Chapter Text
As the man in front of you chews his steak, open mouthed, and over-explains the American football scoring system you can’t stop your mind from wandering. Your fork pokes at your risotto absent-mindedly as you give your date a blank nod. Before this date, you were confident that a touchdown was worth six points, but the tone with which he’s speaking to you has you doubting yourself on a subject you honestly couldn’t care less about.
Another nod and a soft “mhm,” prompts him to continue, however, so you figure you have another five to ten minutes of daydreaming before he decides to ask you another rhetorical question and speak over your answer.
Your date drones on, and you can’t help but wonder what you would be doing if you turned down this dinner to hang out with your best friend (like you originally wanted to).
Sure, you shouldn’t be thinking about another man when you’re on a date, but Eddie Munson isn’t just some other man. He never has been. From the moment you joined Hellfire club in your freshman year, the man has been nothing less than a best friend to you. Even now, well into your twenties, he’s the only constant in your life. Dates come and go, but you’ll always have Eddie.
Of course, you’ve always wondered if there could be something more there. After all, not a day goes by that you don’t speak.
There’s a level of comfort between you two that you don’t think you’ve ever experienced even within your long term relationships. Hands that always seem to find each other, whispers passed across the small expanse of a shared bed during movie nights that went on for just a little too long. His shoulder felt like the comfiest pillow whenever you sat next to him on the couch, and he swears up and down that nobody is allowed to touch his hair, but he’s always begging you to braid it for him. Smiles passed over cocktail glasses and beer bottles after his band plays a show, his hand on your knee when he accompanies you to the latest play you’ve been dying to see. Every outing with your best friend feels more like a date than the last…but then he urges you to accept the drinks from strangers at the bar and convinces you to go on dates when other people ask, which is how you ended up here. Plus, he’s vehemently anti-marriage and laughs whenever you bring up your dream wedding, claiming he never wants to be tied down, so you know even if you did try to pursue something more than friendship with him, it wouldn’t lead anywhere.
Still, you wouldn’t trade him for the world.
Yeah, you think as a bit of mashed potato flies from your date’s mouth, landing on the rim of your glass, you’d take a lifetime of platonic dates with Eddie over this any day. Even if platonic is all it will ever be.
You manage to make it through dinner with a forced pleasant smile and a neck ache from nodding so much, but politely decline dessert in hopes to get out of the restaurant as soon as possible.
“Atta girl,” the creep actually snorts, nose turned up and eyes pointed at your backside as you stand to leave. You also notice that the amount of cash he threw on the table would only account for a $0.47 tip on a nearly $30 bill, but that’s hardly relevant as he finishes his comment. “Gotta keep it tight, right? The chocolate cake really isn’t worth the risk.”
His hand on your lower back feels slimy as he guides you out of the restaurant and you bite your tongue to hold back a venomous reply.
When you stop in front of your car, you’re thanking every deity possible that you decided to meet him here rather than accepting his offer to drive you. The air is tense, thick with humidity and the impending horror that is the kiss he surely feels entitled to, but before he gets too close your hand flies out between you, stopping him in his tracks with an awkward grin. Reluctantly, he shakes your hand, still leaning in and hoping he might still get at least a little bit lucky. His smarmy smile raises the hair on the back of your neck when he promises to call you.
You severely hope that he doesn’t.
It isn’t until you take your keys out of the ignition ten minutes later that you realize in your skeeved out haze, your auto-pilot has brought you to Eddie’s driveway rather than your apartment complex.
The lights inside are out, but a faint blue television glow in the living room window tells you that he’s home and more than likely awake. With a huff, you kick off your heels and throw them into the back seat, more interested in braving the rocks in the driveway than going another minute wearing the damn things, and make your way to the front door. You let yourself in with your spare key, but announce your arrival with a boisterous shout so you don’t startle him.
“Hey! Just me!” You call, hanging your purse off of the barstool nearest the door and shedding your jacket.
There’s a muffled greeting from the couch, and you look up to find Eddie waving and smiling around a mouthful of popcorn. After an exaggerated swallow, he repeats, “wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
“Yeah,” you say with another dramatic huff, padding down the length of the trailer to his bedroom. He watches with amusement as you strut around his home as if it were your own, never once does he stop you, though. Already digging in his dresser drawers, you call out to him, “can I borrow some pajamas? I need to get out of these damn pantyhose.”
