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Chocolate button eyes.
Edith Levy had the biggest, most beautiful chocolate button eyes. More beautiful than the wildest imagination could conjure up.
Deep dark brown with a glow of gold in the center, like the sweetest honey or the most precious gemstone.
They lit up with the brightness and warmth of the very sun; nourishing, healing, and so very very beautiful.
Every single time he looked into them, time seemed to slow to a crawl, noise seemed to fade to a buzz, vision seemed to tunnel to one singular focus, and it was just… them.
Wayne and Edith.
He remembered when he’d first seen them.
November 30th, 1961.
He’d been stationed at Fort Knox at the time, just a few miles outside of Vine Grove, Kentucky, and the higher ups on post decided it was high time to break up the nerves and the gloom facing inevitable deployment to the front lines with a little levity; a party for the boys and the locals.
Wayne had seen her across the room, chatting animatedly with a 2nd Lieutenant and looking positively radiant in her pink woolen dress, and time had stopped.
With a few nudges from the other boys in the 82nd, he made his way over to her and extended his hand with a respectful bow; his momma had raised him right, after all.
When they’d stepped under the twinkling lights threaded over the dance floor like a canopy of stars, when he’d looked into those hypnotic eyes for the very first time, when she’d stepped in real close and laid her head of dark umber curls against his shoulder, he’d known then and there that it would be the two of them forever.
Wayne and Edith.
But it wasn’t them. It was Edith and Al.
It was inevitable from the moment they met, at that very same party that very same night.
Edith and Al.
It was the two of them, hand in hand at the end of the aisle in the local chapel back home, Allen looking handsome in their Pop’s old suit, Edith looking radiant in her momma’s dress.
Wayne stood shoulder to shoulder with Al, a silent pillar of brotherly support as he watched from across the way as those chocolate button eyes swelled with emotion during their vows, tears clinging to long dark eyelashes like morning dewdrops in a field of clover.
It was the two of them stepping over the threshold of their new little house just at the border of Hawkins, dancing around their empty living room with their entire lives ahead of them.
It was the two of them…
And that was alright.
Everything was alright, so long as she was happy.
But even so, Wayne took every opportunity given to stare into those eyes when he could.
He couldn’t have them all to himself, but he could do that.
He’d stared into them while she raved on and on about her new favorite song of the week, or whatever book she was reading at the time.
He’d stared into them while she complained about Al’s less than savory habits; the ones he’d inherited from their old man.
He’d stared into them while she agonized over the single silver hair she’d found buried in her dark curly tresses, as if that one silver hair would be the ruination of her beauty, which was, by all accounts, impossible.
He’d stared into them while she asked for his help with bail money, her lovely cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame as she told him how Allen had been caught during a job hijacking a car in Loch Nora with Lonnie.
He’d stared into them when she told him she and Al were expecting.
And he couldn’t lie to himself and pretend it didn’t hurt just a little, to see his draft-dodging car thief kid brother get everything he’d ever wanted for himself.
He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t wish it were him slow dancing with her in that cluttered little kitchen in that nice little house with an overgrown yard of wildflowers, that perfect little curly haired red-faced baby cradled between them as they swayed to whatever song she was fixated on that week.
But wishing wouldn’t change a thing, and Wayne Munson couldn’t, wouldn’t, act on a mere fantasy.
Al deserved happiness just as much as him, after all.
He would just take every opportunity given to stare into those chocolate button eyes until he could no longer.
But that day came sooner, much much sooner, than he could ever have imagined.
December 20th, 1975
See, they don’t keep the eyes open when the body’s in the casket. They prefer to close them, to pretend they’re simply sleeping.
They claim it’s better that way.
Wayne hated it more than anything.
Her death already felt like losing the very centre of his universe, but not being able to see those eyes one last time…
Liquid sunshine in a world of darkness.
It was like losing her all over again.
He went back home to his little trailer in Forest Hills, setting the program from the funeral face down on the kitchen counter, he sunk down into his worn green armchair, and he sobbed harder than he’d ever sobbed in his life.
The centre of his universe, his joy, his warmth, his sunshine, his Edith, was gone.
December 20th, 1976
It was another cold December night the next time he’d seen those eyes again; freezing, really, with fresh powdery snow up to a grown man’s shins and dangerously thick ice coating every available surface.
He was home for once, quite luckily too as a gentle knock sounded on his front door.
His eyes flickered over toward the nearby clock, eyebrow quirking in suspicion at the late hour.
Too late for a casual visit from a neighbour.
Too damn cold for anything else.
The knock sounded once again, a little louder this time.
A little more urgent.
He set aside his tumbler of whiskey, pushing the thick pink woolen blanket off of his lap and grunting as he picked himself up out of his armchair.
He twisted the deadbolt and pulled the door open with a heavy sigh, mouth open with prepared words of greeting when he saw them:
Chocolate button eyes.
