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He opens the passenger door for her, his mouth slanted in a disarmingly charming smile.
“After you,” he says, sweeping his arm towards the seat. Chrissy smiles back, and right as she takes a step, he moves the same arm towards her, holding out his hand. He tilts his head, offering her to take it.
Gentlemanly. She thinks. And grabs his hand before bending in. The veins in his hand twitch wonderfully as her fingers grace over his, his hand delightfully warm.
He was waiting with his van right where he promised he’d be. Where they agreed to meet after the game. She’d had trouble escaping after the celebration and was so worried he’d drive off. She lets out a breath, happy to be wrong. She guesses it won’t be the last time she’s wrong about him.
“Thank you!”
He winks, brown eyes lingering over her face before he brings his hand to the back of his neck. So brown they look black, she observes, unsure why it fascinates her so. His expression is bright as he turns too quickly, nearly hitting his van, and he chuckles, before making his way around to the driver’s side.
...
He’s a good driver, she thinks, watching him tap his fingers gracefully across the steering wheel. At school, he always seemed to screech out of the parking lot, making sure to drive as loudly and aggressively as possible. He wasn’t keeping up with the charade tonight, out of kindness or forgetfulness, she isn’t sure - but it makes her stupidly relieved to realize she isn’t the only one pretending.
“Thanks again so much for driving me,” she pipes up, and he smiles, keeping his eyes on the road.
“No worries,” he says, moving his hand to adjust the gear shift. “I usually incorporate a driving fee, but I’ll give you the friends’ discount.”
Chrissy giggles.
“I’m honoured.”
He chuckles, lowly. “You’d be one of the few.”
Her smile falters at that.
“Don’t worry,” he smirks, “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Stop!” she huffs affectionately, and he feels the tips of his ears heat up.
“So,” he continues, bouncing his leg, "you want to pick the station?” He points to the radio. He doesn’t want to sound too eager, but is desperate to learn any little thing about her. “I gotta know how salvageable your music taste is.”
She tenses, only slightly; barely enough to notice. She doesn’t seem as jumpy as before but he grimaces, worried he’s taken the joke too far.
Idiot.
“Can we...” she starts, fidgeting with her fingertips. “...not listen to anything right now? I’d rather just talk to you...if that’s alright.”
Eddie brings his thumb to his mouth, scratching over it to hide his smile.
If that’s alright?
“Of course,” he answers, tapping the steering wheel again. “You can do whatever you want.”
With me.
His hand doesn’t cover his dazzling smile this time, and Chrissy feels the back of her neck tingle.
“I think I want to leave this town,” she says before she can think, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “You know what I mean?”
Eddie looks at her, and Chrissy admires the way his jawline cuts through the moonlight as he puts one arm on the back of her seat when they turn right.
“I know exactly what you mean,” he says, voice like velvet. And he looks at her as he put his hand back on the steering wheel. Looks at her like he understands everything that she’s ever needed, seen directly into her instead of through her like so many others.
And she wants to take a picture of him, right then; wants to remember the way he’s looking at her, so she can remind herself what it feels like to be seen.
A second more passes, and he finally looks back at the road.
“Thinking of taking anyone with you?” he asks, all low and careful.
“Yes. I think so,” she says immediately. “My brother, Chris.”
Eddie gives her a small smile.
“So...Christine and Christopher?”
Chrissy winces. “My parents weren’t very original.”
Eddie puts up his hand, laughing. “It’s not terrible! It’s not like...”
He clicks his tongue, vaguely.
“Like what?” she smiles sweetly, tucking her hair behind her ear.
He cranes his neck to look at her, arching an eyebrow for effect. She shared something with him. And he’s been dying to do the same.
“....Edward...or something equally stupid...” he does a lazy twist of his hand.
“Edward!” Chrissy squeals, hitting his shoulder. “No way!”
Eddie groans. “Don’t hold it against me, sweetheart.”
She scrunches her nose, blush dusting across her cheeks, and hits him softly again. “If I’m being honest, it’s probably a God thing. Like...” she brings her voice to an adorable whisper, speaking through her fingers. “...putting Christ in both our names?”
Eddie blinks.
And when she snorts he can’t stop himself from laughing too.
“You’re alright,” he laughs with her, loving the way her eyes dance in the moonlight, “I think I fucking-”
But suddenly they’re cut off by another car that swerves onto the road haphazardly, music blaring from their open windows.
“Shit!” Eddie growls as he slams on the breaks, putting his arm out to stop her from bashing into the glove box. Chrissy’s hands, which are already up, connect with his arm, squeezing tightly as she lurches forward.
“Assholes!” Eddie yells once he gets the window down to flip the screaming teens’ car his middle finger.
“Shit,” he repeats, her fingers still raking his forearm, “you okay?” He moves his other hand to her face, brushing his ringed fingers across her nose and down her lips.
