Chapter Text
For a very brief, fleeting second, you’re pissed when you hear a cacophony of familiar boisterous voices coming from the other side of your front door. While fumbling with your keys and mentally hexing your condescending boss, your demanding clients, and every idiot on the subway, you have a moment where you’re not exactly thrilled to hear your friends in your apartment. It’s quite frankly been a hellish day, and you were looking forward to kicking your shoes off, taking a scalding shower, and settling in for a quiet night with the new Stephen King book you picked up from the library this weekend.
But your irritation quickly makes way for excitement when Steve sees you walk in and greets you with the best possible sentence in this scenario— or maybe ever:
“Do you wanna hear Eddie’s newest load of completely ridiculous bullshit?”
Eddie shoves Steve in a friendly enough way, but still hard enough to send him stumbling back a step. This, in turn, starts a familiar back-and-forth of light horseplay toward each other from across the kitchen island.
“God, yes,” you groan, dropping your bag on the table by the door. “Please. More than anything.”
“Oh, Y/n, you are going to love this.” Robin holds up the half-empty bottle of red wine, to which you enthusiastically nod. She grabs another glass from the cabinet and gives you an adequate pour. But when she looks back up at your face, she takes in the dark bags, the wrinkled button-up, and the still-fading scowl from your day at the office, and adds another inch.
“Okay, you guys are assholes,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not gonna bring my scandals to you if you’re gonna chalk them up to make-believe.”
“Noooooooo!” you whine, plopping yourself onto the stool next to his. You scoop your wine from Robin with one hand and grab his shoulder with the other. “Please, I really need this— whatever this completely ridiculous bullshit is.”
Eddie sighs, then swivels to look at you. “You know how they’re doing all that construction on me and Steve’s apartment?”
“They’re rezoning it to be a haunted house,” you supply, to which Steve and Robin both giggle.
“Dont—” Eddie points a finger at you, lips pursing. “Don’t you start now too.”
You tamp down a smirk and widen your eyes in exaggerated reaction, bringing your wine up for a large gulp. “They decided it would make more sense to just tear it down and start from scratch, right?”, you ask, slightly muffled by the glass.
Now, your two friends across the island bust out into full cackles.
Eddie’s hands shoot up. “Never mind!” he decides. “You fuckers don’t get to hear about this.”
“Wait, wait, wait—” You’re laughing now, grabbing his wrist before he can get up and storm off in mock indignation. You nearly slosh your wine across the counter, but you don’t care. “I’m sorry! I’ll shut up, I swear.”
“You’re lying,” Eddie accuses, deadpan, but there’s a twitch in the corner of his mouth.
“No! No, I promise.” You slide your hand down to his forearm, holding on like you’re swearing a blood oath. “Cross my heart. Look—” You drag your finger over your chest in a shaky X. “Terrible day, Eddie. Awful. Boss was a nightmare, subway was a nightmare, my entire life was basically a nightmare until—” you gesture between the three of them “—this. So please, please, for the love of God, just tell me the story. I need it.”
Eddie narrows his eyes at you like he’s weighing whether or not you’re worth trusting. He leans in a little closer. “You have to swear you’re gonna take me seriously.”
“I swear.” You hold up your hand like you’re testifying in court. “Scout’s honor. No laughter. None.”
“Mhmm.” He eyes you suspiciously, but then he sighs and settles back on his stool. “Fine. Okay. So.”
You force your face into something resembling solemnity, sipping your wine with intense focus.
Eddie clears his throat. “I think the construction guys have been eating my food.”
You nearly choke, the wine burning your nose as you try to swallow it down without sputtering. Across the island, Steve wheezes, grabbing Robin’s arm for support as she dissolves into a puddle.
But not you; you promised. You slam your glass down and nod, lips pressed tightly together to stop the laugh threatening to break free. “Okay,” you say, voice strangled but determined. “Okay. Go on.”
Eddie leans in closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to reveal state secrets. “It started small,” he says, gesturing with both hands like he’s framing the memory. “An apple here, a string cheese there. I thought maybe Steve was just... I don’t know, stealing my snacks because he’s too lazy to buy his own.”
Steve throws his hands up immediately. “Woah, what the hell?”
You toss a look in his direction and wave him off.
Eddie continues. “So today, I make myself a sandwich.”
You nod, like you’re following along with a crime report. “Uh-huh.”
“A perfect sandwich,” Eddie stresses, fingers curling in reverence. “Turkey, provolone, tomatoes from the farmer’s market, little bit of mustard, one of my last decent sandwich pickles.”
“Thank you for painting the complete picture,” you tell him, nodding solemnly. “These are all essential details.”
“Shut up,” he says quickly. “And then— then, Y/n, fate intervened. Because at the very moment I’m about to enjoy this creation, the doorbell rings. UPS guy. Package for me.”
“What was it?” Robin interjects, near heckling.
“Not important!” he barks, slamming his fist on the counter.
“Booooooooo,” Robin cups her hands around her mouth.
“Maybe,” he sighs. “You’ll all find out in a bit, if you just shut up and let me tell my story.”
You raise your brows and purse your lips toward Robin, intrigued by the idea.
“Listen,” Eddie stresses. “I go sign for this package. I’m gone for—” he snaps his fingers, “—thirty seconds. Maybe less. I come back—” he pauses dramatically, staring each of you down in turn “—and it’s gone.”
