Chapter Text
Is Eddie fully aware he is stretching the plausibility of his current “bathroom break” from class? Yes.
Does he care? Mmmm, not so much.
Just how it is.
Mrs. Vernon’s going to have to deal.
And so when he sees another student in the hallway he is only too happy to have a distraction.
He gives a low whistle and spins right around on his heel as you pass.
Eddie doesn’t whistle at you because he’s not an entire Neanderthal. He’s focused on what you have.
“…hold on, hold on. What am I seeing?”
He hooks a finger on the edge of the canvas you’re carrying and gives a little tug. This only prompts you to tighten your arm, which, ya know what? …fair. If a guy goes around getting grabby he ought to get rebuffed.
Kudos.
“Just looking,” he throws his hands up – a plea of innocence, your honor!
You merely arch a dark brow.
“You already did more than look…”
And, again. Totally fair.
“So I did,” he bends in a theatrical half-bow as a way of apology …and incidentally as a way to put him at the right height to cock his head and get a better look at your painting anyway.
He grins when he hears you chuckle. You pull the canvas up for better inspection, so he straightens.
He already knows this picture. A haggard looking zombie, hair akimbo, in front of a brick wall and cloudy nightscape. Now that he’s closer, he can see it’s made of a zillion tiny little dots.
“…oh, this is metal….”
“I would hope so”
Eddie’s eyes dart up, surprised. He’d certainly meant it as a compliment but, not for nothing, he hadn’t expected you to take it as one.
“…is it yours?”
“No,” you roll your eyes. “I stole it from the art classroom and thought I’d take it for a walk.”
Huh.
Sassy.
“Honestly? Art thief might make more sense …” he leans his weight onto one leg, tilts his head, and taps his chin with a finger.
Considering.
Because he knows you.
Er… sort of. You sit by the window in his Government class (where he sits smack in the back thank you very much) and he’s never really noticed you. Except to, well, notice . Just to know who is around and, most importantly, figure where everyone in the vicinity ranks on his personal Scale of Douche-ery. You’d been staunchly in neutral territory because you don’t do much of anything. You’re one of those people who are just kind of …there.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Uh-oh.
You’re frowning.
Alert! Danger, Will Robinson!
It seems Eddie’s toe is on a line. Clearly you aren’t amused with his comment. He wonders if a brief overview of your more-or-less favorable position on his Douche-o-Meter would help, but he’s not sure he has time for such a lesson if he wants to save this social interaction.
And…
He thinks he does want to, actually.
“Uh…I dunno,” he feigns ignorance
He has found this technique to be tried and true.
“Riiiiight,” you don’t buy it.
You start to continue on your way. You don’t look pissed, exactly - Eddie’s pretty good at knowing when people are pissed with him – so he stutter-steps after you to grab your elbow.
Then he remembers you hadn’t liked him grabbing your art so maybe you don’t want him grabbing your person, either?
He yanks his hand back.
You stop, though.
“Sorry…but am I supposed to assume you dig Iron Maiden?” He points a finger toward you and then down to your painting. “C’mon.”
The smile he throws up is his charming one. It doesn’t work on the girls around Hawkins High very well, what with him being “The Freak” and all, but some of the chicks around The Hideout eat it up.
“…maybe you shouldn’t assume things.”
The comment seems loaded and, ooof, point for fucking you.
La-dee-dah.
“You got me there,” he crinkles his little smile again.
You return it - a bit.
That’s something.
It emboldens him a little again.
“Soooo,” he sing-songs and hooks a finger in the edge of the canvas again to slightly lift. Stoops for another inspection. “Out with it. What’s with the little polka-dots?”
“…it’s pointillism. Out first assignment was to recreate a piece of art in a different art style.”
Eddie guffaws.
“…so you picked Iron Maiden? ”
Of all fucking things!
You shrug in answer, and he sees a blush even though he obviously — obviously — approves.
You’re kind of funny.
“Some kids were asking if they could do movie posters and it got approved, so I figured I could. And …I’ve just always liked this one…” you roll a shoulder under your pale blouse and study your own painting. “Maybe because he shouldn’t be there? Or just the juxtaposition with the blacks and yellows? The macabre in a mundane place…”
You shrug again.
