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Ever since the year had started, you had gotten used to waiting for Eddie in the library. Not because you were dating, as some of the many assholes of this school liked to joke about — you didn’t know if they were making fun of him or of you, in that case — but because you had been… tutoring him. If you could call what you were doing tutoring.
Eddie was a quick thinker. If anything, it seemed his mind was running a little too fast, in every direction and things that he found uninteresting just got lost in that complicated maze.
Unfortunately, that included pretty much everything school-related. That meant that you could go over something with him one week and he’d understand it so easily that you wondered how he could have failed the past two previous years, and then he’d come back the next and it was all gone. Sometimes, it almost made you want to question your sanity.
Others, like right now and, in fact, every week for at least fifteen minutes before he deigned showing up, you asked yourself why you were even doing this. Sure, it was a favor your dad had asked of you, because he worked with Eddie’s uncle, but it still felt like such a waste of time, in such moments.
This week, though, it turned out that Eddie had a good reason for being late.
You heard him approaching the small corner of the library where the two of you worked (hid) and looked up, reviewing the snippy comments you’d come up with while waiting, but the words died on your lips as soon as you saw him.
“Holy shit, Eddie,” was what made it instead, a horrified whisper.
He gasped in fake horror.
“What kind of language is that, princess?”
You ignored the nickname. He’d been using it for a while and you knew that while he wasn’t doing it to be a dick, it also wasn’t a compliment coming from him. Instead, you got up and walked around the table to get a better look at him. The black eye was the first thing you’d noticed, of course, but the split lip looked like it had to be painful as well, and, based on the way he was holding himself, slightly hunched, you suspected there was more than you couldn’t see.
He cleared his throat, averting his eyes when you got close, and you thought you saw him blushing a little, but it was hard to tell what with— everything else going on with his face.
“Ah, come on, it’s nothing, let’s just—”
“It’s not nothing,” you protested. There was empathetic pain in your voice. “How did that happen?”
He sighed dramatically and let himself fall onto a chair, putting some more distance between the two of you. Despite his antics, he seemed to still refuse to meet your eyes.
“It’s that damn marching band. They cornered me and they used their instruments to beat me up. They’re really creative when it comes to using their trumpets.”
He glanced at you long enough to see you raising an eyebrow at him, and rolled his eyes in response.
“Come on, you’re meant to be the smart one. Who’d you think did that?”
The question stung more than you’d like to admit, because he was right. It took a special kind of confidence to do something like that. It took being certain that you were untouchable and that nothing would happen to you, and knowing that no one would even care enough to give you a hard time, because who gave a fuck about what happened to Eddie Munson, freak-in-chief at Hawkins High?
Last year, you would have put your money on Billy Hargrove without any hesitation. Billy liked getting into fights, and he was awful, but at least, and you couldn’t believe you were finding him redeeming qualities now, he was fair. He fought his own battles.
As far as you were aware, the new asshole in chief, the captain of the basketball team, liked to have two of his friends holding the people he didn’t like before he hit them.
Most people didn’t cross him, of course. They didn’t have much of a reason to, because Jason didn’t try to get on people’s nerves the way Billy did. When they did, though, like Eddie seemed to be unable not to do? When they did, it got ugly.
“I probably have something in my bag that could help,” you mumbled, quickly walking back to your spot.
You knew you did. The last few years had turned you into a very careful person. Sure, it was unlikely to run into a Demo-dog these days, but you never knew.
It had taken you by surprise once. You had been coming to tell Mrs Henderson that you hadn’t found her cat. You had been the first person she’d asked after Dustin. Being their neighbor, you had sometimes been tasked with watching over Mews during holidays, and she had hoped he’d run over to you. That had, unfortunately, not been the case.
You were walking over when the weird little abomination had started running to you with its face wide open. Fortunately, you and Dustin had managed to fend it off.
That had been your introduction to the strange things that were happening all around Hawkins. Then, of course, there had been the whole— Starcourt— thing , and you’d decided that it would be better if you always had things to help with injuries, particularly since Steve Harrington seemed prone to getting beaten up.
“Dang, were you getting ready for a fight?” Eddie asked, sounding both surprised and impressed, as you pulled out gauze and disinfectant.
