Work Text:
“Error 404: First Date Loading”
Eddie pulled up to your place just before 7 p.m., like you’d told him… like you expected him to. Which is precisely why he’d spent the last forty minutes panicking in his van one block over, double-checking his breath, rechecking his playlist, and then panicking again when he realized he couldn’t play the playlist during dinner unless he brought a boombox into the diner, which… no.
So now, with palms sweating on the steering wheel and his rings clinking every time he shifted awkwardly in his seat, he tried… really tried, to look cool.
And then you stepped outside of your house.
Cool, collected, unfairly attractive.
Like you hadn’t just knocked the wind out of him with one casual “See you at seven, Eddie,” and then walked away like you didn’t just rearrange his entire frontal cortex.
You stepped out onto the curb at exactly 7:00 p.m., your hair perfect, outfit killer, expression unreadable in the kind of way that made Eddie’s knees suddenly feel like they were made of soggy fries.
You spotted him in the van and didn’t hesitate. Just that casual, dangerous stroll toward the passenger side like this was your date and he was just lucky to be driving.
He scrambled out of the driver's seat so fast his seatbelt snapped behind him, nearly tripping over his own boots as he circled around to meet you at the door.
You stopped just shy of him, one hand on your hip, eyes glinting in the streetlight.
“Wow,” you purred, flirtation already dripping from your tone, “you’re exactly on time. Trying to impress me or just scared I’d change my mind?”
Eddie fumbled for the handle, nearly yanking it too hard before catching himself. “Pfft… impress you? Nah…”
You arched a skeptical brow.
He managed to pop the door open like he meant to do it smoothly all along and gave a little half-bow like the drama king he was born to be.
“I’d never recover if you ghosted me,” he admitted, all charm and nerves. “So yeah… fear works.”
That earned a little chuckle from you. Low. Dangerous.
“Smart man.”
Eddie’s heart did a full somersault.
You slid into the passenger seat without missing a beat, tossing him a glance that could disarm a small army.
“Points for punctuality.”
Eddie fumbled a little with the seatbelt, clearing his throat. “Yeah, well, I take threats very seriously.”
You cocked an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a threat.”
“Sure felt like one.”
That earned him a smile. Not the flirty smirk he’d expected, but something real. Mischievous. Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him, and you liked watching him short-circuit.
You leaned back in the seat, crossing your legs leisurely. “You’re nervous.”
He scoffed. Loud. Too loud. “Pfft… what? No. This is just my regular level of… vibrating.”
“Mhm.” You tilted your head, voice casual. “You always grip the wheel like it insulted your mom?”
Eddie looked down. Sure enough, his knuckles were white.
He forced himself to relax, flexed his fingers dramatically, and risked a glance over.
You were already grinning.
Not mean. Not smug.
Just… delighted.
And somehow that made it worse.
And better.
The drive to the diner took eight minutes, not counting the two red lights Eddie barely remembered stopping for. He mostly remembered you, the way you kept leaning just close enough to make his brain fizzle, tossing out these low-effort teases like you were toying with a cat.
And Eddie… full stray kitten mode.
When the neon glow of Benny’s Diner finally came into view, he almost sighed in relief.
Almost.
Because then you turned to him, hand on the door handle, and asked sweetly-
“You gonna open it for me, or are you gonna keep pretending not to stare at my legs every time we hit a stop sign?”
Eddie’s soul left his body.
But his hand flew to the door handle anyway.
“Chivalry’s not dead,” he squeaked.
You just smiled again, stepping out with a wink as he opened your door.
“Didn’t think it was. Just like watching you squirm.”
Inside, you slid into the booth like you owned it.
Easy. Unbothered. Like this was just another Friday night. Not a first date. Not a big deal. Not a moment that Eddie Munson had been obsessing over nonstop.
You leaned back against the red vinyl bench like it was your throne, crossing one leg over the other, drink menus untouched, fingers drumming lightly on the table as the overhead diner lights caught in your lashes.
Eddie stood there for a second too long.
