you think we are??
eddie: i do occasionally check instagram yk
u guys have been there since three
roberto: gonna take you more than two shots and a beer to catch up
fckin loser
harrington: Gonna take you more than two shots and a beer to get through the door
Chrissy’s ex is here
eddie: typing…
eddie: typing…
eddie: typing…
roberto: oh my god we’ve killed him
eddie: EXPLAIN
harrington: What the hell do you need EXPLAINED
eddie: why you’re not currently kicking his ass, maybe???
harrington: Uhhh because that’s assault, and it’s a crime, and my constitution is too delicate for the holding cell
roberto: lmao points for self-awareness
eddie: jesus christ make it three shots
roberto: ayyyyyy NOW it’s a party
Eddie’s not much of a runner—not much of anything that could be deemed cardio-intensive—but he makes pretty good time pounding the pavement towards Benny’s.
Not like he knows what he’s going to do, or if there’s anything to do. He’s heard aaaaaall about Jason Carver, thinks he knows what to expect, takes the wild guess that Chrissy’s probably not stoked to see the guy. But Chrissy’s a sweetheart and they were together for something like three years, so it’s not super likely she’s gonna tell him to fuck off and be done with it. Eddie would be happy to, if the dude turns out to be even just half the total dickweed it sounds like he is.
As per ush for the weekend, Benny’s is packed, but Eddie manages to spot Robin and Steve, and Jonathan and Nancy, too, everyone’s getting along without being weird about it—small miracles—but for once all that bullshit isn’t the evening’s loose interpretation of entertainment.
His eyes scan the cramped space, seeking out Chrissy’s usual ponytail. She’s not easy to spot in a crowd, she’s so tiny, but Eddie’s never had much of a problem. It’s like he’s fucking tethered to her, honestly, and tonight’s no exception, as he catches her eye about ten seconds into trying.
She’s over by the bar, fiddling with the paper umbrella in her drink, mouth twitching in her telltale sign of agitation as she listens to some guy talk at her. He’s tall and boxy and blonde, polo shirt and fucking chinos, and even if Robin and Steve hadn’t texted him Eddie would have bet his beloved guitar that this was Jason Carver.
He’s not entirely sure what to do about it, stuck in some liminal space of almost-maybe-panic, but when he catches Chrissy’s eye her mouth twitches into an actual smile, and she waves him over like she’s stranded on a buoy and he’s the goddamn coastguard.
Done and done.
As Eddie makes his way to the bar, Jason gives him a cursory look over his shoulder. Jesus, the guy looks like he was made in a wax museum; even if Eddie wasn’t already predisposed to hate the shit out of this dude, he doesn’t trust anyone with a face that symmetrical.
“Heya.” He slips to Chrissy’s side, knocks his knuckles against her hip. “Sorry I’m late, sunshine, you think Buckley took all my Jägerbombs?”
“She did order them for you,” Chrissy tells him. “But, um, to be fair she said she was only giving you five seconds to get here or she was drinking them herself, so. You know how that goes.”
“Sounds about right.” Eddie flashes her a grin, and then turns it on Jason. “Hey, man. Old friend of Chrissy’s, right?”
“Something like that. Jason Carver.” He sticks out a hand for Eddie to shake and, ugh, fine, he does it. Pretty sure Mr. All-American’s trying to break his fingers. “You must be the new guy.”
Eddie’s not entirely sure what that means, what Chrissy’s told Jason about him, so he decides to go with it the way he wants.
Magic can’t do the work for you, but it opens doors. This is probably what Argyle meant, shoot your shot and all that. Whatever. Eddie’ll take it, in any case.
He slips an arm around Chrissy’s shoulders, loose enough that she could inconspicuously brush him off if she wants to, but apparently she doesn’t. Definitely doesn’t, because she folds herself into him, circles her own arm around his waist and tucks her fingers into one of his belt loops. A wire trips in Eddie’s brain and he just about fucking flatlines right there on Benny’s sticky grody floor.
“Something like that,” he parrots Carver’s words. “So, uh, what brings you by? All the way from, what, Notre Dame?”
“Headed to visit my parents. Chrissy’s on the way.” Jason’s gaze lingers on her, and Eddie strokes his thumb down the line of her neck (stupid, posturing bullshit, yeah, he knows). “Been awhile, you know?”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Eddie nudges Chrissy’s temple with his nose, gets her to look at him so he can give her another smile, so maybe he can ease some of the tension in her ramrod-straight spine. “I haven’t seen her all day, thought I was gonna fully just, collapse, man.”