The biggest, most beautiful chocolate button eyes. More beautiful than the wildest imagination could conjure up.
Her eyes.
“Uncle Wayne?”
The small wavering voice brought him back to the present; back from that fateful party on post long since past.
His little nephew, Edith’s boy, was standing there shivering on his front porch with snow up past his knees, tear tracks staining his ruddy cheeks, and snot bubbling at his bright red nose.
He didn’t have much with him but the snow-damp clothes on his back and a duffle bag clenched in his tiny shaking fist.
But he had her eyes,
her hair,
her name.
Edith.
“Eddie?”
The boy balled the sleeve of his oversized sweater up in his fist, using it to wipe at his nose as he sniffled.
That’s when Wayne spotted the dark bruise staining his left cheek, the scattered scrapes and scratches littering his face and neck, the choppy and uneven chunks taken from his thick crown of dark curls, curls that’d previously brushed the tops of his little shoulders, but now barely came past his ears.
“Jesus H. Christ, boy,” Wayne breathed, taking a staggering step toward the quivering child, dropping down on one knee- heedless of the snow soaking into his pants- and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“What happened to ya?”
Eddie’s dangerously pale lips wobbled as fresh tears poured from those eyes.
He recounted in a voice too small how his daddy had drank himself sick. How he’d grabbed him too tight and hacked at his hair with a pair of scissors, all the while sobbing his momma’s name over and over and over, cursing him for being a living reminder of the love that he’d lost.
Wayne didn’t even have to think before he pulled the boy to his chest, lifting him up in his arms and bringing him in.
Bringing him home.
He’d found out about Allen a few days later.
A few cops, led by Officer Jim Hopper, had come to his door with the news.
Al had gone off the deep end.
He hadn’t been the same since Edith.
He’d fallen hard and fast into their old man’s bad habits, habits Edith had tried to curb.
Habits that’d ultimately killed her.
Driven by the grief of his wife’s suicide and the disappearance of his only son, he’d hopped in his truck, grabbed his shotgun, and hit up a convenience store, shooting the sixteen year old boy behind the counter in a moment of panic.
He’d been sentenced to life in prison with no hope for bail.
“As you’re the closest living relative, the kid is now in your custody,” Hopper had explained over the cup of coffee Wayne had offered to him.
Wayne had nodded, glancing over to the spot where Eddie sat on the kitchen counter, head freshly shaved, little legs swinging, and arms flying as he chatted animatedly with the other two Officers about the fantasy game he’d been shown by his class’s Teacher’s Assistant.
Those chocolate button eyes met his own, along with a positively radiant smile.
It was her smile.
He’d lost his dream once, but a new one had found him.
From then on, it would be the two of them…
And that was alright.
Everything was alright, so long as he was happy.
It was the two of them, struggling through Middle School math homework together. Wayne swore the curriculum got harder and harder for every new generation.
It was the two of them, visiting a record shop in Indy so Eddie could pick out two tapes of his very own; Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir and Queen’s A Night at the Opera.
Two of Edith’s favourites.
It was the two of them, huddled together on the old comfy couch, talking through the hurtful words his classmates had thrown his way, Eddie listening with tear filled eyes as Wayne told him that it was ok to be different; that he was perfect the way he was.
Wayne took every opportunity given to stare into those eyes when he could.
He’d stared into them while Eddie told him about the kind girl who’d cheered for his band at the talent show.
He’d stared into them while Eddie explained in depth the storyline of his newest DnD campaign for the little club he’d decided to start with his friends.
He’d stared into them while Eddie complained about a boy a grade below him with an all-too familiar last name; the new King of Hawkins High, just like his father had been back in Wayne’s day.
He’d stared into them while Eddie sniffled and sobbed, clutching onto the queer skin mag Wayne had found buried in his hamper on laundry day with a look of pure terror and pain.
And Wayne couldn’t lie to him and tell him it was fine.
It wasn’t fine.
Being queer in Hawkins, Indiana was tantamount to a social if not an actual death sentence.
His boy was already a pariah; a loud-mouth non-conformist with a passionate love of loud music and fantasy.
He already had a target painted on his back, so Wayne couldn’t lie to him and pretend it was fine…
But he could look into those eyes, his Edith’s eyes, and promise him that they were ok.
That he’d never love him any less for something so inconsequential.
Eddie had smiled then, tears streaming down his cheeks and snot bubbling from his nose.
He’d laid his head of dark umber curls against Wayne’s shoulder, just like his momma, and he’d thanked him.
“You’re my boy, Eddie,” he’d said simply in return.
He’d never been one for words, but he knew Eddie had understood.
Knew that he knew that you’re my boy meant:
“You’re the centre of my universe, my joy, my warmth, my sunshine, my boy.”
March 27th, 1986
There was no casket this time.
No body had been found.
He clutched the chain of the guitar pick necklace- his boys necklace- in his shaking hand as he stared down at the makeshift headstone that simply read:
Edward D. Munson
May 15, 1965 - March 27, 1986
“We’re a laugh without a tear,
The hope without the fear.