Eddie nods and looks back down.
“…his eyes are killer. I like the red.”
He catches the way a smile lights your face before you tamp it back down into a more neutral look.
“Thanks…I figured Ms Ghee wouldn’t realize I took artistic license...”
Eddie snorts, and then the pair of you are snickering together.
“Now who’s assuming?” he can’t help but point out.
“Touché,” you allow, and Eddie accepts the point concession with a dramatic hand over his chest.
“Why polka-dot-ism though? Looks like it took for fucking ever,” he bends in again for another close look.
Some of the dots are bigger than others but still.
Ugh.
“Pointillism…and it was relaxing…”
No way.
“We have very different definitions of that,” he wraps a knuckle against the painting before straightening. “…so is this your favorite album? Or their newer stuff?”
To his surprise, you don’t unfurl with excitement to discuss this most excellent topic. Your face tightens up again and you raise a brow.
“…you’re not being that guy, are you?”
Uh?
Eddie looks right and left in mock-suspicion, then whispers:
“…what guy?”
Because: no.
Honestly.
He’s just him.
You sigh like you’re put-upon. Which is unexpected and kind of sounds exhausting? But Eddie leans in because he’s intrigued in the best sort of way.
This is so much better than Trig.
You.
This painting.
Kindda nice to know Hawkins High still hides little secrets here and there.
“Ya know…the guy who is all about a thing,” you gesture to his attire, “so you have to be the arbiter of that thing? People have to prove themselves because you love it the most? Like …name 5 songs or I won’t believe you’re a fan?”
You’d thrown on a rough, low voice for this last part, and you roll your eyes when you finish.
Huh.
“…I don’t think I sound like that.”
You throw a hand up, clearly over it, and move off on your way again.
“Whatever”
“No, no, no,” Eddie double times after you. “I don’t think I was doing that…” — Or was he? Is that even a thing? Must be… — “Well. If I was, I didn’t know it, so I’m sorry. I just like talking about music. Or listening to music. Or playing music. I play guitar...”
“I’ve heard,” you’re at least still engaging with him even though this is now a walk-and-talk.
He is nothing if not adaptable.
He keeps your pace.
“Or thinking about music—that’s not bad, either.”
He’s ultra aware you’re heading back in the general direction of Ms Vernon’s class, which is disappointing, buuuuut he’s got to go back sometime. Probably.
“Hmm…” you side-eye him.
“I swear. I’ll bore your fucking socks off with music talk,” he holds up both hands as some vague pledge to do just that. “So if I find another metalhead I just wanna both throw it all out there, you know?
Your face loosens back up, and Eddie finds himself grinning.
“…sorry to disappoint, then,” you slow to a stop. “I wouldn’t say I’m a metalhead. I listen to all sorts of stuff – I just want to hear everything I can. I’m a mood-listener, I guess…”
Good enough by him.
“…how so?”
“Like… I just listen to whatever matches my mood.”
Eddie thinks he wants to see whatever “mood” metal speaks to for you, but he isn’t sure if he should say so.
“Oh…well, I guess I feel you a little about listening to anything – I’d rather have some kind of music on than silence,” he concedes. “I mostly love metal and rock, though. I listen to it no matter what in order to get into the mood I want to be in.”
You hum in thought and tilt your chin like you’re actually giving this philosophy fair consideration.
“I think I get that…”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah…music can do that…”
Definitely.
“Alright,” he heaves a deep and forlorn sign. “Am I being that guy if I tell you that I saw them live a couple years ago? Iron Maiden.”
You snort.
“No”
“…mkay. Good!” he punches the air. “They were in Fort Wayne for the Beast on the Road Tour. Had to go. Talk about music doing it for your mood…” he thrashes his head a few times in emphasis.
You laugh so, yeah, he supposes he’s not that guy. Which is good because “that guy” sounds like a fuck, and Eddie would hate to have to put himself on his own Douche-Chart.
“…I’m not much of a concert girl.”
“What?!”
Both of Eddie’s hands fly to his chest and he stumbles like he’s wounded. Mortally so, in fact. He’s not sure if he is shocked, exactly, but the sentiment is downright offensive to his nature.