Robin screeches, kicking her foot against the cabinet. Steve’s jaw drops.
“Bullshit!” you shake your head.
“Swear. On. My. Life.” Eddie’s mess of chunky silver rings clank against the countertop with every slap of his palm. “These guys stole my sandwich!”
You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Or maybe,” you say, careful and innocent, “you’re just getting high and forgetting you ate it?”
Eddie reels back like you slapped him. “Excuse me?! Are you accusing me of rookie-level stoner mistakes? I’m not some new smoker wandering the grocery store aisles in a haze, Y/n. I know what I’m doing.”
Eddie’s been smoking pot essentially from when he learned to read, you’ve gathered. Maybe since he could walk. You’d had a front row seat to his particular proficiency on the matter ever since he and Steve joined you and Robin out in New York. Random roommates at Barnard freshman year, you and Robin became inseparable very early on. You’re not proud to admit that when her self-described “best friend” from home visited, you and Steve didn’t get off on the best foot. Jealousy sparked from both of you, and you didn’t exactly become close until you and Robin graduated and he and their friend Eddie moved into a horrifyingly crappy fourth-floor walkup in Brooklyn.
The three of them had grown up together, she’d told you. You didn’t know much about their hometown in Indiana, but it always sounded like some shit went down. Robin didn’t like to talk about it much, so you didn’t pry. But there were times when it seemed like certain words, or places, or scenes from movies that would trigger them in some way.
It wasn’t that you felt left out— clearly the things that bonded them together back then weren’t fun. But you figured there would always be a part of their lives you were missing out on. So you tried to make up for it wherever you could.
You weren’t sure exactly when your friendship solidified with the boys, but you guessed it happened somewhere around the time you stuck up for Robin at that awful dive in the East Village. Some guy had muttered something ugly and homophobic under his breath, loud enough for Robin to hear. You’d seen her shrink back into herself, embarrassed and hurt, and before you could think better of it, you’d snapped back at him— sharp enough to draw attention from the bartender and get him kicked out, and succinct enough to not cause a complete scene.
You’d been shaking, adrenaline running high, but the guy backed off, and Eddie, who you barely knew then, had stared at you like you’d just sprouted wings. Steve had bought you a drink after, his way of saying you’d passed some invisible test. And Robin had grabbed your hand on the walk home, squeezed tight, and told you she was glad you were her friend.
That was the night you realized maybe you weren’t just a tagalong. Maybe you were theirs, too.
Your wineglass is warm in your hand now as you half-listen to Steve and Robin going in on Eddie.
“You gonna set mousetraps around the fridge? Sprinkle flour on the floor and check for footprints?”
Robin snorts into her glass. “Oh, you complete amateaur, Stevie. He’s gonna do something way more convoluted than that.”
Eddie smirks, a little secretive, like he’s been waiting for this opening.
And then it hits you. “Oh my God,” you say, sitting up straighter. “You bought a camcorder, didn’t you? That’s what was in the UPS package.”
For a moment, Eddie’s eyes light up like a fireworks show. His grin is wide and boyish, all dimples and triumph, and it makes your stomach flip so hard you nearly lose your grip on your wineglass.
Across the island, Robin actually groans, tipping her head back. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did,” Eddie crows, pointing at you with both hands, practically glowing at being caught out. “And see? Y/n gets it. She’s the only one who believes in justice around here.”
And your stomach flips again, harder this time, because suddenly you’re not thinking about sandwiches or construction workers— you’re just watching him glow with that wild, boyish excitement he gets when he’s on a roll, and it’s enough to make your wine feel like it’s gone straight to your head.
“Unbelievable,” Robin mutters into her glass, and then louder: “You’re a broke, starving musician-slash-barista, Eddie. You haven’t paid for a round of drinks in, like—” she looks at Steve for confirmation.
“A year,” Steve says immediately, pointing at him. “At least.”
Eddie gasps, affronted. “There’s no way that’s true”
Robin ignores him. “And instead of chipping in for drinks like a normal human, you’re out here blowing your money on camcorders to chase down imaginary sandwich thieves?”
Steve shakes his head. “You still owe me for rent, by the way.”
“You guys should not even be paying rent for that dump,” you say, before downing the last of your wine. Robin immediately fills your glass back up, and tops herself off, draining the bottle.
“You guys don;t get it,” Eddie insists. “This is the only way I can save money. Every sandwich that goes missing? That’s four, five bucks worth of groceries right there. Multiply that by however long this has been going on—”
“Maybe your whole life,” Robin goads, with wide eyes. “Maybe this is all one big conspiracy.”
“—and pretty soon you’re looking at major savings!” Eddie barrels on, undeterred. “Or, best-case scenario, evidence. I catch these guys red-handed? Boom. Lawsuit. Huge payout. Million-dollar settlement.”
Steve’s cackling now. “A million dollars. Over a turkey sandwich.”
Eddie swivels toward you. His expression softens, smug but conspiratorial. “And since Y/n is the only one who sees my vision, she’s the only one who gets to know my plan.”
“Oh, don’t encourage him,” Robin groans, rolling her eyes.
But Eddie’s already leaned closer, lowering his voice. “What do you say, counselor? You in?”
Your heart kicks hard against your ribs, the wine blurring your usual instinct to overthink. With him looking at you like that, like you’re his partner in crime, it’s impossible to say no. You nod, solemn and maybe a little giddy.
“I’m in.”