Chapter Text
Hawkins, Indiana - Fall, 1986
The pages of the Hawkins Post crinkled between Eddie Munson's fingers as he leaned against his van, the ink rubbing off slightly onto his calloused thumb. A circled ad caught his eye, "Roommate Wanted: Female senior student looking to share a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment near town square. Rent negotiable. Serious inquiries only."
He read it twice, tapping the metal ring of his thumb against the side of the paper. "Serious inquiries only, huh? Well, I'm seriously outta here, Uncle Wayne," he muttered, folding the ad and tucking it into the pocket of his worn leather jacket. By the time he pulled up to the address listed in the ad, the sun was sinking low behind the trees, casting long orange shadows over Hawkins. His van coughed and wheezed to a stop, one speaker still blasting Dio's Holy Diver before he clicked it off. He stepped out, combat boots hitting pavement, black jeans torn just enough to make the PTA nervous, Hellfire Club tee peeking out beneath a flannel that had seen better days.
The apartment building wasn't anything fancy, but it wasn't a trailer surrounded by nothing but empty beer cans and woods, either. So progress.
Eddie ruffled his mess of brown curls, his nerves hitting him for the first time as he approached the door. He'd never had a roommate that wasn't in Corroded Coffin, and even fewer of those had been from the ‘I don't run screaming when Eddie Munson walks down the hall’ crowd- especially not girls.
He knocked twice
The door opened.
You stood there, looking far more composed than he ever managed to be at school, he knew you, the pretty girl from Hawkins High, the senior who always seemed to float just out of his chaotic orbit. He gave a crooked grin, lifting his hand in an awkward sort of wave.
"Hey, uh… I think I called earlier? Eddie Munson. Y'know… metalhead, dungeon master, part-time town freak," he said, fingers drumming a silent nervous rhythm against the strap of his guitar case. "You're the one with the apartment, yeah? Still looking for a roommate? Or did I miss my window of opportunity and doom myself to a lifetime of my Uncle Wayne's TV dinners?”
He tilted his head, his grin softening just a little.
"Mind if I come in and check the place out?”
As you stood at the door, taking in Eddie's presence, recognition sparked in your eyes. Despite his outward appearance and reputation amongst your peers as the ‘town freak,’ you saw past the stereotypes. You’d always admired his confidence and genuine demeanor beneath the metalhead exterior. A refreshing change from the superficiality that often clouded high school cliques.
With a faint smile playing on your lips, you stepped back to allow him entrance into your modest apartment. "Come in, Eddie," you said warmly, gesturing for him to follow as you led the way in towards the living area.
You glanced at him, the senior student who always seemed to reside on the fringes of most social circles but held an undeniable charisma that had always intrigued you. You’d always thought he was cute in a ‘bad boy’ sort of way, but you didn’t really know anything about him, not really, other than rumors. However, you found you were drawn to Eddie's presence, his easy smile, and the way his brown eyes sparkled with genuine interest as he looked around. His aura was different from the usual high school crowd, intriguing you in a way that made your heart flutter a little.
"So, umm… Thanks for considering this roommate situation… I've been searching for someone reliable and easy-going," you remarked as you led him into a cozy living room adorned with old vintage furniture and shelves filled with well-loved books.
Eddie looked at you thoughtfully, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Who could resist an offer like this?" Eddie replied with a casual shrug, his tone light as he looked around.
Your curiosity was piqued by this enigmatic man who seemed to carry secrets within his dark gaze. You wanted to know more about him, but you didn’t want to just bomb him with personal questions and make things weird on the first day.
You continued guiding him through each space. You pointed out details like the quaint kitchen overlooking a small backyard garden. There was sunlight filtering through overhanging branches, creating dappled patterns on its stone path. You were relieved you’d cleaned and prettied the place up before anyone had arrived to see it.
As you moved from room to room, your conversation flowed effortlessly despite the initial awkwardness outside. You found yourself opening up more than usual, drawn by Eddie's genuine interest in getting to know you beyond surface impressions.
Eddie nodded appreciatively while taking in all aspects of your potential shared living space. He could picture it now, a mix of music posters adorning one wall juxtaposed against delicate houseplants perched near sunny window sills, it could be a blend reflecting both of your personalities merging together within these walls.
"I have some house rules we can discuss if you're interested… And feel free to ask any questions or share your preferences too," you mentioned casually before pausing to open a window letting fresh autumn air filter inside, carrying the distant sounds of Hawkins' evening bustle.
The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window illuminated Eddie's features, casting shadows across his rugged face and adding an air of intrigue to his presence. His interest in your space was pretty obvious from how he glanced around appreciatively while absorbing each detail you pointed out.
