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It was just a joke.
A joke that had started when Eddie had barged into your house—the man wouldn’t knock if his life depended on it—and proudly announced, “I got the job!”
The job in question was a haunted house performer at Hawkins’ annual Fall Festival. You’d both been going since you were kids, and his favorite part had always been the haunted house.
He’d gotten word about his new job in early September. By mid-October, you’re fully sick and tired of his antics.
“Boo!” he’d yelled as he jumped out from behind the Wheeler’s couch, making you leap out of your seat.
“Raaahhh!” he’d growled in your ear while you were in the midst of a conversation with Robin, and once your heartbeat returned to normal, you flipped him off.
His enthusiastic “Gotcha!” during your history quiz was the final straw. You’d yelped, actually shrieked in the middle of class, clapping a hand over your mouth as Mrs. Click glared at you.
“I’m gonna get you back for that,” you’d hissed once you’d turned in your exam, growing more irritated when he’d just shook his head.
“You can’t scare me,” he retorted with a smirk, leaning up against a locker. “You’ve never been able to freak me out, and you never will. Don’t even try, little girl.”
Challenge accepted.
You spend the rest of the week wracking your brain for ideas. What is Eddie Munson afraid of? What will shock him?
The obvious answer is hiding a prized possession and making him think it was stolen or lost. You grin to yourself as you picture him frantically searching for Sweetheart; maybe you could leave a ransom note of sorts.
But that plan has too many moving pieces, so you scrap it. You’re about to give up entirely when Robin inadvertently gives you an idea.
“You guys coming to Steve’s party tomorrow?” she asks in between bites of her turkey sandwich.
“I’m down,” you eagerly agree, itching to have a night out with friends.
When Robin turns to Eddie, he shakes his head. “Gotta work,” he reminds her, wiggling his fingers to emphasize the spooky nature of his job.
Robin rolls her eyes. “Fine, okay. Stop by after. I promise we won’t make you play spin the bottle again.”
Eddie’s eyes widen, cheeks redden, and he gets up from the lunch table without another word.
Bingo.
The plan is set: on Friday, before Steve’s party, you’ll pay Eddie a visit at the Fall Festival. It’ll be a visit he’ll never forget, you’re sure of that.
Robin stands with you outside the haunted house, picking at a funnel cake with powdered sugar-coated fingers. “I’ll wait out here,” she promises, “but when you’re done, I wanna hear everything. Especially the look on his face.”
“You got it.” You shoot her a thumb’s up as you jog up to the bored-looking attendant taking tickets.
You’re in.
The first room just sets the tone. Eerie organ music pulses through an ancient sound system, and a fog machine creates a steam that prevents you from seeing the floor. Cobwebs hang in the corners of the ceiling, though you’re suspicious that they’re not intentional decorations.
Eddie’s not in the next room, either; just a woman wearing a blood-spattered wedding dress, wielding a knife and clutching a plastic severed head. She’s screaming something about, “teaching him not to cheat with a bridesmaid,” and looks vaguely annoyed that you’re not quaking with terror.
You go through three more rooms, getting increasingly irritating with the lack of Eddie in each one. He’s working tonight, so he has to be here—
Loud, stomping footsteps follow you into the dungeon-themed section of the house, and your heart skips a beat as you lay eyes on him. A distorted mask covers his face, but his unruly curls give him away despite the mad scientist costume he’s donning. He holds up a knife and creeps closer, a low growl emanating from his throat. You run until you no longer can, and he easily traps you, the cold metal gate pressing into your back.
If you’re going to do it, now’s your chance.
In one swift motion, you turn him so he’s backed up into the gate. A soft, confused “wha—?” leaves his lips as you lift his mask and lean in before you lose your nerve. Your lips press against his; hands on his cheeks as he accepts the way you melt into him.
Why isn’t he pulling away? Why isn’t he laughing and appreciating your prank? Why does it seem like he wants this…like he’s BEEN wanting this?
Fuck. Fuck.
This isn’t what you were expecting. He’s kissing you back, surprised but hungry, and you’re the one who ends up breaking away.
Before he can begin to question what’s happening, you dash out of the room. No. No, no, no. Your head spins as you attempt to process the emotions pulsing through your veins.
It was supposed to be a way of getting him back for his unwavering desire to scare you. Show him what it’s like to be the one on the other side of the joke. Because that’s all it was; a joke.
So why do you want to kiss him again?
Fresh air hits you like a slap in the face, and once you find Robin, you cling to her like a lifeline.
“We have to go,” you mumble, dragging her to the exit and refusing to make eye contact.
“Whoa, what happened?” When you refuse to answer, she sighs but doesn’t relent. “C’mon, did he, like, throw up or something?”
You shake your head. “I think he liked it.”
“Of course he did,” she says with a laugh, “the guy’s in love with you.” She nudges your hip with her own. “Toldja he would lose his shit.”
Your mouth goes dry. “Robs…when I said that I wanted him to ‘freak out,’ what did you think I meant?”
Robin crinkles her nose. “Um, that the Dingus-ette—that’s you—and her doting Dingus were finally going to admit that they have big, stupid crushes on each other?” Her expression falters when you stop in your tracks. “What did you mean?”
“I wanted,” you start, swallowing hard like a gob of peanut butter is stuck to the roof of your mouth, “I wanted to get him back for scaring me. I wanted to freak him out.”
“Mission accomplished.”
She’s no longer looking at you when she speaks, and you follow her gaze to where Eddie’s shuffling over to you. You want to beg her to stay, but she just squeezes your hand in a silent good luck.
“Hi.” Eddie’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “Can we talk?”
You can only nod in response. His mask is atop his mess of curls, and you can see the longing in his eyes. How have you never noticed it before? How did you not notice the need within yourself?
“Actually, I’m lying. I don’t want to talk.” With that, his arms pull you into him, torsos pressed together, and he’s kissing you. It’s like a missing link in a chain you hadn’t realized was broken, and you allow your hands to drape over his shoulders. You can feel him trembling slightly as he deepens the kiss.
“You okay?” you murmur against his lips.
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he answers, ducking his head behind his curtain of hair. “Guess ‘m just a little freaked out that this is really happening.”
A smile twitches at the corners of your mouth, and you lace your fingers with his.
“Good.”