“They’re too crowded,” you put on a shudder.
Hmm. Well. Sure. But that’s half the fun baby!
You just shake your head when he tells you so.
Ugh. Fucking fine.
Every party needs a pooper and whatnot.
“…well, if music but no crowds is your thing then you should come to The Hideout. Tuesdays. My band plays.”
He’ll always recruit a fan.
“Wait wait,” you hold up a finger as you think, and Eddie gives you the seconds for it. “Are you trying to tempt me to come see you play…by telling me people don’t come see you play?”
He shrugs like he could possibly be bashful when talking about music.
You laugh.
He gives you a fresh smile.
“…is it working?”
You consider.
“Maybe not in the way you’re intending…”
“So? …shame?” He starts patting down all of his pockets and looking around wildly. “ …shame? Nope, I don’t see any shame here.”
You laugh along appropriately but don’t make any assurances, which seems about right.
“Alright. So. Let’s rewind this conversation,” Eddie claps his hands, then points two finger guns at you. “…what are the chances I can have that?” He hones in on the painting again.
He’s got the perfect space on his wall for it.
“Oho! You sort-of-maybe insult me and then think you get gifts?” Your face reads skepticism again except for the grin betraying your mouth. “Kinda conceited, Munson..."
“Gift?” he scoffs. “No. I’d pay — I’m not a total twat”
“Language, Mr Munson,” the vice principal morphs out of seemingly nowhere.
Or he just steps around the corner. Whichever.
“Right right,” Eddie clears his throat, then pledges: “…I am not a completely depraved reprobate. Was that better?”
Mr Kent scowls.
Then he turns to you and sizes you up and down.
“…Mr Munson, I hope you’re not having someone else do your art homework for you,” he muses when he spots your painting.
Fuuuucking dingus.
“Nope. I’m not in that class”
Eddie shoves his fists into his pockets, smiling genially with the knowledge he can’t get detention for something impossible. Most likely.
“It’s mine,” you confirm, nodding.
Mr. Kent looks you up and down again. Evaluating. You bristle less about it than you had when Eddie had essentially done the same thing, and he gets annoyed with himself for having momentarily been of the same mind as this straight-laced old dweeb.
“…does your mother know what you're spending your time on?”
“Yes sir. She’ll be happy I got a good grade,” you spin the canvas around to show him where a small paper had been taped to the back with a calligraphy-esque “A ” looped on it.
Eddie flashes you a congratulatory thumbs up behind the VP’s back.
He also wonders if Ms Ghee is going to get interrogated over what kind of projects she’s assigning the innocent children of Hawkins…
“Very well. Where are you supposed to be?”
“I have study hall”
“And you, Mr Munson?” He swivels his gaze back to Eddie, an overall more obvious target.
“I’m just coming back from the restroom,” Eddie nods at Mrs Vernon’s door nearby. “Gotta get back to Trig.”
Pale blue eyes bounce from Eddie, to the alleged classroom, and then back.
“Let’s go, then,” he gestures the way.
“Oh Sure! Let’s,” Eddie agrees.
He allows himself to be escorted and waltzes back into class like he’d hardly been gone. He should probably be grateful Mr Kent doesn’t bother asking his teacher about just how long he’d been MIA, but instead he spends the last 20 minutes of class annoyed he’d been thwarted from his attempts at adding to the menagerie that is his bedroom wall.
Pointillism.
Who fucking knew.
A couple weeks later, and it’s still hot out.
Hot enough that you’re seeking out shade during your free period – because study hall is essentially a free period under the current librarian’s watch. So you’ll be taking study hall out here on the lawn until the weather gets too cold to do so.
A shout of your name startles you.
You glance over your shoulder to see Eddie Munson jogging along the sidewalk in your direction. You toss him a wave but don’t wait up — you’re both heading in the same direction. You hunker in on the opposite side of the tree and wiggle around to find a comfortable spot for your back to rest.
“You suck at hiding,” Eddie announces once he swings around the tree and promptly drops down beside you.