Just... staring.
Not in a creepy way. In a ‘holy shit what have I done to deserve this girl looking like that and agreeing to be seen with me in public’ kind of way.
Because you looked good. Casual-good. Like you'd barely tried but still walked straight out of a teen movie that would’ve changed his life if he’d seen it when he was fourteen.
But Eddie… Suddenly aware of every thread of his battle jacket. The earned holes in his jeans. The fact that he’d fixed his hair with a combination of fingers, panic, and one prayer to Dio.
He cleared his throat and awkwardly tugged at his shirt hem as he slid into the booth across from you, knocking his knee on the table edge in the process.
You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You good?”
“Yeah! Yep. Totally,” he said, voice cracking like vinyl on a bad needle. “Just, uh… these tables are low. Low tables.”
“They’re diner booths, Eddie.”
“Right. That’s what I meant.”
You reached for your water, smirking behind the rim as you took a sip.
Eddie tried to shake it off, shifting in his seat like that’d help him re-center himself. He looked down at his outfit, then back up at you.
“You didn’t say it was a fancy diner.”
You tilted your head slightly, giving him that look, part flirt, part challenge.
“You planning to complain the whole time, or are you gonna get your money’s worth out of a two-dollar chocolate shake?”
He shot her that grin again.
Dorky, a little crooked, genuine.
He was already halfway in love.
“Alright,” he said, holding up his hands like you’d caught him. “You win.”
“I always do.”
The waitress dropped off a couple of laminated menus, oblivious to the minor war of charm being waged in the booth. Eddie picked his up and immediately stared at it like it was written in Elvish, just to buy himself a moment to get his brain in order.
It didn’t work.
Because you were still sitting there.
Smiling.
Wearing that sexy damn outfit.
And Eddie was wondering how the hell he was supposed to get through this date without knocking over the salt shaker, choking on a fry, or… God forbid, calling you his soulmate by accident.
You flipped open the menu with one hand, leaning your elbow on the table like you had all the time in the world. Calm. Effortless. Your fingers traced down the columns slowly, like you were really considering whether or not curly fries were going to change your life tonight.
Eddie, across from you, tried very, very hard not to stare.
And failed.
Miserably.
Because there you were, sitting across from him in this dusty little diner booth like it was a throne, casually licking your glossy bottom lip as you scanned the milkshake options, and something inside his chest imploded.
Okay okay okay… cool cool cool, don’t trip, just breathe, be normal- Oh no, she’s licking her lips. She’s actually licking her lips.
This is not a drill.
This is how I die.
His eyes snapped down to his own menu as if it could shield him from how devastatingly pretty you were just existing in his direct line of sight.
I can’t handle this. I thought I could handle this. I absolutely cannot handle this. She hasn’t even done anything. She looked at the menu and I had a full religious experience.
You glanced up from your side of the table, totally unaware of the absolute meltdown happening two feet away.
Or… maybe not entirely unaware.
Because when you caught him staring… again, you gave the smallest, most devastating little smirk.
Not mocking. Not smug.
Just enough to say “I know what you’re thinking.”
Eddie swallowed hard, almost dropped his menu, and nearly blurted “I love you!” just to make it stop.
Instead, he focused hard on the appetizer section. Safer. More boring. Less likely to ruin his life.
If I survive this date without combusting, I’m giving myself a medal.
The waitress came by with a tired smile and a half-used notepad, pen tucked behind one ear. She looked like she’d seen a lot of teenage drama in this booth and had zero patience for whatever was about to unfold.
“You two ready?”
You didn’t even look up from your menu, flipping it closed with a light snap.
“Cheeseburger, no onions. Curly fries. Vanilla shake.”
The waitress nodded, scribbled it down, then looked at Eddie.
He scrambled. “Same… wait, no… uh, chocolate shake. With the burger. And the curly fries. Definitely curly fries. I don’t trust straight fries anymore.”
You gave him a look across the table. “You had a traumatic straight fry experience you wanna talk about?”