She gives him a smile for that one. She’s not relaxed by any means, but the smile’s a start.
They usually shut down Benny’s on the weekends, stick around ’til two or three in the morning, but, Christ, all Eddie wants to do right now is get Chrissy back to the dorms, bundle her up in his comforter (she’s got a thing for his bedspread, he’s surprised she hasn’t just straight-up stolen it by now) with a joint and one of those nineties teen comedies she likes so much. That always makes her feel better.
Seems to feel a little better when Jason fucks off to grab another beer, so that’s… something, at least. They’ve got maybe five minutes before he’s back, so Eddie reels her in a little closer to ask, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just—” Chrissy blows out a disgruntled breath, makes her bangs flutter. Her breath smells like maraschino cherries. “I never expected him to just show up here. I’m really sorry.”
“What for? You didn’t tell him to try snapping my fingers like a damn glowstick.”
“Yeah, he—he can be like that.” Chrissy sets her empty glass on an abandoned high-top. She takes Eddie’s hand in both of hers, strokes his fingers in these firm, practiced movements that make his bones shudder straight down into ooey-gooey putty.
“Careful there, sunshine,” he tries to tease, with his whole heart in his throat and all. “Gonna get me all hot and bothered.”
Chrissy giggles, hums a few bars of “I Want to Hold Your Hand.” She still gets a kick out of his supposed (but for real) hand-holding kink. “I think I’ll, um. Probably introduce him to a couple of the cheerleaders. Sherry’s gonna love him. She’s his type, too.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Eddie nods, flexes his not-so-sore-anymore fingers when Chrissy’s done with them. He unknots the flannel around his waist and drapes it over her shoulders, knows she’s cold in her crop top and high-waisted shorts because she always gets cold. “I mean, you know I don’t remember which fuckin’ one of them’s Sherry, but, hey, you’re one hell of an ex, hooking the guy up like that.”
“Well, yeah.” Chrissy tucks her arms into his too-big-for-her sleeves. “But my mom, you know, she’s still not over… everything. The break-up, me switching majors. Anyway.” A little eye-roll, a shake of her head. “I know it’s still awhile away, but the last thing I need over Christmas break is for Jason’s mom to tell her I was impolite.”
“I bet.” Eddie snorts, noses at her temple again. “Alright, go get him pawned off on some unsuspecting civilian, yeah? Do your cheer thing.” He mimes waving pom-poms, earning himself a playful shove in the chest. “Just, y’know. Come get me when you’re ready to call it a night? I’ll walk you back.”
“Sure, Eddie.” She smiles all soft at him, makes him melt, yadda yadda. She doesn’t head off right away, though, no, she’s tying his shirt off to make it fit better, looking at him like she’s… considering. Considering what, Eddie can’t begin to guess, until—
Quick as you please, she goes up on her toes to reach him, so she can smack a kiss square at the corner of his mouth. Jesus, he can taste her ChapStick, and if the blood was flowing to his brain he’d know it’s cherry, but as it is all he knows is Chrissy just put her mouth by my mouth and holy shit I’ve gotta be hallucinating you only get shit this good in a goddamn fever dream.
“See you in a bit,” she says, with a smile that punches Eddie straight in the gut—a real smile, loose and relaxed and like she isn’t about to snap under the pressure of her ex-boyfriend, all because of Eddie—and all he can do is babble sure sure sure as she ducks around him, giggling as she goes.
God damn it.
In something of a daze, Eddie joins their friends, and he answers their burning questions as succinctly as he can:
- Yes, Jason definitely wanted to punch him in the dick.
- Yes, the feeling’s mutual.
- No, he’s not actually going to fight the guy, Eddie might be taller but Jason’s got like twice the body mass, no thank you.
- And, no, he’s not sure what Chrissy told Jason about him, but apparently Eddie’s the new guy and,
- Yes, Robin, he thinks that must be a good thing, but thanks so much for the vote of confidence.
He sticks to two beers and a shot, doesn’t want to get too messed up since, all considered, he plans on calling it a fairly early night. He watches Robin absolutely decimate Steve at a game of beer pong, tells Jonathan yeah, sure, he’ll check out that band he’s already forgotten the name of, and assures Nancy that, yes, obviously Chrissy can stay over in his room if Nancy’s going to have company (and he pointedly does not ask who she’s taking home tonight because dear God in heaven he does not want to know).
