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Summer in Hawkins is hot and humid and it hits Chrissy in the face like a damp wave when she steps outside of the air conditioned gym.
It’s been a few months since Spring Break when she found herself being stalked by a psychopathic dream monster determined to turn her into a human pretzel until she was enrolled as the newest member of what Steve Harrington called the Babysitters In Hell Club to look after a bunch of freshman while they saved the world.
(On a side note she used to have a major crush on Steve back when he was a senior at Hawkins and did go a little blushy when he saves her from a pack of flying bat monsters. She thinks she saw Eddie roll his eyes but they had to get up and run before she could tell him not to worry, her crush on him is much bigger.)
After the freshmen had defeated Vecna she thought maybe they’d at least talk about it, the fact she’d kissed Eddie when she thought she was going to die but nope it somehow just never came up and then life kept happening and school had moved on and now it’s prom night and she’s just here and she’s just been voted prom queen, like nothing has changed.
Except for her.
After going to literal hell, a prom themed Enchantment Under The Sea feels more than a little contrived. She knows what’s under the water in Hawkins at least, and no one is dancing there.
She tugs the plastic tiara from her head, the teeth getting caught momentarily in her perfectly coiffed curls. Her mom had booked her into the stylist to get her hair done done months in advance so had she dutifully sat through the tugging and backcombing, pretending not to hear the snide comments being exchanged behind her.
Hasn’t she put on weight? Going to the prom alone, how shameful. I’ll be surprised if her dress still even fits, I’ll probably be letting it out on the night. All that hard work wasted…
She was asked to prom, several times actually, but she can’t explain to her mom that the reason she’s going solo is because the one person she’d actually say yes to was never planning to go.
“Hey Prom Queen.”
Speak of the devil and Eddie Munson shall appear.
She turns to him, feeling oddly embarrassed to be all dressed up in front of him while he’s in his usual ripped jeans and t-shirt.
“I knew you’d win.” He takes the cheap tiara from her hands; it looks absolutely ridiculous in his hands, flimsy and delicate surrounded by long tendons and the scuffed metal of his rings. He could snap it in a heartbeat and for a second she thinks he might, but instead he cradles it carefully, like it’s actually made of gold instead of plastic and paint.
“Yeah?”
“Duh. M’lady?” He gestures with it towards her and she obligingly tilts her head down for him.
His breath ruffles her hair as he slides the tiara back into place with single-minded focus.
“I thought you said prom was a conforming high school ritual for boneheaded sheeples.” Chrissy says, just to break the silence and stop herself saying – or doing – the other things that always come to her mind when he gets into her personal space. “And that electing a king and queen is a popularity contest that undermines the very meaning of democracy.”
“Oh, it is. It’s a fucking stupid tradition.” Eddie agrees, fussing over the placement of the tiara the same way he plots out his campaigns, meticulous and determined. Deeming it finally placed correctly, he takes a step back, out of her orbit even as she sways subconsciously back towards him. “But you look really pretty, so.”
“So?”
“Yeah, so.”
She rolls her eyes even as her smile breaks across her face. “How ever did you manage to pass English with that grammar?”
He snorts, scratching through his unruly mop of hair with the tiniest hint of embarrassment. “I had a good tutor.” He says meaningfully.
The compliment settles into her stomach, setting warm glowing ripples of happiness off through her body. It melts into confidence, making her roll her shoulders back to bask in the full effect as it suddenly occurs to her she has no idea what he’s doing here, lurking behind the gym on prom night. Unless-
“You came to prom for me?” She asks shyly, fingers brushing over her corsage-less wrist. She’s sure one of the many boys who she had politely turned down would have had one ordered from the flower shop, white roses probably to match her powder-blue dress, but she knows the weight of it would have felt like handcuffs if she’d been forced to come here with any of them.
Eddie looks at her blankly. “I’m not at prom.” He points out with a hint of defensiveness, one hand twisting the ring on his thumb around and around.
The skull faces Chrissy then turns away, then faces her again, an endless circle kind of like the one she’s currently tired of being in. They’re graduating next month for god’s sake and they’re going to keep dancing around one another until they’re throwing their caps in the air. She’s all set to start UCLA in the Fall; Corroded Coffin are packing up for New York to see if they can get a bigger (and more drunken) audience on the club circuit. By September, Hawkins and high school and its pointless social rules are no longer going to matter.