“No, it’s just, uh— You know Max Mayfield? She skateboards and she, uh, falls. Often.”
Of course, Max hadn’t used her skateboard in months, maybe longer, but you doubted Eddie would know that.
“Sinclair’s ex, right?”
“Right,” you answered, “you know Lucas?”
While speaking, you grabbed a chair and pulled it so you could sit facing him.
“Yeah, he’s in Hellfire. Why do you know the freshmen?”
“I’m Dustin’s neighbor,” you shrugged. “I see them around all the time. Now come here, would you?”
“I don’t know, I feel like this might sting…”
You glared at him, and he shot you a crooked grin in response. Messing with you. You should have known.
“Come on, Eddie,” you said quietly. “I can’t leave you like that.”
His expression changed, looking almost sheepish, before he leaned forward a little.
You’d noticed this before. Eddie was all snark and dramatics and exaggeration, never letting anything else come through, defenses always up. But as you worked with him, you realized that they always crumpled when faced with genuine kindness. He was clearly delighted whenever you responded with the same tone as him, knowing he’d managed to get you, but when you refused to participate in his game? That was when you managed to catch a glimpse of a side of him you didn’t think he ever showed to people.
You kind of liked that.
Gently, you dabbed disinfectant on the cut, one hand softly holding his chin up. He flinched at the contact at first — not of the disinfectant, but of your touch, before he allowed it, though not without his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. His eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t express any discomfort, and it made you want to chuckle, comparing his stoic reaction to Steve’s protests, but you held it back. Explaining how you knew — and were friends with — Steve Harrington would be a lot more complicated than for Dustin and Lucas.
This time, though, it seemed you were the one who couldn’t meet Eddie’s eyes. His bore into yours, with the same intensity he gave to everything in his life, and you had to glance away after a few seconds, feeling your heart hammering in your chest. What were you doing? It was far too late to get a high school crush! You’d be leaving for college soon, you couldn’t— you couldn’t start something now!
“I think you’re good,” you said, voice squeakier than you’d intended.
“Uh, actually, while we’re at it…”
He raised a hand, and you saw his bloody knuckles. Which meant he’d probably landed a good punch on someone.
“I should see the other guy, right?”
“The other wall,” he admitted with a grimace. “I missed the guy.”
Finally, this got a chuckle out of you.
“That might be for the best,” you said, carefully disinfecting the wound. “That guy sounds like the kind of person who’d be a pain if you injured him visibly.”
“And the kind of person whose parents would probably drag me to court,” Eddie added cheerfully, though bitterness pierces under the forced intonation.
“And allll of Hawkins High would fall over themselves to testify in his favor,” you said, grabbing the gauze and starting to wrap it around his hand. His fingers brushed against your palm, calloused from playing guitar, and it sent a strange sensation through you, one you tried not to dwell on too much, but that shot straight to your heart.
“You wouldn’t,” he said, voice low enough that you had to wonder if he actually said it or if you’re hearing things.
“I’m sorry this happened to you, Eddie,” you whispered instead of answering. “You didn’t deserve this.”
His fingers closed around your hand, and you finally found the courage to glance up. His hand was warm, but that was nothing compared to what you saw in his eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat. Close. He was close, and looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
His eyes fell to your lips.
And then he threw himself back on the chair, giving you a big smile, mask back into place so fast it almost gave you whiplash.
“I mean, I kinda did, if I’m being honest. I provoked him all day, and we know that poor kid doesn’t know how to handle difficult emotions, right?”
You rolled your eyes, but you were already grinning, unable to help yourself.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I agree, he definitely needs therapy,” Eddie nodded virulently. “In the meantime, may I remind you that I’m on the verge of failing maths?”
“May I remind you that that’s progress and that you were failing maths two months ago?”
“Exactly, can’t let me fall behind, chop chop!”
Again, you rolled your eyes, but you grabbed your books and leaned over, starting to explain, still half bickering with him. You said nothing about the tension earlier, didn’t dare to, didn’t want to risk tearing down his walls if he wasn’t ready to let them down in front of you.
Under the table, though, you softly squeezed his hand, which hadn’t let go of yours.
And he squeezed back.