Eddie leaned in, deadly serious. “Have you ever had a soggy straight fry? It’s betrayal in starch form.”
The waitress, already over it, just muttered, “Be out in ten,” and disappeared into the kitchen.
You waited two full seconds after she left before smirking. “So. You panicked and ordered the same thing as me.”
“Pfft, no,” Eddie said, straightening in his seat like he hadn’t absolutely blacked out under pressure. “We just have shared taste. Soul-level synchronicity. Fries are fate.”
You arched a brow, plucking the straw wrapper off your straw, balling it up and tossing it at him. “Soulmates based on side orders. That’s new.”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” he said, catching the tiny wrapper midair and almost tossing it back, then thinking better of it and setting it on the edge of the table like a gentleman.
You leaned forward slightly, eyes glittering with amusement.
“Okay, Fry Fate. Let me test this ‘synchronicity.’ If I order curly fries and you order curly fries, and we each give the other exactly one-third of our fries to share evenly… how many fries are we left with individually?”
Eddie blinked. “What?”
You just smiled, leaning your chin into your hand. “It’s math, Eddie. Impress me.”
“Oh my god,” he said, dropping his forehead to the table with a thunk. “This is my worst nightmare. Sexy math.”
You laughed, foot brushing his under the table.
“C’mon, Dungeon Master. Give me a number. Or a saving throw.”
Eddie sat up slowly, looking very serious as he tapped the table. “Alright. I’m gonna roll for intelligence.”
You watched him mime an invisible dice roll over the table, eyes closed.
“Seventeen. That means... I don’t know. Five fries and a deep need for tutoring?”
You snorted, full-on laughing now, eyes squinting as you shook your head.
“You’re lucky you’re so cute.”
“I know,” he said, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “It’s all I’ve got right now.”
Just as Eddie was about to fake-roll for Charisma next, the waitress returned with a tray balanced expertly on one hand. She slid your vanilla shake down in front of you, then set Eddie’s chocolate one in front of him with the kind of neutral efficiency only earned from years of teenaged weirdos trying to flirt in booths like this one.
“Burgers’ll be out in a few,” she said. “Kitchen’s backed up with a softball team, so hang tight.”
You gave her a polite nod. Eddie just blinked at his shake like it had dropped from the heavens.
“God bless this diner.”
You sipped yours immediately, cool, collected, smug, and arched an eyebrow at him over the rim.
Eddie picked up his cup with both hands like it might escape if he didn’t secure it.
“Okay, this is where I redeem myself.”
“By drinking a milkshake?”
“By drinking it sexily.”
He grabbed the straw, fumbled the wrapper, and immediately lost all the swagger he'd just claimed to have.
You sighed.
Then reached across the table and plucked the straw from his fumbling fingers, dropping it smoothly into his shake with a little tap.
“Here. Hydrate your brain.”
Eddie took a grateful sip of his shake, humming around the straw like it had just healed something inside him.
“Okay, yeah,” he mumbled after swallowing, “this is the best decision I’ve ever made. Milkshake. Diner. You.”
He tried to say it casually.
He did not succeed.
Your eyes flicked up from your shake with that lazy kind of amusement, like you were grading his flirting in real time.
“That was almost smooth, Munson. You get partial credit.”
“Partial credit?” he echoed, mock offended.
“You hesitated. I could hear the panic in your brain.”
“Yeah, well, your face is very distracting,” he muttered into his straw.
You smiled behind your glass but didn't argue.
Just then, the waitress returned with two sizzling burger plates, fries stacked high, curls practically glowing with golden grease. She dropped them off with a nod and vanished again, too fast for either of you to say thank you.
“Damn,” you said, grabbing a fry. “They understood the assignment.”
Eddie, meanwhile, stared at his plate like he was afraid to touch it. Not because he wasn’t hungry, he absolutely was, but because this whole thing was getting dangerously close to real. Like, “we are actively having a good time and food is just background noise now” kind of real.
