Chapter Text
Warnings: teen angst, nothing more (and nothing less).
Hawkins, Indiana — April 1986
By the time the final bell rang, Hawkins High had that fairy glow that only came on warm, timid spring afternoons.
The hallways smelled like fresh-cutted grass and cheap perfumes, the floor freckled with little mud tracks left by careless sneakers and boots.
Outside, the sky stretched in an almost impossible blue and the cherry trees lining the parking lot were beginning to shed their white blossom.
Petals drifted down like honey-scented snow as you stepped out of the main doors, clutching your notebook to your chest like an indestructible shield.
Your heart had been hammering wild since lunch—when you had decided today was THE day—but it somersaulted anyway when you spotted your target.
You always did, it was your superpower—notice him.
Eddie Munson was leaning against the hood of his beaten van like it was a throne and he, some kind of half-bored-half-amused king of misfits.
One boot against the bumper, the other on the asphalt.
A cigarette lit between his ringed fingers.
Head tipped back just a little, chocolate curls catching the sunlight.
You sighed.
It was like the Universe was doing it on purpose.
Of course the cherry trees had decided that yes, that was the perfect day to be romantic as hell.
Of course the sky was absolutely clear and birds sing-songed at that precise moment.
Of course the light was just perfect on his shaved face today.
You swallowed hard while approaching.
“You can do it,” came Robin’s whisper at your side.
You startled.
You’d been so focused on your best friend that you’d almost forgotten she was walking with you, arm locked with yours.
“N-no, I don't think so,” you admitted, voice shaking. “But if I don’t do it now, I’m never going to. And then it’s gonna be graduation and then… adult life, I guess.”
Her mouth twisted in sympathy and she nudged your shoulder with hers.
“For the record, baby? If he doesn’t feel the same, he’s an idiot. And I say that as someone who has witnessed you willingly help him study algebra.”
A tiny laugh managed to claw its way out of your throat.
“That’s not exactly proof of my value, since I kind of suck in it too.”
“It is to me,” Robin pressed. “And if he hurts you, I’m telling Steve to run him over with his car.”
“Which one?” you muttered, stalling for a second.
“Whichever has the most powerful engine.”
You snorted, nerves buzzing under your skin like little, no stop jolts.
Eddie flicked his cigarette away, eyes skimming lazily over the crowd.
Any second now, he’d see you. Any second now, your heart would explode in your chest.
Robin squeezed your hand.
“Hey, you’re brave as hell for doing this. Remember that.”
You nodded, even though you didn’t feel brave at all.
Just stupid.
You felt like you were walking into a burning building with a cup of water and a hopeful expression.
“Will you wait for me?”
“Obviously,” she answered immediately. “I’ll loiter by the bike rack and pretend to be mysterious.”
“You can’t pretend to be mysterious, Robin. You are the most crystalline person alive.”
“Wow, thank you—I guess. Now go before I change my mind about being emotionally supportive from afar.”
You rolled your eyes, took a breath deep enough to hurt your lungs and walked right toward him.
The gravel crunched under your shoes, the light breeze pressed gently at your back as if shoving you to face your fate.
A petal landed in your hair; you brushed it away with clumsy fingers.
Eddie finally noticed you halfway across the lot.
His face lit up in that way that never failed to knock your soul out of you.
“There she is!” he called, pushing off the van with a grin. “Thought maybe you’d been abducted by the bridge club or something.”
You tried to joke. “Tragic. Imagine going out like that.”
He laughed—that big, loud sound that you loved so much.
Too much.
His eyes scanned your face, softening a little.
“You okay?” he asked. “You look kinda… doe in headlights.”
“I’m fine,” you lied. “Just… can we talk? Somewhere that isn’t the parking lot with an audience of—all of this species?”
You waved weakly toward the chatting students, the basketball team, the cheerleaders, the band kids lugging their instruments.
Eddie followed your gesture, then looked back at you with a small crease between his brows.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “You wanna take a walk?”
You nodded, mouth suddenly dry.
He slung his denim battlevest back into the van, shut the door lazily, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and fell into step beside you as if this was any other afternoon together.
As if your entire life wasn’t hanging in the balance of the next five minutes.
You walked past the rows of cars, past Robin’s concerned stare—she pretended to look away, not very convincingly—and around the side of the building. The noise of the parking lot faded behind you, replaced by birdsong and the faint clack of a baseball hitting a bat somewhere in the distance.
The cherry trees were thicker back here, branches arching high.
“So, what’s the deal?” he asked, nudging your arm with his elbow. “You look like you’re about to throw up on me or confess a murder. If it’s murder, I’m in awe, but also mildly concerned.”
His attempt at a joke made your lips twitch.
You looked down at the cracked asphalt, your sneakers, the shadows of your near bodies.
“It’s not murder,” you said quietly.
“Well, now I’m disappointed.”
You stopped walking.
Eddie took two more steps before he realized you’d halted, then turned to face you fully.
The sun caught the curve of his jaw, the little scar at his right eyebrow, the softness of his lips—
“Hey,” his voice was gentler now. “Seriously. What’s going on?”
Your hands were sweating and trembling.
You could back out.
You could laugh and say it was nothing and go home and pretend it didn’t matter.
You could keep carrying this thing inside you like a stone, heavy and quiet for the rest of your life.
Maybe it was the right choice to make.
You lifted your gaze to him.
“I need to tell you something,” you whispered.
Eddie wrinkled his nose, clearly picking up on the tremor in your voice.
“Okay. I had already understood this. Go ahead.”
You gathered all your courage.
“We’ve been friends for… a while.” That sounded very stupid, obvious, but your brain was short-circuiting. “Since my freshman year. And you’ve been… you’ve been really important to me.”
He tried to smile, but he was cautious now.
“Yeah… You’re important to me, too. You know that.”