“Good thing I wasn’t hiding, then … …uh, hi,” your tone is a little strained on the greeting. Awkward.
Because he’s sitting so close.
Eddie is kind of funny about boundaries, you’re learning. Personal bubbles are, like, not a thing? You think maybe it’s a habit born of his inclination to be provocative and test people.
“Hi,” he greets blandly.
He seems to read the situation because he backs off a little. Doesn’t ditch out but straightens so his shoulder barely brushes yours instead of being all pressed up beside you.
Courteous of him.
“That doesn’t look like homework,” he nods at your sketch pad, which you’ve collaged the cover of with stickers and magazine clip-outs.
“…and this doesn’t look like Trigonometry,” you point out because there are people who could have the high-ground about you bending a rule, but Eddie Munson is not one of them.
Not at all.
“Shhh,” he lifts a long finger over his lips.
You both grin together. As if this is any kind of secret.
“Ohhh, skipping class? A whole new leaf for you, huh?”
“Yup,” he pops the p. “Just like you, I contain multitudes….”
Maybe it’s silly, but you kind of enjoy that he appreciates this sentiment. That he is maybe trying to remember not to shoehorn you into one thing or another.
“Gottcha. So you’re only a reprobate half of the time?”
He smiles widely over you regurgitating his words, and it reaches his eyes.
“...probably more than half.”
You smile despite yourself.
You find that you’re more at ease with him than you had been when he’d taken notice of you and your painting the other week. At that point, it was the longest conversation you’d ever had with him. Or, rather, the only real conversation you’d had with him besides a word or a nod here and there in passing.
Now…you think you might be starting to get used to his presence.
Kind of?
Eddie had tracked you down twice now about your “darker artistic proclivities” — and yes that is a direct quote. He’d explained he was genuine in wanting his hands on that painting and about being willing to pay.
“Not a twat, remember?”
You were kind of flattered by that, honestly, but turned him down. The more he had needled, the more you’d thought maybe it would feel pretty cool to sell some of your art (that’s the dream, right?). But the truth was that you’d been able to paint that project on a bigger canvas than you ever usually used since it was part of the class, and you weren’t keen to give it up so soon.
And though you had felt stupid when your started explaining this to him the second time he snuck up on you… Eddie apparently didn’t think it was stupid. He’s left it alone since then.
“For now," he’d added.
But maybe that last bit was only for show.
Hard to say.
“Whattcha workin’ on?”
He asks today like this is no big deal. Like the two of you lounge around and discuss your hobbies on a regular basis. It’s a cozy sort of attitude for him to take even if it also makes something bashful surge up in your chest. The familiarity isn’t earned, but…maybe it doesn’t need to be. As usual, you remind yourself that this is just Hawkins High. He’s just Eddie Munson. You don’t have to be shy.
So you focus on facts.
His words.
See, normally you were pretty private about your work, save for family. Or a couple close friends. Or Ms Ghee, who obviously requires you to share your work for a grade and expects a lot out of you in order to give you her thoughtful feedback since you actually care about her class. Outside of that, you don’t go waving your hobbies around.
Would Eddie Munson, of all people, even get that? Probably not.
Then again…
You think he might dig what you were working on.
So rather than tell him to mind his business you pluck the tablet off your knees. You’re getting close to the last pages of this one and have to thumb carefully back to where you’d last been working.
If Eddie notices your discretion he doesn’t mention it.
“Whoa…” he doesn’t grab the book, but he plants a finger on the page to twist it more in his direction. “The fuck and I’m looking at?”
It’s just a pencil drawing this time.
“What’s it look like?”
“…an eyeball floating in the sky with a fucked up waterfall of tears,” he summarizes.
“Eloquent”
But not altogether wrong . Surrealism is a little fucked up sometimes.
“...is there a fucking cityscape inside the eyeball?”
“Uh-huh”
He swings his gaze to yours, his large brown eyes curious and waiting.
“Alright … so? Why?”
…why?
You shrug.
“What do you mean why? …why does the grass smell? Why is your hair wavy?” You gesture at each of these things in turn.
“…because someone mowed it. And due to genetic something-or-other, I think.”
You elbow him because he’d chosen to sit so close and therefore shall pay the consequences for his smartassery.