Still, he picked up a fry and flicked his eyes toward you. “So, what’s the etiquette here? Are we fry-swapping already or do I need to wait until the second date to get a taste of your curlies?”
You tilted your head, expression unreadable for a second, then grinned, slow and wicked.
“Bold of you to assume there’ll be a second date.”
Eddie froze… halfway to dipping his fry in ketchup.
You let the silence stretch just long enough.
Then reached over and casually plucked a fry from his plate without asking.
“...But maybe that was my way of saying there’s a chance.”
His ears turned pink. Just poof… color.
He cleared his throat, flustered as hell, and stared down at his burger like it had suddenly become very, very interesting.
“Cool. Yeah. Awesome. I can work with ‘a chance.’ That’s more than I had this morning.”
You stole another fry, popped it in your mouth, and smirked.
“Keep being cute, and you might increase your odds.”
Eddie took a massive bite of his burger in a desperate attempt to give his mouth something to do that wasn’t nervously flirting or nervously rambling. But of course, mid-chew, you hit him with it:
“You realize you’re still blushing, right?”
He nearly choked.
Coughed once, cleared his throat like that would help, then pointed a fry at you like it was a weapon.
“That’s a side effect of being around devastatingly attractive people.”
You blinked, surprised he came back that fast.
But then you smirked. That dangerous, slow little curve of your lips that made Eddie start preparing his own eulogy.
“Well…” you said, lifting your shake to your mouth for maximum theatrical pause…
“Don’t look in the mirror… and you’ll be fine.”
Eddie froze, halfway through dragging a fry through ketchup, and just stared at you. Mouth open. Brain flatlining.
You sipped your shake, all casual, as if you hadn’t just bodied him with flirtation so sharp it should’ve been illegal.
“You…” he started, then shook his head. “You actually trained for this, didn’t you?”
“For what?”
“Flirting like it’s a bloodsport.”
You grinned, clearly enjoying his unraveling. “I’m just naturally gifted.”
He laughed, full, genuine, breathless. His head tilted back a little and you watched his rings sparkle as he wiped under his eye, like you had done something to him.
And maybe you had.
“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I thought I was gonna be the menace on this date.”
“You were,” you said sweetly. “Until I showed up.”
He raised both hands in surrender. “Okay. That’s fair.”
“You’re cute when you surrender.”
He pointed a fry at you again. “You keep calling me cute and I will pass out.”
“Good thing I’ve got an extra straw. We can revive you with chocolate shake to the mouth.”
“Honestly? That sounds ideal.”
You tossed another fry into your mouth with surgical precision, like you were casually snacking but also maybe mentally dismantling the man across from you one well-timed smirk at a time.
Eddie, meanwhile, was unraveling by the minute.
He tried to lean back and lounge like a rock god who had everything under control while flirting outrageously, but one of his rings clinked too hard against his shake glass and startled him so bad he jumped a little in his seat.
You blinked.
He immediately tried to pass it off like nothing happened.
“So anyway… what was I saying?” he asked, eyebrows flying to his hairline as he tried to salvage whatever sentence he’d just fumbled through.
You tilted your head, lips twitching. “Something about... my eyes? Or was it the universe? I lose track.”
“Right! Yeah. Your eyes are like… uh-”
He paused.
You waited.
“...like a… uh… D&D artifact. You know. Rare. Dangerous. Probably cursed.”
You actually choked on a fry.
“Cursed?!”
“No, not cursed! I mean like… uh, not bad cursed. Like cool cursed. Like... if I look too long I roll a disadvantage on intelligence.”
You stared at him.
He stared at you.
He wiped his palms on his jeans so hard it sounded like sandpaper.
“Nailed it,” he said weakly.
You burst out laughing… actually laughing now, forehead tipped forward onto your hand as you shook your head at him.
“You are so lucky I like disaster men.”
“Correction,” he said, holding up one trembling finger. “You like this disaster man.”
You reached across the table and gently slid his chocolate shake closer to him, just enough that his rings tapped against it again.