All said and done, it’s about an hour-ish later when Eddie heads outside for a cigarette. You can smoke in Benny’s, but he could use the fresh air and, fine, mostly he wants to do a lap, see where Chrissy’s gone off to, because he’s ready to peace out when she is.
A few people are milling around on the creaky patio but, once again, Eddie hones in on Chrissy just about right away. She’s off to the side, next to one of the well-graffitied railings, arms crossed and mouth twitchy all over again, as she listens to whatever Jason’s saying to her.
Great. Super. Eddie’s gonna love this.
He gets close enough to hear, but not close enough to interrupt—that seems premature, maybe, he doesn’t really have the right to insert himself into whatever issue this is, does he? Jury’s out, really—and leans against the building, lighting a cigarette and waiting to see if and when he does need to insert himself, whether or not it’s any of his beeswax.
“—I mean, come on, Chris, that guy?”
“Yes, that guy.”
Ah. Maybe definitely his beeswax, then.
“You talked to him for all of—of ten seconds, Jason,” Chrissy goes on, and Eddie’s never seen her this agitated before, not even close. “You don’t know anything about him.”
“What’s there to know?” Jason demands and, yeah, that seems about right, he’s a demanding kinda guy. “Come on, babe, you know what those guys are like. These wastoid musicians, I mean, you know you’re just one of a dozen girls he’s got on the line, don’t you? That’s all they care about.”
Oh, fuck you, man.
Chrissy flinches and, God damn it, Eddie does not like that shit. “He’s not like that.”
“Don’t be naïve, Chris, all those guys are like that. They care about one thing, and they’ll take it wherever they can get it.”
Jesus, it’s been half a minute and Eddie’s already done with this.
So he whistles, short and sharp, to get their attention. Chrissy’s face is flushed like she’s starting to cry, and Eddie thinks he might have lied earlier, when he said he wasn’t going to bust Jason’s nose.
Not that that would help anything, really—might make him a little less symmetrical, but for sure this dude’s got a plastic surgeon on daddy’s payroll—so Eddie just gives him a grin, says, “Ah, c’mon, man. I’m a little more high-maintenance than that.”
“Real nice.” Jason’s face twists into a scowl. “Eavesdrop much?”
Eddie flicks ash off his Kool. “Talk shit much?”
“Eddie,” Chrissy cuts in before they can keep doing this back-and-forth thing. She’s wiping her eyes with his shirtsleeve and, Christ, if that doesn’t break his heart. “I’m—I wanna go.”
“’Course.” Eddie drops his cigarette, crushes it under his heel and kicks away the remnants. He’s not that interested in carrying on with Carver, anyway; lost fuckin’ cause, that one.
“You should go talk to Sherry some more, Jason,” Chrissy says, thick and a touch dull, like she’s exhausted and it’s just now catching up to her. “I think you’ll really like her.”
“Chris—”
She waves him off, inches closer to Eddie, closer to the stairs to leave. “I’ll see you around.”
Jason huffs, this irritated thing. He looks like he wants to say more, but maybe God’s smiling down at them or whatever other shit you wanna believe, because he keeps his mouth shut and heads back inside. Sure, he’s got an asshole look on his face about it, but that’s none of Eddie’s business.
Nah, he’s got something actually important to take care of right now.
He tugs on Chrissy’s—his—sleeve. “C’mon, sweetheart, you wanna get outta here?”
She sniffs, wipes her eyes some more as she nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m really sorry, Eddie—”
“Nah, no more of that, huh?” He swipes at an errant tear with his thumb, cradles her cheek so she’ll look at him. “Guess I shouldn’t’ve left you alone with him. Kinda thought he’d be easy to get rid of, honestly, doesn’t seem like the brightest crayon in the toolshed.”
Chrissy hiccups a laugh, and off they go.
They’re not halfway down the block before she speaks up again, quiet and a little unsure. “Eddie?”
He bumps her elbow with his. “Yeah, sunshine?”
“Can I, um. Can I hold your hand?”
Jesus, he really is gonna implode any second now, isn’t he?
Eddie thinks about teasing her again but, no, now’s not the time. Not after her ex’s bullshit. She needs comfort, reassurance—and, you know what, so does he.
So he offers her his hand, palm-up, she laces their fingers together and he gives them a squeeze. She’s small and warm and there are dry patches between her fingers, on her palms, from cheer and paint she doesn’t quite scrub off, and it all feels really, really good—jelly knees and butterflies and that springy feeling in your chest kinda good, even if tonight was… Well. Not the greatest, as Friday nights go.