You nodded once.
It almost hurt to keep looking at him.
“I just… I want you to know—”
Eddie’s brows drew together.
“What? God, you're killing me with this suspense."
Your heart slammed against your ribs so hard your vision went fuzzy for a second.
“I love you.”
The words left your mouth and everything went quiet.
Too quite.
Frozen in time.
It was like you’d stepped out of your own body and were watching from a few feet away, floating—an observer to your own collapse.
The wind stilled.
The sounds faded.
A petal landed on his messy bangs and stayed there.
Eddie was staring at you.
His lips were parted, but nothing came out at first.
His warm eyes flashed with something—surprise, confusion, something else—but no immediate joy.
No wide smile, no pink blush, no ‘I love you too, sweetheart.’
You rushed on, because that sudden desert around was unbearable.
“I know you don’t—I mean, I don’t expect—” your voice cracked. “I just couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t feel it. Not with graduation and—everything that comes after. I thought maybe if you knew, it would… I don’t know. I just needed you to know.”
Eddie finally inhaled, like he’d forgotten to breathe.
“Sweetheart…” he said softly, the endearment sounding suddenly like a cruel knife. “Oh, shit.”
That wasn’t the reaction you’d hoped for.
Your stomach twisted, gifting you with an intense wave of nausea.
He raked a hand through his hair, sending more hidden petals scattering.
“I had no idea. I mean, I—I always thought we were just, you know, us. Best friends. Partners in crime. I didn’t see this coming.”
You tried to make your voice lighter, like it was nothing.
“You’re not—freaked out, are you?”
“No. God, no.” He stepped closer, hands still buried in his pockets like he didn’t trust them. “I’m just… I don’t wanna hurt you, and I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m about to do.”
There it was.
You braced yourself the best you could.
“I—I’m in love with someone,” he murmured.
You felt your pulse stutter.
“Oh.”
You didn't see it coming either.
He swallowed hard, eyes flicking away for a second before returning to your face.
“Chrissy.”
The name hit you like a shock of cold water.
“Chrissy… Cunningham?” you managed.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Your brain scrambled, flipping through every memory it had filed under safe and finding new, sharp edges there.
Chrissy laughing in the hallways. Chrissy’s perfect, shining ponytail.
Chrissy in her short cheerleading uniform.
Chrissy sitting on the bleachers during one of his Corroded Coffin rehearsal.
You’d seen her talking to him more lately—but you didn't give it importance.
“Jason’s Chrissy?” you said dumbly, because your thoughts were all tumbling over each other.
“Not Jason’s anymore,” Eddie said, and for a brief second something like pride flashed in his eyes. “Mine. She broke up with him. For me.”
His words sounded like a foreign language.
“For you…” you repeated, stupidly.
Eddie nodded, looking almost guilty for his happiness.
“It—it kinda happened fast. We’ve been talking and… I don’t know, it’s like she sees me and it’s not a joke, you know? We’ve been hanging out more and last night she—uh. She told me how she felt.”
Last night.
So that’s why he hadn’t called, as usual—that sudden silence you’d tried not to overthink for the whole night.
You felt like the ground under you was tilting.
“And you feel the same, I guess.” you whispered.
It wasn’t really a question.
His eyes softened, apologies written all over his face.
“Yeah, I do. I’ve had a thing for her for a while, I just… never thought I had a shot in hell. I mean, it’s Chrissy Cunningham. And then she… she chose me.”
His voice warmed on that last sentence and something in your chest tore.
You wanted to be happy for him. You truly loved him.
You wanted him to get every impossible, wild thing his heart longed for.
You wanted him to feel chosen. He deserved that.
But right now, you were drowning.
“Oh—” you said again, because your vocabulary had abandoned you completely.
Eddie took a hesitant step closer. “I’m sorry. I swear to God, if I’d known how you felt—”
“You would’ve not fallen in love with her?” you asked, a brittle edge slipping into your tone before you could help it.
He flinched slightly.
“No. That’s not—I can’t change what I feel. Just like you can’t.” His gaze was earnest, desperate for you to understand.
“But if I’d known, I would’ve—I don’t know, I would’ve tried to talk to you sooner. I hate that you have to carry this alone.”
You swallowed, throat raw. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
It was true.
That was the worst part.
There was no villain here, no wicked twist engineered by someone else.
Just timing.
Just mismatched hearts.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he blurted. “You’re my best friend. You’re my—” He shook his head. “You’re the person I tell everything to. The person who knows all my shitty secrets and still shows up. I can’t—I won’t lose that because I fell for Chrissy.”
You stared at him, your vision fogged with unshed tears you refused to let fall in front of him.
“You’re not going to lose me,” you lied, because that was what he needed to hear. “I’m not—I’m not gonna make you choose. That’s just not fair.”
His shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
His gratitude hurt almost as much as his rejection.
He stepped closer, enough that you could smell his cologne—familiar, enveloping, adored.
“Nothing’s gonna change between us,” he whispered, conviction in every word. “Okay? I swear. You and me? We’re solid. We’ll still hang out, we’ll still watch movies in my crappy trailer, you’ll still mock my music taste and I’ll still beg you to do my homework. We’re fine. This—” he gestured awkwardly between you, “doesn’t have to wreck anything.”
You wanted to scream in his face that it already had.
Instead, you nodded. “Sure.”
“Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head to catch your eyes. “You mad at me?”
You shook your head, even though anger would’ve been easier to carry than this hollow ache.
“No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He studied your face like he didn’t quite believe you, like he could see the fracture lines you were trying to hide.
“You’re still my sweetheart,” he said, trying to cheer you up. “That doesn’t change. I care about you. A lot.”
A tear finally slipped free, hot against your pale cheek.
You wiped it away fast, hoping he hadn’t seen it.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I know.”