“Drink up, Romeo. You’re overheating.”
“I’ve been overheating since you got in the van,” he muttered.
You pretended not to hear that one.
But the smile you gave him said otherwise.
You were in the middle of dismantling him again, words light, tone casual, but your eyes full of pure, unrepentant menace.
“You know, if this whole rock star thing doesn’t work out, you could always go into stand-up. Or clown school. It’s a fine line.”
Eddie, mid-sip of his shake, snorted.
Like, a full on can’t-help-it snort-laugh, right into his straw.
Which was a mistake.
Because the next thing you knew, there was a splatter of chocolate shake on the table and a rogue drop sliding down his fingers.
And somehow, ketchup had joined the party too.
“Shit-” he yelped, scrambling for the napkin dispenser at the same exact moment you reached for it.
Your fingers brushed, warm, sudden, and electric.
Both of you froze. Just for a heartbeat. Long enough to register it.
“Uh… I got it,” Eddie said, already trying to retract his hand like it burned.
“You’re slow. Move,” you replied coolly, already extracting the napkins with zero hesitation.
He made a helpless little noise that might’ve been a laugh or a small internal scream.
You leaned across the table like this wasn’t a moment, like your pulse wasn’t doing parkour in your chest, and calmly started blotting the mess.
You dabbed at the puddle of shake, then gently wiped his hand. Carefully. Deliberately.
A smudge of ketchup on his thumb. Gone with one swipe.
Your eyes flicked up.
There was a little dot of chocolate just at the edge of his jaw, near the hinge. His eyes had gone wide as he watched you notice it.
Without saying a word, you reached across and wiped it too… slowly. Softly.
Eddie didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Couldn’t.
“Clean now,” you said, balling the napkin and tossing it into the basket near the end of the table.
Direct hit.
Of course.
He stared at you like you were magic.
“You are… terrifying,” he whispered.
“And yet,” you said, smiling just slightly, “you can’t seem to look away.”
The napkin was gone. The spill was gone.
But the air between you… Still thick with static.
Eddie didn’t speak at first.
He just sat there, staring down at his freshly-cleaned hand like it might still be carrying the ghost of your touch. His fingers flexed slightly, hesitated, and then rested palm-up on the table, like he was thinking about reaching across.
You saw it.
Caught it.
And made your decision before he could talk himself out of it.
With the same calm confidence you’d had all evening, you slowly reached out and took his hand.
Fingers sliding easily into his, like it wasn’t even a question.
Like it was just meant to fit there.
Eddie’s breath caught.
His eyes darted up to meet yours, wide, uncertain, hopeful.
You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. His rings pressed coolly against your skin, but his palm was warm. A little sweaty. Adorably nervous.
He let out a shaky breath, then smiled like he couldn’t help it. Like you’d just disarmed him completely.
“So this means the date’s going well, right?”
You tilted your head slightly, lips twitching.
“Depends.”
Eddie blinked. “On…?”
“You planning to spill anything else on yourself?”
He groaned, head dropping dramatically onto his free arm.
“Okay, I deserved that.”
“You did.”
You didn’t let go of his hand though.
The curlies were dwindling, the shakes nearly gone, just little trails of melted sweetness swirling at the bottom of the glasses.
Your hands were still lightly linked across the table. Neither of you had mentioned it. Neither of you had let go.
Somewhere between banter and bite, the air had shifted. Softer now. Easier.
Eddie was still grinning, but it had settled, less sharp, more real. He tapped his thumb against the side of your hand idly, like he was thinking something over.
“So… random question,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes. “What kinda music do you actually listen to? Like, when no one’s around to judge.”
You arched a brow. “You judging me already, Munson?”
“Never. Okay… well, sometimes. But not for this.”
You thought for a second, then listed a few bands. Some classics. Some weirdly niche. One guilty pleasure that made Eddie nearly spit out what was left of his shake.
“No way. No way you listen to that and still walked in here like you own the place.”
“I’m a woman of contradictions,” you replied smoothly.