God, he just, he hates that shit Carver said to her. It’s not anything close to the truth, and Eddie would rather be the fumbling sweaty mess he knows he’s gonna be than have Chrissy believe she’s not special to him. That she’s not everything he wants, the only thing he wants.
Maybe he just needs to tell her, take that nudge Argyle talked about and shove himself right through the window of opportunity, it’s not like he’s ever at a loss for words so why can’t he just say it—
“I need to ask you something,” Chrissy blurts, suddenly and a little bit like she didn’t mean to.
“Anything you want,” Eddie invites, relieved, because she can always ask him anything she wants, and whatever it is, well, at least she snapped him out of his own head.
They’re walking through the fairly unkempt gardens around their dorm building. Splashes of light from inside pattern the pavement, too-loud music muffled by cinderblock and brick walls, people laughing off in the distance. It’s all white noise to the feeling of Chrissy’s hand in his, to her bracing intake of breath and the jumble of words that follow—
“Do you like me? Like, want-to-kiss-me like me? It’s okay if you don’t,” she adds, soft, like no it fucking wouldn’t be okay but she doesn’t want to make him feel bad. “I just. I can’t not ask you anymore.”
“I—” Eddie doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t expect her to say that, didn’t know what to expect from the honey jar on his shelf and the surprise appearance of her stupid ex-boyfriend and how at home he feels just holding her hand, Jesus, it’s kind of a lot and all of it’s what he’s wanted and now he doesn’t know what to do with it.
“It’s okay.” Chrissy’s voice cracks as she untangles their fingers—no no no no no—and she’s still babbling, tripping over her words, it sounds like she’s going to start crying again. “I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry, Eddie, I know you don’t want me to keep saying that but I am, it’s just, Jason got to me and I really like you and it’s too hard not telling you, I tell you everything, I just couldn’t ever get through this and now I’m thinking maybe I just, completely misinterpreted everything, like if I wanted it bad enough then it would just happen, but that’s—you have to want it, too, for that to work, and it’s okay that you don’t, I just wanted to tell you—”
Eddie doesn’t know what else to do but just, straight-up interrupt her. So he takes her face in his hands, tilts her chin up and ducks down, so he can catch her rambling mouth with his own goddamn speechless one.
He’s never done this before. Doesn’t know what to do any better than he knew what to say, but he knows that Chrissy’s kissing him back, so—and, Jesus H. Christ, she tastes like cheap vodka and cherries (maraschino and ChapStick), she’s so soft, body relaxing, finally, with the press of his lips against hers.
And, God, just—this is fucking unreal. It’s a whirlwind, he can’t think straight. Nerves swoop in his stomach and Eddie can’t help the absolutely pitiful noise he makes, all coiled-up energy and relief and he wants more more more of it, more of Chrissy, more of her surprised squeak and content hum, more of her waxy lip balm and her hands wherever she wants to touch him. Her fingers curl around his wrists, holding him close as she crowds closer, angling her head to take the kiss deeper as she parts her lips and Eddie does, too, following her lead. She knows what she likes, right? He wants to give that to her.
He knows he’s breathing heavy, hands shaky, he strokes his thumbs across her cheeks to calm himself down. Not calm enough, though, because he accidentally bites her lip, harsh and overexcited (damn it), and then he’s swearing under his breath.
“Shit.” Eddie unsticks their lips but stays close, forehead rested against Chrissy’s. He licks at the tart, artificial but so fucking good sweetness she left behind. “Shit, I’m sorry, I just—uh. Kinda freaking out here? I, uh.” Deep breaths, man, come on. “I’ve never done this before.”
Chrissy blinks up at him. She looks a little dazed, which, cha-ching. “I—really?”
“Uh.” Eddie breathes out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” Chrissy shakes her head, smooths her hands up and down his, still holding her face. “I just, I’m surprised? You’re so…”
“Soooooo…?” He grins, thinks he might like where this is going, if only because she looks so flustered about it.
She snorts, smiles all nervous just like his laugh. “Cute. And you have the, um. The bad boy… aesthetic. You’re in a band. People like you, Eddie.”
Ah. Well. He likes the cute part, likes that Chrissy thinks so, but the rest of it…
“Jason really did get to you, huh?”
Her gaze drops to the hollow of his throat. “I mean. He was always good at that.”