He hesitated, then finally opened his arms a little. “Can I…?”
You stepped into his hug before he could finish the question, because you didn’t trust your legs to keep holding you up otherwise.
He wrapped his arms around you, solid and warm and home, pressing your cheek into his chest with a hand in your hair.
You didn't hug him back.
His leather jacket was warm under your skin, his heart thudded steady against your ear.
He smelled like weed and shampoo and whatever laundry detergent his uncle used.
“I’m sorry,” he said into your hair. “I really am.”
You closed your eyes and let yourself pretend, just for a second, that this was a different moment.
That he was holding you because he loved you the way you loved him.
That the world was about to turn in your favor.
But it wasn’t.
And it didn’t.
You stepped back before you could start bleeding out in his arms.
“It’s fine,” you said, voice small. “I should—I should get going. Robin’s waiting.”
“Yeah, okay.” He gave you a searching look. “We still on for Friday? Movie night? I got that tape we were talking about.”
You tried to summon the version of yourself who would’ve lit up at that, who would’ve teased him about his taste and suggested buying snacks.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Sure.”
He smiled, relieved. “Cool. I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Okay.”
He started to turn, then paused, walking backward a few steps as he looked at you.
“Hey.”
You forced yourself to meet his eyes again.
“Soon you’re gonna find someone who loves you exactly the way you deserve,” he said sweetly. “I mean that. Some guy is gonna lose his mind over you. I’m just… not him.”
The words were meant as comfort.
They sliced through you anyway.
“See you tomorrow,” you just answered, because if you said anything else your voice would crack apart completely.
He gave you a last, lingering look, then finally turned and headed back toward the parking lot, curls bouncing, hands in his pockets, a little lightness in his steps that hadn’t been there yesterday.
You knew exactly who had put it there.
You stood under the cherry trees until he was out of sight, then you let yourself fold in, just a little.
Your hands shook as you hugged your notebook tighter, nails biting into the cardboard cover.
A gust of wind sent a flurry of blossoms swirling around you. One stuck to your cheek, damp with the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen.
“Hi…”
You startled and turned.
Robin was standing a few yards away, having clearly disobeyed any understanding of personal space and privacy.
You didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed.
On the contrary, you were grateful to her.
“How much did you hear?” you asked.
“Enough that you don't have to repeat anything,” she said gently.
She closed the distance between you and slung an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into her side.
She didn't have to ask for permission.
“Wanna go somewhere?” she murmured. “Because I’m thinking maybe this is not the ideal crying location. Unless you’re going for some dramatic teen movie vibe, in which case respect—but also: privacy…”
A broken laugh bubbled up from you. “I don’t—I’m not crying.”
“You are and you will,” she said. “And you will not do it alone. Come on.”
You let her steer you away from the school, away from the still parked van, away from the petals and the ghosts of words you now wished you’d kept to yourself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your bedroom that evening was dim, painted in stripes of orange and purple from the setting sun. The posters on your walls stared down at you, always the same. Your homework lay untouched on your desk.
A cassette you’d meant to rewind sat inside the stereo, forgotten.
You were on your bed, staring at the ceiling.
Your chest ached in a dull, constant way, like you’d bruised something beneath your ribcage. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Eddie’s face when he’d said Chrissy's name.
The softness.
The wonder.
The guilt.
You hated that you understood him.
You hated that if you hadn’t been you, if you’d somehow stepped outside yourself and looked at them as a stranger, you might’ve thought they were… perfect.
Sweet girl-next-door and misunderstood metalhead.
It had a ring to it.
Your hurt feelings didn’t make narrative sense.
The phone on the nightstand rang, making you jump.
You didn’t move at first.
The sound drilled on, persistent.
With a groan, you rolled on the side of the mattress and grabbed the receiver.
“Hello.”
“You alive?” Robin’s voice crackled through the line.
“Barely,” you muttered.
“That’s what I thought.”
You could hear clinking in the background, like she was rummaging in her kitchen.
“So, do you want the comforting friend speech or the vicious rant where I list all the ways in which he’s a clueless dumbass?”
A tiny smile tugged at your lips, stretching your sore skin.
“He didn’t really do anything wrong.”
There was a pause.
“I’m proud of you, you know,” she said. “For telling him. For being this good.”
You rubbed your puffy eyes.
“Doesn’t feel like something to be proud of.”
“Well, it is. You did the scary thing. You pulled the pin on the grenade. That takes guts.” A beat. “And now we know, at least.”
You sat back on the bed, curling the phone cord around your fingers. “He said nothing was gonna change.”
“Oh, sure,” Robin said dryly. “Because that’s definitely how feelings work. You just declare ‘nothing changes’ and the universe is like, ‘yeah, cool, noted.’”
You let your chin fall down to your chest. “I don’t want to lose him.”
“I know.” Her voice softened. “But also—you can’t keep standing in front of a train and acting surprised when it hits you. If it gets too bad, you’re allowed to step back. You’re allowed to protect yourself.”
You closed your eyes. “I told him I’d still hang out. That I’d come over Friday.”
“And maybe you will,” Robin said. “Or maybe you’ll realize you can’t handle watching him talk about Chrissy’s hair or Chrissy’s laugh or whatever Chrissy-related miracles he’s discovered, and you’ll call me instead—and we’ll go to Family Video and I’ll make fun of Steve for two hours. Both options are valid.”
You breathed out slowly, shaking.
“I feel stupid,” you whispered.
“You’re not stupid,” she shot back immediately. “He is. You’re in love. Those two things feel similar sometimes, but they’re not the same.”
You swallowed on nothing, throat tight.
“What if… what if this is it?” you blurted before you could stop yourself. “What if I just spend the rest of my life being in love with him and wishing I’d never said anything?”
On the other end of the line, Robin went quiet for a second.
