Chapter Text
There’s a moment at the door, just before you knock, hand hovering in midair, that you almost rethink your decision to come to Eddie’s unannounced. It’s crazy , really it is, to show up at your weed dealers house at nine o’clock at night and expect to be welcome. But it’s Eddie. Eddie who’s never done anything but make you feel safe. Eddie who’s always noticed when you were in a bad mood, or too far stuck in your head to crawl your way out alone. It’s Eddie, and that’s why you’re here.
A sharp knock later and a few seconds of hearing someone shuffle around inside, and the door swings open, bathing you in light. Wayne stands in front of you with a confused look, one brow raised as he takes you in; mud caked on your shoes and tear marks down your cheeks, feet glued to the ground defensively. It’s not the first time you’ve met. Since you and Eddie had both graduated, you’d come by here and there to pick up. So when his mouth turns up at the edges with a soft smile, you can’t help but mirror it with one of your own.
“Mr. Munson,” you grin, eyes scanning the trailer behind him for any sign of the boy you’re here to see.
“How many times I gotta tell you to not call me Mr. Munson? It makes me feel old.” He grumbles as he leans his shoulder up against the doorframe, lit up enough by the orange glow behind him that you can see that he’s already in his work clothes. “What’re you doing here anyway hun?”
“Just came by to see Eddie, he’s not like expecting me or anything just uh…” Your voice trails off as you rack your brain for an excuse, a reason to be on his doorstep this late, but there’s nothing that comes to mind but the truth and you’re too embarrassed to admit it. He looks you over again and comes to a conclusion, opening the door further and waving you in.
“Well, he’ll be back soon I imagine. He’s at his little club. Eddie’s always been sweet on ya so I don’t think he’ll mind if you wait in his room, but I gotta head to work.” He nods to the room past the kitchen, turning to grab his keys off the counter. You step in beside him, toeing off your dirty shoes by the door so you don’t track the mud in. He’s so casual about it you almost miss his words, filing away the information he just dropped at your feet to consider later.
It’s hard to accept this kindness, the invitation into his home when he isn’t even going to be here. You’re thankful that the world, for all its shitty people, has a few like the Munsons. You pause in your walk back to Eddie’s room, turning to look at Wayne on his way out the door, voice quiet in the wake of all of the emotions that bring tears to your eyes, “Thanks M– Thanks Wayne.”
“Anytime hun, hope you feel better.”
The door closes behind him with a loud snap and you hear his truck start up and pull away from the trailer. It takes several deep breaths to dry the tears that threaten to spill, but in the quiet of the newly empty home you finally start towards Eddie’s familiar bedroom. It smells like tobacco and weed, and you stand aimlessly in the middle of it, too nervous to mess with any of his things. It’s so odd to be in someone’s room when they aren’t there, the desire to pick through the tapes on his dresser or sort through the sheets of campaign planning that are scattered across his bedside table is overwhelming but you don’t want to take advantage of his privacy.
When ten minutes finally pass, pacing back and forth, stepping over piles of dirty clothes that litter his carpeted floor with nothing else to do, you sit. It’s not like you haven’t sat on his bed before, smoking and listening to him strum aimlessly on his guitar. His bed always smells like his vanilla shampoo and something that is just so him that it relaxes you until you’re laid back against his pillow, eyes shutting for longer each time you blink. The adrenaline of earlier events is finally wearing off in the comfort of being surrounded by his things and the softness of his bed. With it goes the energy that had carried you across town on foot, his door still closed just enough that the light from the kitchen has faded into the background as sleep pulls you under.
Eddie comes home to an empty house, as to be expected. Even with the lights still on, he knows no one is home, Wayne’s on rotation at the factory all week and Hellfire had run later than he had planned. It’s not until he goes to kick his boots off at the door that he realizes someone else is there, somewhat familiar shoes caked in dirt are sitting one half on top of the other by his front door. The fact that the shoes are there is enough proof that it isn’t someone trying to rob them, no one who had broken in would worry about the impoliteness of tracking mud through their house.
He creeps down the hallway to the bedrooms, trying to pick out any sounds from either that would clear up who could possibly be in his house alone as the clock nears midnight. Eddie opens his uncle’s door, peering into the dark empty room to find exactly what he should: nothing. His own door is cracked halfway, warm yellow light shining over half of his room and Eddie takes two steps towards it. There’s a soft huff of breath that comes from the other side and he strolls in to find something he absolutely should not: you.
You’re curled in his blanket, almost clutching it to your chest, with your head laid on one of his pillows, asleep. Eddie freezes in the doorway at the sight, your mouth slightly open and hair a mess, his mind still struggling to catch up with the sight in front of him. As he watches you sleep, you sigh again, curling up further into a ball in the center of his bed. Suddenly he’s struck by how messy his room is, trying to remember the last time he washed his sheets or organized anything .
His feet draw him forward without thought, standing over you as a wave of affection crashes over him. It pulls him down until he’s sat next to you, hands twitching to push the few strands of hair that have fallen over your sleeping face away from your eyes. It’s a strong enough urge that he can only fight it for a minute, fingertips slowly trailing across your cheek in the motion. Your eyes squeeze together, his touch drawing you from your slumber before you squint at him in the low light.