“That’s it? Come on. Tell me about it,” he sighs and then starts jangling his leg back and forth so it bumps yours. “Cmon, cmon, cmon… ”
“It is what you said it is…” you concede to the bare bones first. “We did this project this week: Mrs Ghee played some music and we had to paint what we felt …or what we thought the song meant. However we wanted to take it,” you explain. “It was some classical music that I didn’t love, but I like the general idea of it. So I’ve been playing around with trying it.”
“… …with drawing music?” he cottons on.
“Mmhmm”
Eddie laughs and you squirm; if he—
“That’s so sick! …more Iron Maiden?“ he tilts his head back down and takes in the sketch with a whole new glint to his eyes.
You feel a rush of strange gratitude toward him.
“No, not this time”
“…what song, then?”
“Guess,” you goad him.
“Ah. Shit, at least give me a who…” his knee jostles you some more but in a more distracted, excitable kind of way.
“Uh-uh”
“So cruel…” despite his grumbled complaint, he’s still gazing over the piece with eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Ugh. How the hell can I guess when the whole wide world of music is an option?” He slams a fist into his knee. “You’re killing me…”
You borrow a page out of his theatrical textbook and look him up and down with exaggerated head movements.
“...you look pretty alive to me”
He chortles but sighs.
“Not for long…”
“Just guess”
His long hair flicks as he shakes his head.
“Not until I feel confident about it…” he’s chewing on his lip. Arms crossed.
Thee. At. Rick.
“If you never guess, you’ll never know…”
“Oh,” Eddie throws up his hands. “You’re Van Gogh and Confucious, now. Great.”
You laugh.
“How---oooo!”
This exclamation and a pair of wide eyes give Eddie away just before he lurches forward. You follow his trajectory and realize he’s reaching for the headphone cord hanging out of your bag.
You launch forward to stop him before his fingers can curl around it.
“No way!” You catch his arm and kick your bag away. “Cheater!”
“Nah – you didn’t give rules!” Eddie declares with a vigorous twist of his upper body.
You move easily and shove to counter the way he’s still trying to lean across you.
“I’m making a rule now!” you yank on his arm and are quite certain he only comes with you because he chooses to. “No cheating.”
He merely blinks at you.
“…that is less of a rule and more of a verbal preference for fairness.”
If he expects that his wide eyes will convey innocence he is sorely mistaken. You see only mischief. The kind that makes you grin, but it’s dishonesty all the same.
Fine.
“All you can use is your brain,” you keep your hold on his elbow and tap his forehead in emphasis with your free hand.
“Well,” he smiles. “My brain tells me it would be smart to get my hands on that tape deck…”
You will not smile in return. You. Will. Not.
You won’t let yourself.
You must win this.
“You can only use your knowledge of music. No tools.”
All is quiet for a few moments before Eddie grumbles, apparently seeing no quick loopholes.
“Such a killjoy… …” he laments and takes a few extra moments to study you for weakness. “But I’ll accept your terms.”
He holds his hand up for you to shake. You’re surprised, but you decide to believe he isn’t lying straight to your face. You ease your shoulders and slip your hand into his for a brisk shake.
Only then do you realize just how entangled the two of you are after his sudden attempt at skullduggery. You release his other arm and lean back. He rights himself, too, removing his weight from your side.
Luckily your sketchbook came out unscathed. No wrinkles or dirt from tumbling off your leg.
“I’m going to need to think about this …I want to win,” Eddie declares in a tone that sounds akin to a growl. “Can I have the drawing? You know – for observation.”
That’s twice now.
You wonder if he’s some kind of squirrel trying to worm away little treasures from others. Maybe more of a magpie, then?
Or maybe it’s another way of testing people.
“It isn’t finished”
“…is it almost finished?”
More or less.
“Suppose so…”
“Alright,” he holds up a waiting palm.
“Will I get it back?”
You’re not sure why you give a shit. How many full sketchbooks and random loose leaf papers do you have around your room that you never even hang up?
Only…it feels so strange to give it away.