Turning towards him with a smile playing on your lips, you invited casually,
"So, what do you think so far? Is this something that works for you, or are we going to clash over décor choices already?"
Eddie leaned against the kitchen counter, his rings clicking softly against the laminate as he drummed his fingers. His gaze flickered from the sunlit garden outside to the way your hair caught the golden light, and for a second, he forgot to answer.
"Clash? Nah, sweetheart," he finally said, grinning as he pushed off the counter to step closer to you. "I mean, unless you’ve got some deep-seated hatred for Black Sabbath posters or the occasional bong left on the coffee table, then we might have a problem." His smirk was playful, but his eyes were earnest as they met yours. "But seriously? This place is great. Cozy. Lived-in. Not like some sterile showroom where you’re afraid to sit on the furniture."
He wandered over to the bookshelf, tilting his head to read the spines. "Damn, you’ve got good taste. Stephen King, Tolkien…" His fingers brushed over a well-worn copy of The Stand, and he shot you a look of approval. "You’re already winning points here."
As Eddie admired your book collection, sharing his appreciation for your taste in literature, you felt a sense of connection forming between the two of you that went beyond just roommates. His easy banter and shared interests bridged any lingering doubts you may have had about inviting him into your space. You could easily see yourself becoming friends with this guy.
Turning back to you, he crossed his arms, his leather jacket creaking softly. "So rules… I’m guessing ‘no impromptu band practice at 2 AM’ is probably on the list, right?" He chuckled, but then his expression shifted. "Look, I get it. You don’t know me, and Hawkins High’s rumor mill hasn’t exactly painted me as the ideal roommate. But I’m not some chaotic gremlin… Well, not all the time."
He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the faint mix of leather and weed clinging to his clothes. "I’ll clean up after myself, pay rent on time, and I promise not to scare off any dates you bring home… unless they’re assholes. Then I might flex my ‘town freak’ reputation a little." His grin was crooked, almost shy. "So… what’s the verdict? Am I in, or do I gotta go back to my Uncle Wayne’s and endure another lecture about ‘responsibility’?" There was a hopeful glint in his eyes, like he already knew the answer but was waiting to hear you confirm it.
With a soft laugh, you playfully nudged him, feeling the warmth of his nearness. "Black Sabbath posters are more than welcome here," you replied with a grin. "And I don't mind a bit of a rock 'n roll ambiance."
You looked him over appraisingly for a moment, then decided. "Band practice curfew is definitely on the list," you teased back, his words reassuring you, showing glimpses of vulnerability beneath his confident façade. You appreciated his honesty and promises to respect your space and boundaries.
"I think we can work something out," you said softly, meeting his gaze head-on. "As long as your Uncle Wayne's TV dinners aren’t part of our regular menu rotation."
Relief flashed across Eddie's face.
Later That Evening…
It was just starting to get dark out when you heard the telltale rumble of Eddie’s van outside again, followed by the slightly too loud slam of the driver’s side door and the unmistakable sound of something, probably heavy, thudding onto the pavement.
A moment later, there was a knock. Not the kind of knock someone gives when they’re unsure or being polite. No, this one was casual, almost rhythmic. Confident in that Eddie Munson way, even if there might've been a touch of nerves under it.
When you opened the door, he was grinning, slightly out of breath, with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his guitar case hanging off the other, and a milk crate held out in front of him like an offering to the gods of shared domesticity.
The side of the crate was labeled in thick black Sharpie: “EDDIE’S SHIT – DO NOT TOUCH (unless you want to be cursed)”
“I bring gifts,” he announced dramatically, stepping inside without waiting for an official invitation like he was already testing the boundaries of his new residence. “Behold… relics from the cursed tomb of Uncle Wayne’s living room. Some of this stuff hasn’t seen daylight since ‘84.”
You stepped aside to let him pass, eyeing the crate with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “That sounds… ominous.”
“Oh, it is,” Eddie said proudly, setting the crate down on the coffee table with a soft thud. “There are mysteries in here that man was not meant to comprehend. Also, like, an ashtray shaped like a skull and a mixtape I made when I was grounded for ‘accidentally’ flooding the science lab.”
You raised a brow as he opened the crate and immediately pulled out the aforementioned skull ashtray, placing it on the center of the coffee table next to your bowl of trail mix like it was some kind of crown jewel. You just stared at it for a moment… hollow eyes, a missing tooth, the faint scent of old smoke still lingering in the ceramic, it matched nothing in your carefully curated apartment.
You glanced from the ashtray to Eddie. Then back to the ashtray.
Then back to Eddie.
He blinked at you. “Too much?”