His only response is a gentle laugh and a soft, “‘Course, doll.”
There’s an electronic fizzle from beyond the door, and the blue light goes dark, followed soon enough by a light rapping of Eddie’s knuckles against the door left slightly ajar. You’ve just pulled on your favorite tee shirt of his (a threadbare tour shirt from Ozzy Osbourne’s Ultimate Sin concert, the tickets were his present from you for finally graduating) and a clean pair of boxers, so you wrench open the door to find him leaning casually on the frame, innocent smile fixed on his face.
“Wanna talk about it?” He asks.
Of course, he doesn’t really want to listen to you talk about your date. He never does, though he’d never admit it to you, but he’s gotten used to this particular kind of torture, and he’d rather hear you huff about the bad ones than gush about the good ones anyway.
A heavy sigh hangs in the air between you, and you shrug as you flop ungracefully onto his bed, scooting higher to rest your feet on the headboard and flinging your arms out beside you haphazardly. The mattress dips beside you as Eddie lays down as well, head next to yours, feet dangling off the foot of the bed. His hair tickles at your ear where it fans out beside him, and you giggle as you reach up to tuck it away, turning your head to face him as best you can.
“I don’t know,” you sigh one more time, “there isn’t much to say that couldn’t be said about the last one.”
“Did this one at least remember his wallet?” He asks, a bite in his tone that he usually reserves only for the men who treat you poorly.
You hum, hand still tangled in his hair. “Yeah, but the poor waitress deserved a much better tip than he gave her so I couldn’t leave without slipping a fiver on the table.”
“You’re a saint, sweetheart.” He chides with a sole, warm ‘ hmph ’ of a laugh.
“Yeah well,” your own laugh is bitter, “he practically grabbed her ass and called mine too fat in the same breath, so I felt like I owed her something to apologize for his behavior.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
For all the anger in his words, his voice is soft. The air between you crackles with warmth, comfort. Eddie turns to face you, reaching up to hold onto your wrist as you continue to play with his hair thoughtlessly. His thumb strokes at the soft skin he finds there, warm brown eyes searching your own as you continue.
“I wish.” You don’t want to admit what comes next, but the words flow on their own, damning you before you could even try to stop them. “...You know, I sometimes wonder why I even bother with these men when here you are, being absolutely perfect.”
He beams with pride, eyes wrinkling at the corners like they always do when you catch him off guard with a compliment. He looks like sunshine and it makes your heart ache.
“Well, I try my best.” The silence in his pause is familiar, not uncomfortable, both of you teetering on the edge of a giggle that you won’t fully let out. After another beat, he groans dramatically as he sits up, using his feet for momentum to stand fully. You watch as he stands in front of the mirror on his dresser and piles his hair atop his head, pulling a scrunched sort of face as he can’t get it to sit just right. “Anyway, you deserve it, you know.” He says, making eye contact with you in the reflection. “The best, that is.”
You roll your eyes and sit up, scooting to the end of the bed and patting the spot in front of you. “Come here, before you make it worse.”
He manages a sheepish smile and sits cross legged on the floor in front of you. As you finger comb out the tangles in his hair, slowly, and with quite a bit of resistance, you keep ranting, foolishly. You don’t notice that he preens at your touch, that he’s practically melting under your ministrations. He swears he’ll be a puddle of a man before you’re finished with the braid you’re working on, too focused on your playing in his hair that he zones out for a moment until your hands come to a stop, tying off the braid and patting his shoulders with one final, pathetic mumble.
“I don’t know, maybe I’m just not meant to ever get married.”
Eddie’s heart cracks along with the crack in your voice.
He laughs, not maliciously, but dry and in disbelief, and he turns in place. Kneeling now, he wraps his arms around your waist and scratches absent-mindedly at your lower back. Eyebrows knit together with concern as he studies your face and realizes, while a little misguided, you’re serious. Eddie wants to argue, he wants to explain at great lengths how very untrue that is, how you’re still young and you’ll still find your person and that maybe you’ve already met your person and maybe he’s right here already on his knees in front of you…
…but all that comes out is a harsh, hissed, “ fuck that .”
Something unidentifiable in his eyes – hurt, maybe? – claws at your chest, constricting your heart in the same way that his arms squeeze your sides.