“Then,” she said carefully, “one day, when we’re old and bitter and living in some crappy apartment with terrible wallpaper and seven cats, I’ll remind you that you told him. That you were brave. That you gave yourself a chance, even if it didn’t work out. And then I’ll make you coffee and we’ll laugh about how bad your taste in men used to be.”
A wet laugh slipped out of you, surprising and cracked.
“And also,” she added, “I strongly suspect this is not ‘it’. You’re gonna leave this town, you know? You’re gonna go to college and meet people who don’t remember when you tripped in the cafeteria in ninth grade. People who don’t already think they know who you are.”
The words left dug claws into you.
College.
Away from Hawkins.
Away from the trailer park.
Away from the cherry trees and the high school and the van.
Away from Eddie.
“I don’t know if I can imagine that,” you admitted.
“I can,” Robin stated. “And it looks good on you.”
Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Just charged.
“You wanna come over?” she asked eventually. “I stole ice cream from the Harrington freezer yesterday, and I feel morally obligated to share it.”
You hesitated.
You wanted to.
You wanted to sit on her couch and watch something stupid until your brain finally stopped replaying the moment Eddie had said he was in love, but not with you.
But you also didn’t want her to see you cry any more than she already had all afternoon.
“I think I just need to… sleep,” you said. “Is that okay?”
“That’s allowed. But I’m calling you again tomorrow. You’re not allowed to avoid me and disappear into a heartbreak cave, got it?”
A faint smile ghosted across your lips. “Got it.”
“Okay. I’ll hang up, you go back to staring dramatically at the ceiling, and tomorrow we’ll discuss Operation Escape Hawkins.”
“So is that a real operation?” you asked.
“It is, if you want,” she said. “And hey. He’s not the only chapter your life gets. Even if it feels like it right now.”
Your throat closed up again. “Thank you, Rob.”
“Anytime. ‘Night, weirdo.”
“Goodnight.”
You hung up and sat there for a long moment, the dial tone replaced by the hum of the house settling around you.
Outside your window the sky had gone darker, the last smears of pink fading away.
The cherry tree in your front yard—smaller, thinner than the ones at school—rustled in the breeze, a handful of blossoms clinging stubbornly to its branches.
You lay back on your bed and stared at the small cracks in the ceiling.
You pictured Eddie's face when you’d told him—again.
You pictured his arms around you.
You pictured him saying ‘Chrissy’ in that loving, stunned voice.
You tried, desperately, to imagine the future Robin had painted. You, somewhere else.
In a different town.
With a different life.
With new people who didn’t know the shape of your heartbreak.
Without him.
But you just couldn’t see it yet.
For now all you had was the ache in your chest, the fading scent of spring through the window and the quiet, painful knowledge that you had finally spoken the truth—and lost something you weren’t sure you would ever get back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Friday afternoon, the worst of the shock had dulled into something flatter, heavier.
It sat in your chest like a stone in a still pond as you stood in front of your mirror, trying to decide if it was pathetic or reasonable to change your outfit for movie night.
You went with pathetic, then changed your outfit anyway.
Eddie had said nothing would change.
You clung to that sentence like someone clinging to a door in icy water.
It was just the two of you tonight, like always.
Old horror tape he’d rented, junk food, his trailer, your usual ritual. You told yourself it didn’t have to be weird.
You could pretend well enough. You’d been doing it for almost four years.
You checked the time.
6:42.
He’d said seven.
You brushed your hair again. Checked your reflection again. Tried to convince your face to stop looking like you’d cried yourself to sleep every night.
The skin beneath your eyes refused to cooperate.
Your mom called from the kitchen, asking if you’d be home late.
You answered on autopilot.
Then you went to your window.
You always waited there.
From your bedroom, you could see the street and the patch of gravel where Eddie liked to park his van whenever he came by. You knew the sound of his engine as well as you knew your own heartbeat.
6:53.
You watched a blue sedan pass, then a bike, then Mr. Patterson walking his dog.
The air outside glowed with that early evening warmth, crickets already starting their song from the grass.
7:05.
You told yourself he was just running late.
Sometimes he did that.
He’d show up a little breathless, rambling about how he’d lost his keys or gotten ambushed by his uncle or stopped to rescue a possum—or whatever other ridiculous thing he came up with.
You’d roll your eyes, pretend to be annoyed, and then curl up on his couch with a bowl of popcorn between you.
7:18.
You sat down on the edge of your bed but kept your eyes on the window.
Your stomach grumbled; you ignored it.
You tried not to think too hard about Chrissy and how she perfectly fit into this picture now.
‘Nothing’s gonna change between us.’
You exhaled slowly.
7:36.
The sun had slipped lower, stretching shadows across the yard.
Somewhere down the street, someone turned their radio up and a tinny pop song drifted on the air.
You checked the clock again.
7:49.
Your chest was getting tighter.
A voice inside you started whispering explanations.
He forgot.
Something came up.
His van broke down.
Maybe his uncle needed him.
Maybe—
The phone rang.
You jumped, heart leaping in your throat.
You almost saw it: Eddie on the other end, apologizing, telling you he was five minutes away.
You grabbed the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
Robin’s voice, not Eddie’s. “Are you… still at home?”
You frowned. “Yeah. Why?”
There was a hesitation on the line.
You heard chatter behind her, the clink of cutlery, some distant laughter.
“Did he even call you?” she asked carefully.
Your fingers tightened around the phone cord. “Eddie? No. Why?”
Another pause.
You could almost hear her deciding how to say it.
“I’m at the diner with Vickie,” she said finally. “We came in for milkshakes. And, uh… Eddie’s here.”
The stone in your chest seemed to drop a few inches lower in the mud.
“Oh,” you said. Your voice sounded wrong even to your own ears. “Okay. I guess he… got hungry.”
Robin exhaled through her teeth. “He’s with Chrissy.”