You slowly turned to the bookshelf, grabbed a scented candle, and swapped it with the skull like it was a hostage exchange. “We’ll… workshop the décor,” you said diplomatically.
Eddie let out a full laugh, something real and bright that filled the space. “Alright, alright. No skulls on sacred surfaces. Got it.”
He dropped his duffel bag by the hallway, stretching out his arms like he’d just finished a cross-country trek. “So… I guess this makes it official. We’re roommates. You, me, and a very judged ashtray that will now live on the bookshelf next to your copy of Pride and Prejudice. Which, by the way, makes for a killer combo.”
He flopped onto the couch with the kind of dramatic flair that suggested he'd been practicing the move for years, his boots immediately propped up on the coffee table before he caught your look and sheepishly lowered them. "Right. No feet on the furniture. Noted."
The grin he shot you was all mischief, though, like he was already cataloging all the little ways he could push your buttons. Just enough to be entertaining, but not enough to actually piss you off.
"So," he said, stretching his arms behind his head, "what's the first rule of Roommate Club? No midnight jam sessions? No stealing each other's leftovers? No summoning demons in the living room unless it's a Tuesday?" His eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was a genuine curiosity there too, like he actually wanted to know where the lines were.
Then, as if remembering something, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled joint, holding it up between two fingers like a peace offering. "Also, uh... smoking policy? Inside, outside, or ‘only if you share’?"
The way he waggled his eyebrows at the last part was ridiculous enough to make you laugh, but the real kicker was the hopeful little tilt of his head, like he was already mentally preparing to brave the cold if you said no.
You could practically see the gears turning in his brain. ‘How far can I push before she kicks me out?’ and yet, somehow, it didn't feel invasive. It felt... kinda fun. Like this was just the start of a weird, chaotic, good thing.
So you crossed your arms, pretending to consider it seriously before shrugging. "Demons are fine, but only if they do dishes. And the joint? Definitely share."
Eddie's wide grin could've powered Hawkins for a week. "Fuck yeah. Roommate rules officially approved."
Then, with the kind of effortless charm that made you wonder how this guy was still single, he patted the spot next to him on the couch. "C'mon, let's break in this place right. First order of business: picking a proper housewarming soundtrack. And don't say Fleetwood Mac… I know you've got taste in there somewhere.”
The way he said it, teasing but sincere, made it impossible to refuse.
So you sat.
And just like that, the apartment felt a little homier.
He leaned forward and started rifling through the crate again like it was Mary Poppins’ bag of cursed treasures. You saw one tape labeled “ONLY FOR COOL BITCHES” written in black Sharpie and had to stifle a laugh.
“Alright,” he said, holding up a beat-up cassette tape with pride. “‘The Essential Eddie Mix: Vol. 3.’ This bad boy’s got everything! Sabbath, Zeppelin, some early punk, a very emotional cover of ‘Landslide’ I recorded while drunk… don’t ask.”
“So you do like Fleetwood Mac,” you said, arching a brow.
“Don’t twist my words, witch,” he grinned, shoving it into the tape deck. “This was a one-time spiritual experience.”
The cassette clicked into place, and the first scratchy chords of ‘War Pigs’ poured out like some low-budget blessing. Eddie leaned back with a satisfied sigh, legs manspreading like he owned the place, hair a tangled mess against the couch cushion. He didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps didn’t care, that one of your throw pillows you had behind your back, was slowly being claimed as his own.
You glanced at him sideways, then grabbed a pretzel from the bowl of trail mix on the coffee table and tossed one at his chest.
“What’s that for?” he asked, catching it mid-air like a practiced gremlin.
“You’re stealing my pillow.”
He glanced down, totally unbothered. “It’s not theft if I improve it.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t ask for it back. Truth was, you didn’t mind him being there. The couch hadn’t felt too small until now, but somehow, the space between you had become its own little world. Close, but not close enough to be weird. Just… noticeable.
After a minute, the music shifted into something slower, one of those deep-cut Zeppelin tracks Eddie had probably played a hundred times. He hummed along under his breath, drumming his fingers on his stomach, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.
Then, casually, he said, “So… what do you do when you’re not rescuing strays with weird ashtrays and questionable hygiene?”
You smirked. “I read. Mostly romance or horror. I write sometimes.”
“Write?” He turned toward you, suddenly alert in that Eddie way, like you’d just dropped a dragon egg on the table. “Like, short stories? A secret novel you’re hiding under your bed?”
You shrugged, but a flush crawled up your neck. “Just stuff. I never finish anything. It’s dumb.”