Suddenly, eye contact with your best friend becomes the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. Your eyes drop to where your hands fiddle with the hem of your shirt, the tiniest shake to your head that you aren’t even sure he could detect.
“Hey,” he says, voice tight but stern. Hands splay open on your back, and he ducks lower to meet your gaze. “Look at me.”
Down the line, if anyone were to ask Eddie what made him say what he says next, he wouldn’t have a straight answer. Maybe it’s the tears pooling in your eyes that he desperately wants to stop from falling, or the way you reach out to hold his cheek when your eyes meet again. Maybe it’s the sick churning in his stomach, an uneasy, uncomfortable sort of feeling that he thinks might only go away if he tells you how he feels. Maybe some combination of the three.
Whatever it is that makes him say it doesn’t matter, because he says it, and he says it with all the confidence in the world.
“Shit, I’ll marry you,” he says softly, “just say the word.”
A laugh bubbles from your lips, a tinny, wet little giggle, but it stops the tears from falling and it’s music to Eddie’s ears. You clear your throat, heart swelling at his words, and laugh again.
At first you aren’t sure how to take the comment. Though his words are ripe with sincerity, it's clearly a joke. It has to be. He’s just trying to make you feel better.
You wrinkle your nose and stroke his rosy cheekbone with your thumb, letting out another laugh. “What,” you say, dropping your hand to rest on his shoulder. “You wanna make one of those marriage pacts?”
“Mariage what ?”
Eyes rolling, you squeeze his shoulder before scooting back up the bed to lay down. “You know ,” you chuckle, working your way under the covers while Eddie stands to turn off the light. “If neither of us are married – which I know you won’t be – in ten years, we’ll marry each other.
“Nah,” he brushes off casually. The way he lands on the mattress beside you makes your whole body bounce and you giggle, he must have launched himself from the doorway to land like that. He props himself up on his elbow, one hand on his own cheek and the other reaching out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, if that’s what you want. But I’d marry you tomorrow. Shit,” this time when he laughs, you can hear the nervous energy behind it. Your eyes search his face for any hint of a joke or tease, but all you find are deep, sincere eyes and a wrinkle between his worried brow. “I’d take you to the courthouse tonight in my Ozzy tee shirt if they were open.”
“Eddie,” you scoff, pushing his shoulder playfully, but hiding your blush behind the covers. You’re not about to let yourself get excited, not yet, you’re still positive he’s just trying to cheer you up. “You hate the concept of marriage.”
“Maybe,” he mumbles, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips, smile widening, “but I love you .”
You roll your eyes, certain at this point he must be messing with you. “I love you too, weirdo, but I’ll be fine. You don’t have to pity-marry me.”
“ Jesus Christ ,” he breathes, falling to his back with almost manic laughter and scrubs his hands down his face. “You’re ridiculous.”
“What!?” You ask incredulously, propping yourself up so now you’re the one leaning over him, fixing him with a squint and another shake of your head.
He peers up at you through soft lashes, those damn round eyes roaming your face as he contemplates how much he wants to admit. There’s another rosy hint to his cheeks, and a darker one to the tips of his ears exposed by his pulled back hair. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to palm his cheek again.
Your breath is shallow as you wait for his response, replaying the conversation over and over in your head and trying to piece it together. You fear he can hear your heart beating in your chest as it hammers against your ribs, but if he can he doesn’t show it. He only shows his own nerves, the pinch between his brows and stuttering breath.
Shit– is he really as nervous as he seems? Is this conversation really headed where you think?
“I just –” he shakes his head, tearing his eyes from your face in lieu of looking at the ceiling. Eye contact seems to be hard for the both of you, now. “I just told you that I love you and that I would fuckin’ marry you tomorrow , and you think it was just pity. Sweetheart, you may be a little dense sometimes but I know you’re not stupid.”
“Well, I-”
“Don’t argue with me,” he sits up, elbows to his knees and looks over his shoulder at you. You think it’s an attempt to hide the way he blushes further, but his ears give him away as always. “Listen. Use the brain in that pretty little head, come on, up.” He reaches out his hand for yours and pulls you up to sit beside him when you take it. You instinctively hug your legs to your chest for some sort of comfort and rest your cheek on your knee, looking at him. He smiles gently and mirrors you, both of you laughing when he trips up trying to cross his ankles. He’s a little too tall to be pulling this position but he’s determined.