You closed your eyes.
Of course he was.
“He’s all—” Robin’s tone shifted into a mocking lilt. “Leaning across the table, big heart eyes, doing that thing where he talks with his hands too much—”
“Robin,” you interrupted. Your voice cracked on her name.
“Sorry,” she said immediately. “I’m sorry. That was… insensitive. I just—”
You heard her footsteps, like she was moving away from the noise. “I thought maybe you knew. I thought he had called. I didn’t want you to just—sit there waiting for his asshole ass.”
Too late.
Your gaze flicked back to the window, to the empty patch of gravel in front of your house.
“He forgot,” you said quietly.
Robin didn’t say anything.
She didn’t have to.
“Do you want me to mine?” she asked. “We can put on some terrible movie and I’ll tell you all the ways his hair makes him objectively overrated.”
You swallowed.
“No,” you said firmly, surprising even yourself. “I think I just—I think I need to be alone tonight. And you have to enjoy your date night with Vickie. Say hello to her for me.”
There was a brief silence.
“Okay,” she said softly. “But I’m calling you tomorrow. And if he shows up at your door with that kicked-puppy face, you are not obligated to make him feel better about screwing up.”
Your throat burned.
“Thanks, Robin.”
“Always.”
You hung up before your voice could betray you.
The house hummed around you—refrigerator in the kitchen, TV murmuring in the living room, your parents talking about something mundane.
It all sounded very far away.
You walked back to the window and stood there a little longer, just in case.
He never showed.
By nine, your legs ached from standing.
Your eyes were dry and hot.
You finally stepped away, turned off your light, and crawled into bed fully dressed.
You stared at the ceiling in the dark, listening to the distant, faint echo of a laugh that wasn’t really there.
You didn’t cry.
Not that night.
It was worse that way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He came the next day.
It was late morning, pale sunlight slanting through the curtains when you heard the familiar rumble of the van outside.
Your stomach lurched before your brain could catch up.
You were at the small kitchen table, pushing cereal around in your bowl and not really eating it. Your mom was flipping through a catalog, pen tapping absentmindedly against the page.
The engine cut off.
The door slammed.
Your mother glanced toward the window.
“That Eddie?” she asked.
“Probably,” you muttered.
There was a knock at the front door.
Your spoon clinked against the bowl as you set it down.
“I’ll get it,” you said quickly, already on your feet.
Your heart hammered as you crossed the corridor.
For half a second, you considered not opening the door at all.
Pretending you weren’t home. Hiding in your room until he went away.
But that wasn’t you.
You’d always been the one who stayed, who showed up, who answered when called.
You opened the door.
Eddie stood on your front porch, hands shoved into the back pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for bad weather.
His curls were a little messier than usual, like he’d run his hands through them too many times.
There were shadows under his eyes.
He gave you a tentative half-smile.
“Hey sweetheart,” he said softly.
You only stared hard.
“Can I—come in?”
You didn’t move aside.
“No.”
He blinked, thrown already.
“I want to talk. About last night.”
You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe, keeping the barrier between you as solid as you could.
“There’s not much to say, I guess,” you replied. “You were with her. You forgot. I waited like an idiot. End of story.”
He winced.
“Yeah, I—” he babbled. “I’m—I’m really fucking sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to blow you off. It just…” He blew out a breath. “Chrissy called. She was upset, Jason did some asshole thing and she said she didn’t have anyone else to talk to, so I went over there and we started talking and—”
“—you forgot about our Friday night,” you finished for him.
Fuck, it sounded so pathetic.
He opened his mouth, closed it again.
His shoulders sagged a little.
“Yeah,” he finally admitted. “I lost track of time. When I realized how late it was, it was already—one in the morning? And I figured you were asleep and—” He trailed off under your blank face, grimacing. “It was shitty. I know that. You don’t have to tell me.”
You let the silence stretch for a beat.
“Robin saw you at the diner,” you said. “You two lovebirds didn’t look very sad.”
His eyes widened slightly. “She—saw us?!”
Your jaw tighten.
“It wasn’t—” He ran a hand over his face. “Look, yeah, we went to get something to eat. She’d been crying and she hadn’t eaten all day and—” He met your gaze again, desperate. “It wasn’t like I picked her over you on purpose, okay? It just… happened. And you know me. I’m terrible with time. I’m terrible at everything involving responsibility.”
Once upon a time, you would’ve laughed at that, told him he wasn’t terrible at all and made a joke to smooth it over.
You would’ve comforted him, because you loved him and because that was the role you’d carved out for yourself in his life.
Today, you didn’t.
You wouldn't.
“You remembered to go when she called, and you barely know her,” you whispered. “But you just didn’t remember to come when I was waiting for you—and I've known you for years. You could have called at least.”
Eddie flinched and pouted.
“That’s not fair,” he said weakly. “You said you wouldn't put me in a position to choose”
“Don’t tell me what’s fair,” you hissed.
Your voice was calm in that dangerous way that scared even you.
“You told me nothing would change, Eddie. And then the very first thing that happens after two days is… this.”
He looked wrecked. “I know. I fucked up. But can we please not let this turn into some big, tragic drama? You’re my best friend. I don’t want—”
“I’m not sure you get to decide that,” you cut in. “You don’t get to draw the map your way and then be surprised when people stop following it.”
His jaw worked as if he was trying to chew through the truth of that.
“Sweetheart—” he started.
“Don’t call me that,” you said sharply. “Never again.”
The words snapped out of you like a whip.
He actually stepped back.
You exhaled through your nose, trying to hold yourself together.
“I don't want this,” you said. “I’m tired of being the one who waits. Who always understands. Who gets the crumbs because you’re busy giving the rest of yourself to someone else.”
His eyes shone with hurt and something like fear.
“I’m not—That’s not what I’m doing. You’re important to me. You know that.”