“Yeah.” Eddie nods, sneaks another kiss to make them both feel better. There’s a lot he has to say, and he thinks he might have the words for it now. “Well. Uh. I guess it’s just, like, total bullshit? What he said. Just, maybe people do like me, but if that’s why? That’s not… that’s not anything real. That’s just, how I look and how I seem to them, but they don’t know me. They don’t like me. And I don’t like them, either. It’s just…”
Now he’s the one babbling. Where to start, honestly? They’re starting something here, and Eddie wants to make sure they start it off right.
“Here, uh. C’mere a second.” He leans back, takes her hand so they’re not standing smack in the middle of the path if anyone else comes down this way.
Eddie sits on the low brick wall that’s meant to discourage, to varying degrees of success, students from passing out drunk in the gardens. The seat puts him and Chrissy at about the same height. He parts his knees, taps one of them to encourage her closer, ’til she’s stood between them and he can fiddle with the frayed braid of her belt as he fiddles with what more he should say.
You’ve gotta let go—the self-doubt, the pining, shake it off. You gotta feel like you deserve this.
Right. So. Yeah. Might as well say everything, then.
“Nobody’s ever got to me like you, Chrissy,” Eddie tells her, in a rush of breath he’s been holding since the first goddamn night he met her. “This whole demisexual thing”—and he knows she knows what that means, she goes to the LGBTQ+ club stuff, same as him—“it was confusing as shit, for a long time. And then I met you, and everything just… God, it clicked, Chrissy,” he says, meeting her eye now so she knows he means it. “It really did. I like you so much it’s just—it’s fucking insane.”
The streetlamp back here is busted, but it doesn’t matter, because swear to God, Chrissy’s smile is so much brighter than some buzzing halogen or whatever-the-hell.
“Yeah?” She wraps her arms around his shoulders, twines her fingers through his hair. “Well, that’s um. Good. Because I like you so much it feels like I’m losing my mind.”
“See, you get it.” Eddie smiles, too, chuckles when she does. His hands settle on her hips. “That’s why I wanna talk to you about this, alright? Even if Carver hadn’t shown up to run his mouth. I want you to know that none of that shit he said is true, okay? I’m not like that, I don’t want you to worry that I am.”
Because he knows, too, what Chrissy’s been through. For however not-good-enough for her he’s felt, he knows that she’s always been made to feel like that, like she’s not enough. Shit with her mom, with Jason, she’s always had to fit in whichever box they liked best. Eddie wants her to know that he likes her best, end of.
But Chrissy shakes her head, tells him, “I already know, Eddie, you don’t have to—”
“I do have to.” He catches one of her hands, presses a kiss to her palm. “Let me, huh? Bossy.”
Another smile, another roll of her eyes, and she nods for him to go on.
“All that stuff you said… My aesthetic and shit, um. I guess none of that matters, you know?” He threads their fingers together, toys with hers as he talks. “It’s not like some ‘well, obviously he pulls tail’ thing, because I just—I never wanted to do any of this. I do now, with you,” he adds, because oh does he ever, “but it’s like—it kinda sucks, actually, that people think it should be obvious, just because I look… good, I guess?”
Eddie chuckles again at that, not sure if he’d put it that way but embarrassed nonetheless. “And because I play guitar, and whatever. Like why does any of that matter, you know? It’s like I don’t get a say in what I actually want, because everyone’s decided that for me. That whole all guys want sex all the time thing… Christ.” He traces the little flowers painted in Chrissy’s manicure. “Like I said, that, uh. That messed me up for a long time.”
Messed him up a little more tonight, even, when Jason tried to feed that line to Chrissy, as if Eddie would ever pull that bullshit on her.
“Eddie, I’m—I’m really sorry.” Her free hand cards through his hair, God, he never wants her to stop. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, or—invalidated? Or anything like that. Jason doesn’t know anything about you. But I do. I know you wouldn’t… mess me around, like that.”
“I really wouldn’t,” Eddie assures her. “And I know that you know that. But it’s just, it’s important to me? That I explain it, I mean. I want people to know. ’Cause, like, I never told anyone before, because I didn’t know, I thought there was something just really fucked up with me, so I never said anything. And now I can say something, because I get it now and that, that feels good, you know?”
It really does, too, it feels so good to tell her this. Because it’s true and she cares and it doesn’t matter what experience he has, however detrimental he always thought his lack thereof would be, because they’re doing this together now. For everything he doesn’t know, he can just ask her, and they’ll figure it out.