“What’re you doing here?” Eddie keeps his voice soft, not wanting to scare you in your sleep-addled state.
Confusion is written over your face, brows furrowed together, still trying to make him out. Finally you slur out a couple mumbled words that almost drown him in another wave. “Eds? S’that you?”
It hits him that this might be the first time you’ve ever called him anything but his last name. It’s definitely the first time there’s been this much affection in your tone when addressing him. The effect of both at once is enough to make him feel like he might melt into the floor. Nonetheless he’s quick to catch up to his racing thoughts, nodding with a hand still pressed against your cheek and responds.
“Yeah sweetheart, it’s me. What are you doing here?” If you had been any more awake you would have glared at him for his tone, snarked that he didn’t need to treat you like you were breakable. Drowsy and comfortable you, just smiles, closing your eyes from even the small amount of light that streams in through his still open door. Eddie tears his eyes from you, hesitantly letting you go and stands for a minute, moving to shut his door quietly before coming back to sit next to you.
When his hand cups your cheek again you startle, eyes flying open for a moment to take him in in the dark room. The only remaining light is silvery moonlight that paints his back wall, shining across his guitar hung up by the mirror. You shift slightly, pressing your cheek into his thigh, words slurred into the fabric.
“Got’nto it with m’parents, again. Yunno he’s always such an asshole, he’said some shit,” your voice fades out, hands still clutching his blanket. Eddie aches as he watches the stress etch itself over your features, the lines in your forehead as you relive whatever fight had spurred your trip to him.
A thought occurs to him as he processes what you’ve said, slowly piecing things together to get the full picture. There’s only one part that hasn’t finished adding up. Eddie wonders, mouth pulling down into a frown at your story. “I didn’t see your car out front.”
“Walked.”
“You walked seven miles to my house in the middle of the night ?” Eddie almost screeches, his voice rising in octave with every word until you press the extra pillow over your ears to muffle the sound of his frustrated panic. Eddie’s torn between jumping to his feet and continuing the clearly necessary lecture and the immediate regret at watching you wince at his sudden outburst. He pulls a deep breath into his chest, letting himself get caught up in the sensation of inhale and exhale as he calms himself down.
Eddie moves the pillow off your face, thankful to see that the stress is no longer finding its home there. You push your face back into his thigh, breath warming the side of his leg as you speak. “Hope y’don’t mind that I came ‘ere.”
The wave is back again, pouring over him as he thinks through the implications. That you’d gotten into an argument so bad that you thought the only option was to walk seven miles in the dark to get to him. That you’d even so much as considered the idea of him being unhappy to see you here, to have you here. The mere concept that it would upset him, burden him in any way for you to see him and his home as a haven is absurd, and it hurts . Eddie wants to find whoever first told you that you were too much, too much to deal with, he wants to find them and beat them until they rethink their words. He wants to spend hours arguing with the part of your brain that would think he didn’t want you there, a rebuttal for every possible argument you could throw his way.
“Nonono, of course not. I told you that you could come by whenever, that isn’t exclusive to coming just to buy weed.”
It feels like not enough, to just tell you. His voice not soft enough, his words not coherent enough to properly express just how viscerally he wants you to be safe here. However he clearly gets his message across well enough for you to appreciate it, mouth ticking up into a sleepy grin against his jeans. Your mouth opens for the word thanks and even without a sound it settles over him gently, warming his heart.
“I’ll just uh head to the couch,” Eddie rubs his hand awkwardly on the back of his neck, expecting to see you slowly drift back into sleep. But your eyes are wide, and your hand grabs at the bottom of his shirt and yank with a force he didn’t know you were capable of. You drag him down until he has to press his hand into the mattress next to you to keep from face planting directly into you.
“No, sleep here .”
Your tone leaves no room for disagreement, your gaze surprisingly intense, almost desparate and his resolve crumbles before it even has the chance to build. Eddie nods, more to himself than you, but even the small movement is enough to lift the panic from you and ungrip his shirt. He shimmies out of his leather jacket, tossing it across the room haphazardly then stands. Eddie tugs a pair of sweatpants from his dresser, looking back over his shoulder to confirm your eyes are closed before pulling off his jeans and changing.
Warm hands on your shoulders shift you until there’s enough room for him to crawl into his bed beside you. Immediately your arm stretches out over him, head moving to rest on his chest, moving up and down with each breath he takes. You’re out faster than he can come to terms with your shared positions, the mere thought of cuddling with you fogging up his mind like a mirror in a bathroom. It’s impossible not to enjoy it, having spent enough nights in his bed alone. He isn’t an idiot, despite what people might think.
So he settles back into the sheets, ensures that you’re properly tucked in on top of him and shuts his eyes. More than content to fall asleep with an arm draped over your shoulder and your soft breaths fanning over his chest. After all, what are house calls for, if not to end up cuddling in your drug dealer's bed after not even buying weed.