We are coming home.”
He fell to his knees, heedless of the mud staining his pants as he crumpled in on himself and sobbed, harder than he’d ever sobbed in his entire life.
He’d once again lost his sunshine, and the world had never ever been more dark.
………
July 1st, 1986
Three months had passed.
Three months and five days since the worst day of Wayne Munson’s life.
A knock on the door stirred him from tentative sleep, his neck pinging warningly as he sat up in his worn green armchair, one of the few things he’d managed to salvage from the wreckage of his trailer.
Another knock followed the first, this one a little louder.
A little more urgent.
Wayne’s heart skipped a beat.
He pushed the moth-eaten pink woolen blanket off of his lap, picking himself up from the chair to approach the door of the apartment the Suits had stuck him in.
With bated breath, he pulled open the door, mouth open on a greeting that died on his tongue when he saw them:
Chocolate button eyes.
His boy's eyes.
Edith’s eyes.
“Eddie?”
It was him, standing before him on crutches with bandages covering nearly every visible patch of skin beneath the yellow sweatshirt and blue jeans he wore.
It was his boy, looking thinner and paler and somehow older, but alive.
Wayne’s hand shook as he reached out, certain he would meet nothing but air, but warm hands, just as unsteady as his, wrapped around his own, squeezing solidly.
Alive.
He was alive.
“Jesus H. Christ, boy. What happened to you?” he’d asked, voice wavering with the tears that threatened to spill.
That’s when Chief Hopper had come into view, along with the boy that’d approached Wayne at the relief centre, an older girl with sandy blonde hair, and, strangely enough, the Harrington boy.
“It’s a long story,” Hopper stated. “We’re gonna do our best to tell you what we can when we can, but for now we’ll let you two catch up.”
Wayne didn’t even have to think before he pulled his boy to his chest, careful of his injuries as he held him in his arms.
Eddie laid that head of umber curls on his shoulder and his universe was suddenly bright again.
His sunshine was back, and he’d be damned if it was taken from him again.
January 12th, 1987
It was a cold January evening, nine months and sixteen days after the worst day of Wayne Munson’s life.
Six months and eleven days after the best day of his life.
He’d just gotten home, let off a few hours early from his shift at the plant.
Time was he wouldn’t have taken the opportunity, prioritizing the need for a full paycheck over anything, but after the events of Spring Break, 1986, he’d learned to take the opportunities given to him to spend some time with his boy.
He’d just reached the door, his prepared greeting dying on his tongue at what he spotted through the open window:
His boy was on the couch.
Well, not really on the couch, rather on the Harrington boy’s lap. They were tangled together in a passionate kiss, Steve’s hands on Eddie’s waist, Eddie’s arms around Steve’s shoulders.
Wayne was about to knock on the door, to announce his presence to the oblivious young lovers, when the two of them pulled apart with breathless little giggles, leaning their foreheads together as if they couldn’t stand to be apart for longer than a second.
“God, you have the most beautiful eyes,” he heard the Harrington boy whisper, his hands fisting in the material of Eddie’s shirt.
“Yeah?” Eddie prompted, tilting his head to the side, his glowing smile audible in his words.
“Yeah,” Steve nodded, his hands trailing up from Eddie’s waist to his face, gently cupping his jaw with an air of reverence.
“Like two chocolate buttons.”
Wayne froze as Eddie let out a surprised little chuckle, his shoulders shaking and his curls bouncing.
“That’s weird. That’s exactly what my mom used to say,” Eddie replied, his fingers burying themselves in the hair at the back of Steve’s neck.
They kissed once, twice, three times, soft gentle kisses that revealed comfort and familiarity.
This obviously wasn’t a new arrangement for either of them.
Wayne wondered briefly for how long it’d been going on.
“Stevie,” Eddie whispered against the other boy's lips, hands struggling to pull him in even closer as if they weren’t exceptionally close to melding into one already.
“I love you.”
Wayne’s heart clenched.
I love you’s had always come so easily from Eddie.
Once he’d found someone he cared for, he was all in.
He’d always been that way.
Wayne had never known another person so full of love and ready to give it; no one besides Edith.
Someone like that, so full of love and life, could so easily be taken for granted or taken advantage of.
But, as he watched the two boys, so wrapped up in each other and the tender moment they’d built together they didn’t even notice someone standing there witnessing it from the open window, he realised it was so much more than another I love you.
It was a loud and definite:
“You’re the centre of my universe, my joy, my warmth, my sunshine. Mine.”
Steve took a moment to brush the hair away from Eddie’s face, tucking it behind his ear with a delicate touch.
“I love you, too, Sunshine.”
And Wayne heard the same thing in those words that he’d heard in his nephew’s.
And he realised, in that moment, that his boy, his sunshine, had become someone else’s.
And that was more than alright.
Everything was alright, so long as they were happy.
………