Chrissy’s giving him those soft eyes, that soft smile, the soft press of her lips against his forehead that about turns Eddie to a puddle at her feet.
“Though, uh, yeah, I still don’t talk about it that much?” he continues. “It’s nobody’s business. But I want you to know. Because you’re—you’re important to me. And—shit, man.” Eddie laughs, because this is still so unreal, he’s got Chrissy all bundled up in his arms and her mouth is a little bit swollen from his and, yowza, what a trip. “I guess that whole, uh, love spell thing worked over my self-esteem pretty good. God damn it.”
Chrissy cocks her head and an eyebrow. “Love spell, huh? You go see Argyle about me?”
Oh, no. Fuck, once he gets going he really can’t ever just shut the hell up, can he?
“Ah—shit. Uh.” Eddie plays with Chrissy’s fingers a little more distractedly now, taps his other hand restlessly around her hip. “I mean, it was just—Argyle, yeah, and it was just this thing, like, really I think it was supposed to make me feel better about myself so then I could feel better about… about me and you, if you wanted there to be a me and you—”
“Eddie.” She cuts him off with a giggle, with her hands on his face, she’s the one tilting him closer to her this time. “Do you want to, just. Kiss me?”
Oh. Well. Good. Eddie exhales a relieved breath, tells her earnestly, “Yes please.”
Her laugh shakes across his lips, the way you shake sprinkles on top of cupcakes and just as sugar-sweet, because the way Chrissy kisses him is just, it’s everything he ever would’ve thought to want.
Arms wrapped around each other, chest-to-chest, he can feel her heartbeat and he bets she can feel his, too, and the way it tick-tick-ticks up when their hands start to roam, slow and eager all at once: through each other’s hair, down their backs, around their waists. Bets she can feel the hitch in his chest, when she slicks her tongue over his, when she giggles and hums and he’s gotta laugh, too, straight into her mouth because he’s not about to stop kissing her, not for anything—
This will be, an everlasting love
This will be, the one I’ve waited for
This will be, the first time anyone has loved me
Oh, oh…
“What the fuck?” Eddie huffs, even as Chrissy laughs some more against his mouth and replies, “I have no idea.”
They look around for the source of the music, the sound quality’s kinda bogus, but—
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Eddie catches a silhouette on the flat overhang above the dorm’s lobby doors, easy as pie to access, all you have to do is climb through the study room window and, bam, two-for-one, you’re smoking a blunt and stargazing.
And, serenading, as the current case may be.
The shadow’s waving a lit-up phone above their head, crooning along with Natalie Cole at the top of their lungs, and then— “Ow-ow! True love prevails!” Head thrown back, a whooping laugh aimed up at the inky blue sky. “I told you so, Suzanne!”
“Is that Argyle?” Chrissy snorts when she laughs, sometimes, when something catches her off-guard. Eddie loves it. “Who’s Suzanne?”
“The old lady ghost in his apartment. Guess they had money on this.”
“Sounds like he won.” Chrissy’s smile is indulgent, and Eddie wants to eat it. “I guess, um. Since it turned out so well and everything, you can do a love spell on me any time you want.”
“Oh, yeah?” Eddie palms her hips, keeps her close. “Think I could, uh. Be your boyfriend, too?”
For an answer, Chrissy picks up their kissing where they left off, smiling as she murmurs into it, “Only if I can be your girlfriend.”
“Oh, Christ, yeah.” Eddie wraps his arms around her tight. He laughs when their teeth clack, and it breaks apart on a muffled moan when Chrissy kisses him slow but harder, too, like she’s not gonna stop for anything, either.
Eddie is so about to buy stock in those plastic honey bear motherfuckers, you mark his words—
I’m so glad, you found me in time
And I’m so glad, that you’ve rectified my mind
This will be, an everlasting love for me…
In the grand scheme of things, Eddie figures he knows enough about enough—because he knows he loves Chrissy, and Chrissy loves him, it’s all very Joanie and Chachi, you know how it goes.
Back-and-forth crises of sexual identity aside, he knows he wants to kiss her, and he gets to, so maybe that’s all that matters.
And he knows, without a doubt, that magic is some real shit—thanks a million, Argyle, for real—because it’s there, every time, at the edges of Chrissy’s smile.
So, yeah. That about does it, you know? Chrissy smiles at him, and Eddie figures he knows everything he’s ever gonna need to.