You’re both still hanging on the edge of giggles when he speaks up again. “Do you realize how much I just love this ?” He asks, nudging your shoulder with his own. “I may not like – or even fully understand why or you have to bring the government into a relationship, but if it means I get to spend the rest of my life doing stupid shit with you, or doing nothing at all with you…doing everything with you? Sign me up.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Eddie,” you admit, smiling and hiding your face in your knees, suddenly shy. “You don’t have to marry me just to keep me around.”
Again he mumbles, “maybe not.” A slow smile spreads on his cheeks as he reaches out to cradle your cheek in his hand, turning your face back toward him so you could no longer hide from his affection. Your cheeks burn, a hot mix of your flushed skin and this new, suddenly more intimate way of Eddie touching you. It doesn’t feel quite as platonic as it used to. “But I don’t want you to just stick around.” He’s the one to look away, just briefly, at his admission. Like saying it out loud was just too much pressure. With a stroke of his thumb over your bottom lip, he locks back on your eyes. “Don’t wanna send you off on dates with creeps and pick up the pieces after, or smile and nod when someone wants to buy you a drink when we’re out together. I wanna take you on dates and make sure they’re damn good from the get-go…I want to call you mine.”
You lean into his touch, grinning from ear to ear. “How come you never said anything before?”
“I didn’t think I had to,” he laughs suddenly, throwing his hands up in self defense. You’d never admit it out loud, but you already miss the warmth of his palm when they drop back into his lap. “I thought I was pretty obvious, always takin’ you out on date-like-outings and telling you how stunning you look and…I dunno, I thought I’ve been flirting with you for quite some time now.”
There’s no stopping the giggle that you let out in response, “Eddie, you flirt with everyone .”
“Fair point.”
Reaching out, you take his hand and fold it between both of yours, staring at them while you think over your next response. “So then…why did you encourage me to go on so many dates? Play the wingman? Even when I told you all I wanted to do was hang out with you?”
His skin flushes crimson, and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”
Despite the way your chest tightens at his words and the way they leave you breathless, you can’t help but reply, “you dumbass.” He’s taken aback by your words but you’re both laughing still, “I’m happy with you .”
“Well don’t we make an odd, oblivious couple.”
There’s a beat of comfortable silence between you, and then it happens the way everything does between you and Eddie: naturally. One moment you’re laughing about how blind you’ve both been, and the next his lips are on yours. He kisses you slow, lazy, and without urgency, like he has all the time in the world to show you how he feels, his lips working yours open while you hold onto a fistful of his shirt.
This kiss is the perfect punctuation to a conversation that neither of you were prepared for. It’s the start to something new, but it feels so right that it hardly feels like the start of anything, like this is how it’s always been.
When he first breaks the kiss, you’re immediately drawn back to him, almost magnetically. The second you take a shaky breath, inhaling his familiar scent and lingering smoke in the air, you pull him back in by the collar to return his kiss fervently, deeper than the last. Without breaking your embrace, Eddie guides you down onto the bed and hovers over you, swallowing your sigh when he grips your waist tightly. His lips are softer than you’d imagined, but heavenly velvety against yours, and you can’t stop yourself from taking his bottom lip between your teeth and tugging with a coy smile.
He hums, holding your face in place and peppering you with a few, smaller, chaste pecks before dropping a single kiss to the tip of your nose and then your forehead.
There’s a twinkle in his eye when he asks, “so are we gettin’ married tomorrow, or what?”
“Hmm,” your fingernails scratch at the nape of his neck gently as you dramatically ponder his proposal and his eyes flutter shut at the sensation. “How about I start as your girlfriend for a little bit? And then maybe save marriage for…the third date.” You giggle, and you pause, the sincerity of your next comment choking you up before it even leaves your lips. “I love you, too, Eds. I just realized I never said it back, not really.”
There’s a rumble of laughter in his chest where your head now rests, “yeah, you deserve that big dream wedding, anyway. None of that courthouse shit. When it comes time, you’re getting the works .” Another kiss dropped to the crown of your head, his lips lingering there and fingers drawing little circles in the skin of your shoulder. “But that takes time to plan, so…third date it is.”