“Do I? Really?” you asked.
He reached out like he wanted to touch your wrist, then thought better of it and let his hand drop.
“Please,” he said softly. “Don’t shut me out over one mistake. I’m new to this, okay? To… having someone incredible like Chrissy. I’m trying to figure it out. I don’t want to lose you in the process.”
You stared at him for a long moment, throat burning from desire to scream.
“You already did,” you said.
His face paled and crumpled.
“Listen, sweetheart—”
“I have homework to do,” you added fast, because you needed an excuse—any excuse, to end this. “And my mom doesn’t like it when you loiter on the porch.”
It was a terrible lie; your mother adored Eddie.
But he didn’t argue.
“Can we… talk later?” he asked, grasping for something. “I can come back and bring dinner. Or—”
“Thank you, but no. I’ll see you around,” you closed the door.
You did it gently.
No slam, no theatrics.
Just a soft, resolute, definitive click.
Your heart broke in thousands of pieces.
On the other side, you heard him stand there for a few seconds. You could almost feel his presence through the wood, the weight of every thing said and unsaid.
Then footsteps.
The van door.
The engine.
You went back to the kitchen.
Your mother glanced up, eyebrows slightly raised.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah,” you murmured, reaching for your abandoned cereal. “He just stopped by to say hello.”
She hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push.
She knew better.
You took a bite of cereal.
It tasted like cardboard.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next weeks blurred into a slow-motion montage of things falling apart.
At first, he tried.
You’d be at your locker, swapping books between periods, when you felt it: that prickling at the back of your neck that meant he was watching you.
“Hey,” he said, leaning against the locker beside yours, pretending nothing had changed. “Haven’t seen you much around. You've been hiding from me?”
You’d kept your eyes on your textbooks. “Just busy.”
He laughed it off, joked about finals, made some dumb comment about how you were going to abandon him for higher education and leave him to rot in Hawkins.
You’d give him a half-smile that didn’t reach your eyes.
“I'm sure you'll know how to console yourself.”
You didn't do it out of pride, but you had to protect yourself.
You started timing your routes between classes, so you didn’t cross the paths when he usually hung out with Hellfire.
You took the long way around the gym to avoid the vending machines where you used to stand with him and split a Coke.
Sometimes he spotted you anyway.
“Can we talk?” he asked one day after English, falling into step beside you.
“Sorry, I’m late,” you’d replied, even when you weren’t.
He’d reached for your hand, but you just shifted out of reach without it looking too obvious.
It became a pattern.
He’d call your house; you told your mom to tell him you weren't there.
He’d wave at you in the parking lot, you pretended not to see. You felt cruel.
Often guilty.
The suspicion that you were overreacting consumed much of your brain when you tried to fall asleep at night.
But Chrissy was always there now.
He didn’t chase you as hard as he could have.
Maybe he didn’t know how.
Maybe part of him thought you’d come around eventually, that the way things had always been would snap back into place if he waited for you long enough.
But you saw them everywhere, every day.
In the hallway she’d always fix the collar of his jacket standing on her tiptoes.
He grinned at her, eyes soft, one hand on her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
On the bleachers during lunch, she’d sit between his legs, her back against his chest, his arms loose around her.
He rested his chin on her shoulder, talking animatedly while she giggled at something he said.
Outside Hellfire sessions, she’d wait for him, hugging her books to her chest.
When he emerged with the others, she’d light up and he’d light up right back.
The younger boys would glance between them with the baffled awe of kids who’d just seen a dragon and a unicorn fall in love.
You watched all of it from the edges—doorways, corners, reflected in glass—trying desperately not to.
But it was stronger than you.
Clearly you had a strong masochistic side.
Once, in the parking lot, you saw her wearing his jacket.
It nearly knocked you flat.
That jacket had draped over your shoulders a hundred times—when you were cold, when it rained, when you’d fallen asleep on his couch during movie nights.
He’d always thrown it over you with a casual, “Here, sweetheart,” like it meant nothing, like it was just what he naturally did.
Seeing it on her—sleeves too long, collar turned up, his band patches clashing with her pastel sweater…
You had sewed the Black Sabbath one, right above the heart.
It felt like the universe had taken a snapshot of one of your favorite memories and pasted someone else into it.
He caught your eye across the crowd that day.
For a second, everything else blurred.
He was laughing at something Chrissy had said, a cigarette between his fingers.
Then, his gaze slid past her and landed on you.
The smile faltered.
You froze, trapped in the stare. You wondered what he saw in you: the distance, the quiet anger, the hurt you were trying so hard to bury.
He opened his mouth, like he was going to call out to you.
You turned away.
After that, you stopped looking directly at him at all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Senior year slipped toward its end with a weird, unreal inevitability.
You threw yourself into studying—not for him anymore, not to pull him through another year, but for yourself.
For the exit you could almost taste every time you flipped through college brochures at your guidance counselor’s office.
Out of Indiana.
Far away from Hawkins.
You needed it.
Robin and even Vickie formed a kind of unofficial guard around you.
Robin stuck to you between classes whenever she could—and sometimes when she couldn't, also.
Vickie daily handed you cookies and brownies like they were secret weapons.
Even Steve, a dear friend of Robin (and also Eddie’s) who you barely knew, had taken you under his wing—droving you home more than once when you’d stayed late at school to avoid crossing paths with Eddie and Chrissy.
You weren’t alone, but you still felt lonely.
You hated how much Eddie's absence had messed up your life.
On a June blue night, full moon and dancing fireflies, you promised yourself you'd never make the same mistake again.
___________________________
Graduation day arrived hot and bright, the kind of afternoon that made people dream of beaches and ocean.
You dreamed that it was already midnight, and that you were in your bed, alone.