Chrissy is already trying to shrug off her small-town sensibilities and she’s decided not to let Eddie hold onto his.
“You came to prom for me.” She tells him.
He tilts his head in surprise, tucking his hands under his armpits protectively. She’s caught him off-guard, she can tell by his slightly stunned expression, but he’s also impressed she’s calling him out. A few short months ago, she’d been like a deer in headlights around him, around anyone really that wasn’t her safe little crowd of popular kids. But Eddie isn’t as scary as he’d like people to think, a mixture of bravado and a thick wall built by the freshman who used to get shoved into lockers for liking a fantasy game putting on a convincing act if you don’t know him better.
Chrissy knows him better.
“I came to the vicinity of prom.” He challenges, sticking his chin up.
“For me.” She insists.
He jerks his head in the direction of Madonna’s voice, faintly carried to them through the stuffy air. “Well, it wasn’t for the music-“
“Eddie.”
He freezes, shoulders hitched up to his ears, and, for once, he’s the one who looks like a deer in headlights. She blinks up at him imploringly, silently asking him not to tease and not to play and to just be himself like he’s been slowly teaching her to do.
“Yeah Cunningham, I came for you.” He mutters, abashed, eyes darting anywhere but her face. “Don’t get a big head or your dumb crown won’t fit.”
She feels radiant.
Madonna fades away and a familiar melody takes her place, a soft synth chord progression (she knows what that is now thanks to Eddie and his fruitless attempts to teach her to play guitar) repeating through the air around them.
Taking the step back into his space, Chrissy places her hands on his arms to unwind them from where they’re folded across his chest. He jumps at her touch like a startled rabbit, limbs going floppy and awkward like he’s forgotten how to use them even as she puppets him, wrapping one arm around her waist so his hand rests at the small of her back. She can feel the clammy heat of his palm through the tulle of her prom dress, but she doesn’t mind because it lights her on fire.
She tugs him closer with their free hands, so close the tips of his curling hair brush her forehead for a moment before he jerks his head back.
“Uh- hello?” He jumps, voice bolting up in pitch. “Whatcha doin’ there, Chrissy?”
“The prom queen gets to pick her dance partner.” Chrissy explains as she rests a hand daintily on his shoulder; his leather jacket has been parted with due to the stifling heat, but his denim vest is still slung over a black t-shirt, biceps and forearms bare. The sun that has caused freckles to scatter across her nose seems to have not touched him over the last few weeks, black ink standing out against the paleness of his skin. “It’s another stupid tradition.”
Eddie grimaces at her.
“I hate this song.” He protests, feebly.
“No, you don’t.”
He sighs. “No, I don’t.”
As the vocals kick in she moves gently until he relaxes, shoulders releasing inch by inch until he’s swaying stiffly with her, their tangled fingers cradled between them. Chrissy feels his fingers flex on her back, hesitantly moving a little lower, then pressing firmer so she’s coaxed in a little closer. She follows his lead happily; their feet don’t have much room, her pristine heels occasionally grazing his worn black boots, but they’re avoiding each other’s toes and after a few more moments, Eddie even stops staring at the ground and instead starts staring at her.
Then, finally, he sighs and she feels the moment he gives in to it, to her, tension seeping out of him as he curls more fully around her.
She can’t hear the music so well over the rustle of their clothing as they dance, but somehow they’re keeping time, probably thanks to Eddie’s innate musicality. He drops his head until his forehead rests against hers, closing his eyes and she thinks she can hear it a little clearer now, all I needed was the love you gave, all I needed for another day…
She watches the flutter of his unfairly long lashes against his cheek as she adjusts to having him to close, their faces almost curtained in by his chaotic hair falling around them. It creates a little echo chamber between them and that’s when she realises why she can still hear the song so clearly.
He’s humming along.
The melody rumbles from his chest, his chest that is brushed up against hers, his chest that she can feel swell and deflate in time with her own breath. Somehow, she’s keeping it steady, feeling almost serene as his gentle humming washes over her in their tiny bubble, despite how her heart is jackhammering.