She freezes.
Idiot.
“Fuck, sorry,” he laughs low, but she still holds onto his arm. He brushes her hair from her face, subconsciously, to try and let her know he’s sorry, but quickly stops, realizing it isn’t helping his case.
“Blue,” he says instead, looking at her.
“Blue?” she asks, fingers still attached to him. Her voice is a little breathy.
“Your makeup,” he says, and her eyes follow the way he looks at her lips, the way he inches closer. “I didn’t notice you did your eyes slightly different blues.”
He wants to tell her it looks pretty. He tells her instead that he likes it.
“Oh,” she giggles, cheeks growing rosy. The pads of her fingers slide from his arm as she bites her lip. “You noticed? Thank you. I like it too.”
And he’s as close as Jason gets when he wants to kiss her, so she has to look away - from his mouth and his black-as-sin eyes, that continue to gaze at her under his thick eyelashes.
She clears her throat, and he has to lick his lips as he breaks eye contact with her, severing this little moment they’d cut out for themselves. He fidgets with his rings before moving his hands back to the steering wheel, about to put the van in drive when-
“Eddie,” she says, like it’s something important, so he doesn’t put his foot on the gas.
“Mhm?”
“I think in another life,” she says wistfully, “we would’ve been great friends.” She palms her knees, inspecting an invisible stain on her skirt like she’s ashamed. Smiling like it hurts.
It’s not mean, like it would be coming from anyone else. He thinks it’s her way of telling him that she understands. One freak to another. But he can’t let that go.
“Why not this one?” he says, voice low. “I think I’ve got a couple years left in me.”
And her smile is everything.
...
Her brother visits him while he’s in jail. Dustin and Steve and Robin and Nancy and Wheeler and Sinclair and El and Mike and Jonathan and even Max too, but Eddie’s prepared for them. He isn’t prepared for this - he’s sweating, lips chapped raw, shaky. He’ll get on his knees and beg if he has to.
He’s got his whole speech prepared, twisting his ring-less fingers furiously, unable to pace like he wants to in his handcuffs.
The boy, her brother, makes his way to the window...decidedly not looking at Eddie until he lifts the phone off of the receiver.
Eddie has practiced this speech thousands of times. He’s gone over it again and again and again, desperate to make sure it comes out right. He looks at him - at Christopher - and immediately feels the sting of tears in his eyes.
”I’m sorry,” he rasps, speech forgotten, and the tears keep coming. “I’m so sorry. I never hurt her and I’m sorry. She loved you, she-” he wipes at his face, voice catching.
Christopher looks at him for a long moment.
“I think she’d be sad,” he says, quiet. “That people think you did this.”
Eddy cries harder that night than he ever has in his life.
...
Victor Creel gets blamed for the kids’ murders. He’s missing anyways, so the police can tie a pretty bow on the casket of the case.
It doesn’t matter.
How many people want their kids to hang out with the local alleged murderer/certified freak, anyways?
...
If he could go back to that night he would, he thinks, lying on his bed one evening, joint in hand. He’d jump right back in that van, stop flirting so terribly, and ask her what her favourite song is. She’d laugh, he’s sure, but he’d tell her he only has so much time, and please, he needs to know. He thinks she’d pick up on his urgency. He doesn’t know how, but has a feeling she would. She’s- she was...that kind of person.
He never fully recovers. Not fully.
He has to move after they finish saving the world. He can’t sleep in a trailer made of broken bones.
He does his best to remember her smile, instead of her last terrible moments on this earth.
“In another life,” he repeats, brushing his fingers over her grave.
He visits her late at night, any chance that he gets, still worried that anyone might catch him there.
...
“So!” the host questions, smiling widely to the audience, desperate to salvage the remainder of the interview. Eddie had been his usual calm, cool, and collected self, immune to quips and questions about his past. It always puts them off, as he’s so lively at his shows.
“Your new single comes out on Friday, and the fans are dying to know! Was it written with anyone in mind?”
Eddie smiles. It’s later documented on youtube as one of the only times he smiles in interviews.
“Yes.”
The crowd erupts into shrill cheers and screams, and the host takes a dramatic minute to quiet them.
“Are you going to tell us who?”
Eddie folds his arms, leaning forward towards the mic.
“Sure.”
You could hear a pin drop.
“Really?” the host asks, incredulous.
Eddie tilts his head.
“No.”
Laughter bursts from the crowd, along with whooping applause.
“Classic Eddie,” the host laughs, and Eddie clicks his tongue, annoyed. The host coughs, gathering himself.
“So good to have you Eddie! Just one more request before we go. Please tell the camera the name of your single, one more time!”
Eddie doesn’t look at the camera, but grabs at his guitar-pick necklace as he leans forward again.
“Princess. It’s called Princess.”
...