The ceremony was set up on the football field—rows of metal folding chairs lined up on the grass, a makeshift stage at one end with a podium and a banner that read CONGRATULATIONS, CLASS OF 1986! in peeling orange and green paint.
You stood in a line of blue caps and gowns near the bleachers, clutching the edges of your program hard enough to crinkle it.
Robin elbowed you gently. “You okay?”
“I’m wearing a polyester oven bag in ninety-degree heat,” you muttered. “I’m living my best life.”
She snorted. “But at least you look good suffering, darling.”
You glanced at the crowd milling in the bleachers—parents fanning themselves with programs, siblings already whining, a few people holding up camcorders the size of small bricks.
Your eyes found your parents, sitting together in the middle section, your mother waving when she spotted you.
You lifted your hand in a small, stiff wave back.
Then, because you were weak and stupid, your gaze drifted ahead—and you saw him.
Eddie was near the front of the graduating line, his gown draped a little off-kilter over his frame, tassel dangling dangerously close to his eyes.
His cap sat crooked on his curls, defying every attempt of his girlfriend at regulation.
He looked oddly handsome in the ridiculous outfit, like he’d stumbled into the wrong movie but decided to own it anyway.
Beside him, Chrissy stood in her pristine gown, hair perfect, cheeks flushed with excitement. When he leaned down to say something, she laughed and swatted his arm.
He caught her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles.
You looked away so fast you almost got whiplash.
Robin saw, as always.
“Hey,” she murmured. “Eyes on me, baby. Fuck them.”
You took a deep breath and it came out shaking.
The air felt too hot, too thick.
Principal Higgins' voice boomed over the cheap PA system, calling everyone to take their seats.
The graduates began to file into rows, the crowd clapping politely. The sound washed over you like waves you didn’t quite feel.
Everything seemed so unreal…
You found your seat, sat down, stood when everyone else did, bowed your head at the obligatory prayer.
The speeches blurred—something about the future, about potential, about leaving a mark, about the great big world waiting for you just outside Hawkins’ borders.
You stared at the stage, but your mind drifted on its own.
You thought about the first day you’d met Eddie in history class. About him throwing paper balls at you with doodles of dragons on them.
About his laugh echoing down the empty halls after school.
About the way his trailer smelled like weed smoke and pizza and comfort.
You thought about Friday nights that used to be yours.
You thought about cherry blossoms falling around you as he told you he loved someone else.
“And now,” Principal Higgins announced, “we’ll proceed with the conferring of diplomas.”
Names were called.
Each time, a student stood, walked up, shook hands, posed for a photo and walked back down.
A tiny, messy life condensed into ten seconds of applause.
“Munson, Edward.”
The name snapped your attention into sharp focus.
He rose from his chair with a little flourish, as if he were stepping onto a stage.
A few freshmen in the back whooped; someone shouted, “Hell yeah, Munson!” and got a stern look from a teacher.
As he turned to face the crowd for the obligatory handshake photo, his gaze searched the sea of faces.
For a moment—just a heartbeat—his eyes found yours.
Your heart twisted.
It was like being pinned to your chair.
He’d made it.
Somehow.
Against odds and expectations and probably his own habits.
His expression shifted, softened. A ghost of a sweet smile touched his mouth, small and private, so unlike the theatrics he’d shown his friends.
You didn’t smile back.
When your name was called later, you stood on shaky legs, hands damp inside your sleeves. The walk to the stage felt both too long and too short.
The sun pressed against your face, the crowd blurred.
You shook hands, took your diploma and posed.
You thought about all the versions of you that had dreamed about this day—the kid who thought a cap and gown meant everything would finally feel different, the teenager who thought maybe Eddie would be in the stands cheering only for you.
This new version of you didn’t look for him at all.
When you stepped down, you found Robin in the row ahead, twisting in her seat to flash you a double thumbs-up.
Near her, Vickie clapped, eyes bright.
Steve cupped his hands around his mouth from the bleachers and yelled something incoherent but enthusiastic.
You returned to your chair feeling hollow and full at once.
When the ceremony finally ended, caps flew into the air—some on purpose, some because someone had started it and everyone else followed.
The field exploded into chaos. People hugged, cried, laughed, posed for photos, shouted over each other.
Teachers tried to impose order and gave up almost immediately.
Robin crashed into you, nearly knocking you off your feet.
“We did it! We fucking did it!”
You laughed despite yourself, arms wrapping around her tightly. “We still have to survive the Steve party,” you said.
“Details!” she scoffed.
Your parents found you and insisted on taking some photos—one with your diploma, one with your cap, one with your cap off because your mother wanted to see your hair.
Your dad promised dinner at Enzos’.
Your mom wiped at the corner of her eye and pretended she wasn’t.
Through it all—even if you did everything to avoid it—you caught glimpses of him.
Eddie with his uncle Wayne, who hugged him with a kind of quiet pride that made something sting at the back of your eyes.
Eddie with Gareth and Jeff, all yelling and shoving each other, nearly dropping their diplomas.
Eddie with those Dustin, Mike, Will and Lucas, joking and laughing.
Eddie with Chrissy, lifting her off the ground in a spinning hug while she squealed and clung to his shoulders.
You turned away.
“Hey,” Robin said quietly. “Want me to run interference?”
“It’s fine,” you muttered. “I’m leaving soon anyway.”
Robin’s eyes flicked over your shoulder, then back to your face. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
You shook your head, jaw tight. “He doesn’t need to.”
“Want me to… accidentally let it slip?” she asked, voice careful. “Give him a heads-up before you vanish?”
You hesitated for only a second.
“No,” you said finally. “He made it very clear who he wants in his life. I’m not going to make my exit some big dramatic thing for his benefit.”
Robin studied you, then nodded slowly. “Okay, boss. Your call.”
It turned out not to be entirely your call.
Because later, after the crowd thinned a little and your parents went to drop some things off at the car, you heard your name called from behind you.