“Maybe,” Eddie just wiggles his fingers. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see…”
Which. Should bother you, right? Because it’s not an answer. Certainly isn’t a promise…except for maybe a promise for another interesting conversation in the vague future
But…it doesn’t bother you.
You do roll your eyes, but you’re more intrigued than annoyed or else you know you’d be retreating.
“Alright…”
You carefully pucker the perforated edge of the page while Eddie exuberantly punches the air in silent but thorough triumph.
He calms in time to take the paper from you. He holds it delicately between two fingers and unzips his backpack so he can slide it into the middle of a Dungeon Master's Guide. You’re no stranger to Dungeons and Dragons, and you’re about to make a comment on his book, but he beats you to words.
“What else you got in there? Anything good?” He’s eyeing your sketchbook all over again with ravenous curiosity.
Nope. No.
You hug it to your chest.
“Oh. I get it,” his nod is solemn. “It’s full of nudes?”
“What!?” You laugh but can feel yourself blushing while Eddie snickers in delight. “No! You perv… no, some of it’s just private...”
“Right. That’s what I’m saying …some of it is nudes.”
You elbow him again.
“Don’t worry. I would never judge you— I respect all kinds of art,” he lays on a pompous accent to assure you.
“Shut up,” you elbow him a third time, a record as far as your violence at school is concerned. “I’ve never taken a class like that…”
“Yeah, but would you?“ his bangs fall over more of his face as he tilts forward and waggles his eyebrows
Would you?
Yeah.
“…probably.”
Eddie thrust a finger close to your nose.
“Now who’s the pervert!” He laughs like he’s so clever.
“…I just mean because I could use some work on proportions.”
God, you're really blushing. You can tell. You can feel it. What are you? A child?
Geeze.
“Proportions … …I bet” he smirks.
“You! You are the prev,” you laugh because at this point it’s either that or melt into the grass from needless embarrassment. “No question.”
He tilts his head.
“Probably yeah… …and, hey, if you ever take that class I would be happy to take a peek and see if you’re doing well,” he nods at your sketchbook.
You try to knock him again, but he barrel rolls to the side and springs to his feet. He tuts at you once he’s standing and brushing himself off.
“Such aggression today…good thing I’m taking off. I don’t feel safe here anymore…”
“I’m sure that’s why you're leaving… …you have a campaign to plan?” You nod at the backpack he’s shrugging on.
He twitches, and his face goes blank in confusion for a second.
You wonder if he’s expecting ridicule to follow. Hellfire Club isn’t exactly the most subtle name for a school club, nor is Eddie a subtle guy to begin with...and fantasy games aren’t exactly “cool” around here. People don’t get him or his hobbies, but who the hell are you to judge?
People don’t seem to get you either, and you think you’re pretty damned simple.
Maybe Eddie is, too.
After a beat or two he blinks himself back into awareness.
Grins.
“No…I mean, yeah — always,” he recovers with a shaggy shake of his head. “I’m always planning. But, no — not right now. I’ve got a shift. I’m a bar-back every now and then. Wouldn’t want to be late…”
“And Trig can’t keep your attention anyway?”
He shushes you again about that.
“Wait a minute …” he frowns, freezing in sudden realization. “Wait, wait, wait. What the hell are you still doing here? Study hall at the end of the day and you should be blowing off!”
Ugh. You wish.
“I have to give my brother a ride home … …sometimes I go grab a soda or something, but otherwise,” you shrug and gesture at your tree friend.
His mouth makes an understanding “o” as he starts to back away, thumbs hooked in the shoulder straps of his bag.
“Enjoy playing school bus”
“I will,” you scoff and pull your cassette player out.
“Tell me what you're listening to!” Eddie stops his retreat to sink to his knees and flail his clasped, beggy hands around.
You shake your head and glance around to see if there’s witnesses.
He gets back up with all the same drama, arms gesticulating against this atrocity.
“Fine!” He spins to march off. “Call me when you’ve got the nudes!”
His parting line makes you jolt and glance around again. Thank everything you don’t see anyone nearby. You pull your headphones on so that if he says anything more you’ll just never have to know about it.
Geeze.
Eddie Munson.
Never exactly what you expect.
But all in all a nice surprise.
Who knew.