She feels safe and she feels wanted and she feels-
The song finishes and Eddie’s eyes slowly open. Something simmers between them, licking over Chrissy’s face and painting it pink with blush. She feels every part of her body that is touching Eddie’s flame, her lower back under his hand, her chest against his, their fingers intertwined and foreheads pressed together. They're just looking at each other in a tentative silence and Chrissy thinks this is it, this is the moment when something else changes but Eddie seems to have other ideas.
“Are we done here because I have to go get ready for my sacrificial lamb slaughter.” He whispers into the tiny breath of air between them.
“Eddie!” She laughs even as she’s disappointed their spell has been broken.
He grins ferociously at her, a little more manic than usual with a gleam in his eye. If she could decode it, she thinks it would be a mixture of relief and regret and a touch of panic. Or, at least, that’s what she’s feeling as he steps out of her arms, already missing the press of his forehead against hers despite the heat and their bangs.
She shivers involuntarily as he continues walking backwards, eyes raking over her and her silly little blue dress.
“Enjoy your night, prom queen.” He says softly, big doe eyes drinking her in like she’ll disappear the second he turns away.
It feels weirdly like a goodbye and she thinks again of how come fall they’re going to be on different coasts.
She doesn’t want him to turn away.
She doesn’t want to go back into the gym, to surround herself with a bunch of eighteen year olds wearing too much taffeta, choke on the hairspray and sharp tang of sweat, watch them get fresh with each other on the dancefloor while she sits on the benches and politely turn down requests to dance. Her night, much like her ‘normal’ life, ended the moment she saw him standing there.
“One last stupid high school sheeple tradition?” Chrissy says just before he moves to leave, nerves catching up to her and making her voice quiet and timid.
“Yeah?” Eddie perks up, eager and cautious all at once.
Chrissy takes a deep breath, feigning nonchalance as she shrugs.
“You’ve got to kiss the prom queen.”
The words settle between them like a stone through molasses.
Eddie blinks at her. “What, like- everyone kisses her, or-“
“Eddie.”
“I don’t know, that doesn’t sound like a real tradition-“
Chrissy almost stamps her foot petulantly, fixing him with a glare because why is he making this so difficult. “Eddie, just kiss me already.”
He looks taken aback which is ridiculous because she's hardly been subtle. Okay, she let him push the topic to the back of her mind for a time there while they both worked on graduating and getting over the trauma of traipsing through interdimensional hell, but she just slow danced with him at (in the vicinity of) prom. What more can a girl do?
Eddie sways on his feet for a moment, just staring at her, then something seems to snap.
“Alright, prom queen.” And suddenly soft Eddie gone and drug-dealing, chain-smoking, heavy metal lead guitarist Eddie is marching back towards her with a glint in his eye and purpose in the tread of his boots. “I’ll play along.”
The breath is knocked out of her when his chest ricochets into hers, steadied only by the grasp of his hands at her cheeks, tilting her face and drawing her up, up, up and-
Chrissy has been kissed before.
But Chrissy has never been kissed before.
Eddie slants his lips over hers like the world is ending, and maybe it is, but Chrissy would never know because the only thing she is aware of is him licking into her mouth without mercy. The cautious hands from earlier are gone, one plunging into (and definitely ruining) her perfect curls, the other squeezing at her hip to drag her closer. She flails for only a second before flinging her arms over his shoulders, finally getting her fingers tangled up in all of his goddamn hair, dragging a rough noise from the back of his throat and into her mouth.
Her plastic tiara clatters to the ground, a casualty of the kiss.
She’s still dazed when he pulls away, lips parted and eyes unfocused.
“Okay.” He says breathlessly. “That is one stupid fucking tradition I can get behind.”
“It’s not a real-mmph!”
“Shh,” Eddie presses the sound into her lips, effectively silencing her. “I’m having a quintessential high school experience here.”
Bravery licks up Chrissy’s spine and she draws back just far enough that she can look him in the eye.
“That’s not a real tradition, but do you know what is?”
“Enlighten me, prom queen.” He challenges raggedly.
“Getting lucky with your prom date.”
His eyes flash.
“Chrissy Cunningham, can I take you to prom?” He asks cheekily, leaning in to press his nose against her jaw, chasing the path it traces across her skin with his mouth.
She giggles even as heat ricochets through her.
“No.” She winds a hand through his hair and tugs. “But you can take me home.”
And he does.