You knew that voice.
You went still.
“Traitor incoming,” Robin muttered under her breath. “Abort the mission or stand your ground?”
“I’ve got it,” you said quietly. “Can you… give us a minute?”
She squeezed your arm, hard. “Scream if you need extraction.”
Then she drifted away, pretending to be interested in a bulletin board that hadn’t changed in six months.
You turned.
Eddie was weaving through the clusters of people, clutching his cap in one hand, his gown unzipped halfway already, revealing the Hellfire shirt beneath.
He looked slightly wild—eyes searching, hair sticking to his forehead from sweat, tassel long forgotten in his other hand.
When he reached you, he stopped a few feet away, as if aware that your personal space had changed dimensions.
“You’re really hard to catch these times,” he said, trying for a light tone that didn’t quite land.
“Maybe you should stop chasing things after you let go of them,” you replied.
He flinched. “Can we not start with a dagger to the ribs? I just graduated.”
You crossed your arms over your chest, the fabric of the gown rustling. “What do you want, Eddie?”
He looked genuinely thrown by the question.
“I wanted to say congratulations,” he said. “You know. We did it. You especially. You were always the smart one. I’m honestly kind of shocked they let me walk without checking my grades twice.”
“I guess Chrissy helped you study,” you said. “I’m sure that made a difference.”
He shifted his weight, clearly remembering a time when that sentence wouldn’t have come out of your mouth like a blade.
“She did,” he said cautiously. “But you’re the one who kept me from failing last year. And the year before that. I wouldn’t be here without you.”
You stared at him, expression unreadable.
“Is that it?” you asked.
He searched your face like he was trying to decode something complex.
“Steve told me,” he said abruptly. “That you’re leaving. Out of state.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks. “He had no right—”
“He was worried you were just going to disappear,” he cut in. “And that I’d find out from someone else or, I don’t know, the goddamn alumni newsletter.” He swallowed. “So… is it true?”
You considered lying—but why?
“Yes,” you said instead. “I got in.”
He looked like you’d punched him.
“Just like that?” he asked, voice low. “You were gonna leave and not even tell me?”
“You didn’t tell me about Chrissy,” you countered.
“That’s not the same and you know it,” he said, some of his old fire sparking. “You’re talking about leaving Hawkins. About leaving… everything.”
“Exactly,” you said. “Everything. It is what I want.”
He stared at you, breathing a little too fast.
“You were my best friend,” he said quietly. “You still are, in my head. And you were just going to vanish? No goodbye, no nothing?”
The words hit a bruise that had been there for months.
“You stopped being my best friend the day you asked me to pretend nothing had changed,” you said. “And then made sure everything did.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it again.
You took a step closer, closing the distance just enough that he couldn’t escape the look in your eyes.
“You chose her,” you went on, voice steady. “Over and over. Every day. And that was your right. You’re allowed to love whoever you want, Eddie. But you don’t get to do that and then act surprised when I stop being available to play the supporting role in your life.”
“That’s not what I—” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “I never meant for you to feel like that. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. That we’d figure it out. That we’d find some way for all of it to exist at once.”
“It doesn’t,” you said simply. “Not for me.”
He looked away, jaw tight, eyes shining.
“I miss you,” he said. “I miss my friend.”
Something twisted in your chest. Because you missed him, too. You missed him so much you thought sometimes it would swallow you whole.
“That’s the thing,” you said softly. “You miss a version of me that was willing to hurt quietly just to stay close to you. She’s… not coming with me.”
He looked back at you like he was seeing you for the first time—not as the girl orbiting his chaos, but as someone with her own center of gravity.
“How long have you known?” he asked. “About leaving.”
“A few weeks,” you said.
He laughed once, humorless. “And you didn’t think that maybe I deserved to know? After everything?”
You felt something sharp snap into place inside you.
“No,” you said, and there was a finality in your tone that even he couldn’t ignore. “You don’t get to talk about what you ‘deserve’ from me anymore.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“You made it very clear,” you continued, “where I stand in your life. I got the message loud and clear in empty Friday nights and broken promises and… watching you give everything I ever wanted to someone else. I’m not angry that you love her. I’m just done pretending it doesn’t cost me anything.”
He swallowed hard.
“So that’s it?” he whispered. “You just… go?”
You drew in a slow breath, the summer heat thick in your lungs. You thought about all the good memories, all the laughter, all the nights in his trailer.
You thought about cherry petals and empty gravel and diner milkshakes you hadn’t been invited to.
“You wanted nothing to change,” you said. “But everything did. I’m just… catching up.”
His face crumpled, more openly now. “I love you.”
You closed your eyes.
“So do I.”
You adjusted your grip on your diploma, suddenly very aware of its weight in your hands.
“I don’t hate you, Eddie,” you added after a moment. “I don’t even know if I can. But I can’t keep loving you like this and stay here and watch you build a life with her. I won’t do that to myself.”
He opened his mouth, some protest half-formed, some promise he had no right to make.
You cut him off gently, the final blow sharp and quiet.
“You don’t get to miss me,” you said, “when you’re the one who wanted me to leave.”
The words landed like a clean cut.
He stared at you, speechless.
For the first time since you’d met him, Eddie Munson didn’t seem to have anything to say.
Somewhere behind you, someone called your name—your mother, probably, or Robin, or the camera-ready future tugging at your sleeve.
The world had gone on—sun baking the grass, people laughing, someone shouting about a lost cap.
You took a step back.
“Goodbye, Eddie,” you said.
You didn’t wait for his answer.
You turned and walked away, gown swishing around your legs, diploma clutched tight.
You didn’t look back to see him standing alone in the middle of the field, cap dangling from his fingers, watching the girl he’d always counted on finally do the one thing he’d never thought she would.
Leave him alone.