“You’re a menace,” he said, eyes full of wonder. “A gorgeous, chaotic menace.”
Then, almost too quiet to hear:
“And you still said yes…”
You paused.
“What?”
Eddie looked a little startled, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
He glanced down at the table, then back at you, and for once, he didn’t try to laugh it off.
“Just... surprised, is all,” he said honestly. “I mean, you at the Hellfire table, saying yes to this date, this place, me… it’s not exactly the picture I’d ever expect to happen outside of a fever dream.”
You studied him for a moment, all the sharpness gone from your features. Just soft, thoughtful.
“Eddie,” you said simply, “you’re easy to say yes to.”
He blinked. Mouth parted like he wanted to say something back, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. Just sat there looking at you like you’d told him the world was ending and beginning in the same breath.
You gave his hand one more squeeze.
And then, mercifully, you let the moment breathe. Shifted the topic toward music again, shared childhood favorites, weird cassette tapes found at garage sales, the first band you ever saw live.
Eddie leaned in more and more with every story. His smile grew wider with each new connection.
And something about it, about him… felt like a song you hadn’t heard before, but already knew the lyrics to.
The talk of music drifted into favorite lyrics, then into concert daydreams, who you’d love to see, which bands would be worth selling your soul to the devil (or Hawkins High’s vending machine) to see live.
Eddie was mid-rant about the time he almost scored Metallica tickets through a friend-of-a-friend-who-definitely-didn’t-come-through when you interrupted him, casually:
“Y’know… you’re cute when you get all flustered.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, still warm and playful, but they hit different.
Eddie froze, eyes wide like a deer in very aggressive headlights.
“I… I what?”
You just smirked into your straw like you hadn’t just short-circuited a fully grown man across from you.
“You heard me.”
His ears flushed immediately, and he ducked his head with a laugh, hand tugging at his hair like it might hide his face.
“Then you must think I’m adorable.”
“Mmm,” you mused, pretending to consider it as you reached for the last curly fry. “I mean… if you keep making that face, maybe.”
“What face?”
You mimicked his expression exactly, big doe-eyed, bashful, a little bit like a kicked puppy.
Eddie groaned, sliding his hand down over his face. “Okay, rude. Accurate, but rude.”
You chuckled and nudged his foot under the table.
“Can’t help it. You’re kinda fun to mess with.”
He looked up again, grin crooked.
“You’re dangerous. That’s what you are.”
“You gonna run?”
“Hell no,” he said. “But I might die trying to keep up.”
By the time the check was paid and the plates were cleared, the sky outside had gone from dusk-blue to ink-black, the diner glowing soft and golden behind you like a little time capsule.
Eddie insisted on walking you out. No surprise there, but it still earned him a smirk when he opened the front door with an exaggerated bow.
“M’lady.”
“You trying to earn extra credit?” you asked, stepping through.
“Nah,” he said, following behind you with a grin, “just trying not to screw up the curve.”
The night air was cooler now, and quieter. A breeze lifted your hair as you walked side by side toward the van. You didn't say much. The energy between you had settled into something… soft. Electric. Charged, but less chaotic.
Eddie reached the passenger side first and scrambled to open the van door for you again, this time without tripping over himself.
“Still terrified I’m gonna mess this up,” he confessed as you stepped in.
You looked down at him from your seat, grinning.
“That’s sweet.”
“It’s honest,” he said, shutting the door gently behind you.
The ride home was easier than the ride to the diner. Music low on the stereo, fingers still loosely linked over the center console for part of the drive. Neither of you mentioned it, but neither of you pulled away, either.
Eddie didn’t speed. He didn’t even pretend to. He took every turn with agonizing caution, knuckles tight on the wheel like he was driving a priceless artifact, which, to be fair, you kinda were.
When he pulled up to your place and killed the engine, he glanced over like he couldn’t believe the night had a limit.
“Still alive,” he said, hands fidgeting with his rings. “No casualties. No choking on ice cubes. I didn’t even dent the van. It’s a record.”
“High bar you’re setting, Munson.”
He opened his mouth to retort, then just chuckled, got out, and jogged around to open your door for you.
It should’ve felt awkward. It didn’t.
You stepped out, close enough that your arm brushed his, and for a second neither of you moved.
He fell into step beside you as he walked you to your door. The porch light cast a soft, golden halo over you both, just enough to show the way your eyes flicked toward him, full of amusement… and something warmer.
And that’s when the air changed.
That quiet hovering moment.
That kiss-or-not tension curling around the space between your mouths like a magnetic field waiting for one of you to cross it.
Eddie was clearly teetering on the edge. Practically vibrating with do I… should I… can I??
You made the decision for him.
Not a kiss.
Instead, you reached up and brushed your fingers lightly over the collar of his jacket, straightening it where it had gone crooked. Your touch was featherlight, but deliberate.
You adjusted the lapel. Let your knuckles graze his neck. And then, with your face tilted just barely up toward his:
“You were almost smooth tonight, Munson.”
Eddie blinked, stunned. “Almost?”
“Mhm.” Your voice dropped low, smoky, soft. “Think you can do better on the next date?”
It hit him like a train.
He actually staggered back a half-step. A full system reboot. His soul? Gone. Ascended.
“Wait… you want there to be a next date?”
You leaned in again. Let your smile bloom slow and wicked.
“I demand there be a next date.”
He was hanging on your every word.
“I want to see,” you continued, voice velvet-smooth, “if your hands shake more when I sit beside you… or when I sit on your lap.”
Eddie dies.
He stopped breathing. He opened his mouth. Closed it. His brain blue-screened so hard he forgot how words worked.
“I… I… holy shit-”
You didn’t wait for him to recover.
You leaned in.
He eagerly met you halfway.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative. But it deepened quickly, blooming with all the chemistry and chaos that had simmered all night. His hand came up to cradle your jaw. Yours gripped his jacket, holding him close. His lips were warm, a little hesitant, a little needy.
When you finally pulled away, slow, lingering, he was dazed. Breathless. Absolutely destroyed.
His jaw dropped, then snapped shut like he had to physically catch the words from flying out.
“Okay. Yeah. Yes. I mean… how’s next Friday? Or, like, tomorrow? Or whenever you want? I’m flexible. I’m… this is me being cool.”
“Pick me up at seven.”
“I’ll be here at six.”
He watched you head for your front steps, dazed, smiling stupidly, and absolutely enchanted.
The second your front door closed behind you, with a final flirty glance over your shoulder, Eddie just stood there.
Still.
Like a man in shock.
Like someone who had just seen a divine being descend from the heavens… and then kissed them.
He blinked slowly. Reached up. Touched his lips.
Still warm.
Still buzzing.
“Did that really just happen?”
He spun on his heel and walked to the van with zero coordination, like his legs were moving faster than his brain could catch up. He missed the step getting into the driver’s seat and smacked his shin on the doorframe.
Did he care?
Absolutely not.
He flopped down behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, and then-
Let. It. OUT.
“AAAAAAAAGHHHHH!!”
Full-volume scream into the void of his steering wheel.
His rings clanked against it as he thrashed once, just a little… but enough to physically eject the energy still burning off of him.
“She kissed me. She kissed me! She wants another date. She wants to sit on my lap. What the… WHAT-”
He slapped the dashboard, practically vibrating with disbelief.
“Okay. Okay. Play it cool. Be chill. Don’t ruin this. Don’t think about how soft her hands were or how good her lip gloss tasted… NO, TOO LATE, ALREADY THINKING ABOUT IT-”
He slumped back in the seat, hands dragging down his face.
Then, quietly. Gently. Reverently:
“I’m gonna marry her.”
He sat there for another full minute in silence.
Then reached for the aux cord, popped in a mixtape labeled “Courtship Bangers, Vol. 1,” and floored it out of your neighborhood like he’d just won the lottery.
Which, in a way…
He had.