“Hey.” He sat up straighter, a pretzel forgotten in his hand. “Don’t say that. Writing’s metal as hell. Storytelling? That’s, like, the most powerful magic there is. That’s how I get people into D&D. You think Henderson would stick around if I didn’t spin a damn good yarn?”
That made you laugh. “So what, I should just start writing about half-orcs and necromancers?”
He grinned, wickedly. “Only if they have a tragic backstory and an inexplicable obsession with peanut butter.” He said while he kicked off his shoes.
You snorted, nearly choking on your own pretzel. “You’re so weird.”
“I know,” he said proudly, reclining again. “It’s part of the brand.”
Another silence settled between you, not awkward, just soft. The kind that happens when you’re not trying too hard anymore. Outside, a breeze rattled the window, and inside, the tape clicked as it needed to be switched sides.
Eddie gestured lazily toward the crate while he flipped the cassette. “There’s a deck of cards in there somewhere. You up for a little high-stakes Go Fish? Or are you too scared to face defeat at the hands of a dungeon master?”
You looked at him, with his floppy brown hair, a stupid grin, one of his socks barely hanging onto his foot, and you felt the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile.
“I’ll play,” you said. “But if I win, you’re doing the dishes for a week.”
“Oh ho ho,” he said, sitting up like you’d just thrown down the gauntlet. “You’re on, roomie.”
He dug through the crate with the fervor of a man on a sacred quest, finally pulling out a dog-eared deck of cards with a triumphant "Aha!" The box was barely holding together, the edges frayed from what you could only assume were years of greasy-fingered pizza and D&D sessions and late-night poker games.
"Prepare to be destroyed," he declared, shuffling with the kind of exaggerated flair that suggested he'd probably practiced in front of a mirror a time or two. A card flew out, landing face-up on the coffee table… The King of Hearts.
You raised a brow. "Is that an omen?"
Eddie smirked, scooping it back up and adding it back into the deck with a shuffle. "Nah, sweetheart, just my natural charm leaking out." He answered with a wink before he dealt the cards with surprising precision, his rings glinting in the lamplight. "Alright, rules: standard Go Fish, but with stakes. Winner gets bragging rights and..." He paused dramatically, eyes glinting. "Winner gets to pick the next mixtape. Loser has no veto power. And umm… something something has to do dishes for a week."
You picked up your cards, hiding a smile. "Deal."
The game started slow, Eddie's competitive streak simmering just beneath his laid-back façade. He asked for sevens with the confidence of a man holding a royal flush, only to groan when you handed him two. "You're hiding them," he accused, pointing a finger at you. "I know you've got more."
You batted your lashes. "Go fish, Munson."
He grumbled but drew, his expression shifting to pure delight when he pulled the card he needed. "Ha! The gods of chaos smile upon me!" He slapped down his completed set with unnecessary force.
You retaliated by sweeping the next round, your poker face impeccable as you calmly asked, "Got any threes?"
Eddie squinted at you like you'd just performed dark magic. "...You're terrifying." He handed over his last three with the solemnity of a man surrendering his sword.
The game stretched on, the pile of matched sets growing between you. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows in their frames, but inside, the apartment was warm, alive with the hum of music and Eddie's running commentary.
"Okay, hypothetically," he said, eyeing his dwindling hand, "if you could have any superpower, but it had to be, like, stupidly specific… what would it be?"
You tapped your chin, considering. "Hmm. The ability to always find the missing matching sock on the first try."
Eddie gasped like you'd just revealed the meaning of life. "Genius. Mine would be... the power to make any food instantly nachos. Just… bam." He gestured wildly. "Salad? Now it's nachos. Your mom's meatloaf? Nachos…"
You snorted. "That's the most Eddie Munson answer possible."
He placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head. "I live to serve."
The game reached its climax with you holding one card and Eddie sweating over his last two. He squinted at you, then at his cards, then back at you. "...Do you have any jacks?"
You grinned and handed him your final card.
His jaw dropped. "No."
"Yes." You fanned out your empty hands. "Dishes and mixtape privileges. Bow before your champion."
Eddie flopped back against the couch, arms splayed like a fallen warrior. "I've been betrayed by the very cards I love." He peeked one eye open. "...Rematch?"
You grabbed the deck before he could. "Nope. Pay up, loser."
He groaned but hauled himself upright, shuffling toward the kitchen with exaggerated despair. Halfway there, he paused, turning back with a smirk. "Hey, roomie?"
"Yeah?"
"Best damn first night I could’ve hoped for."
And with that, he vanished into the kitchen, the sound of running water and his off-key singing to Black Sabbath soon following.
You sank back into the couch, smiling to yourself. You realized… This was happening. Eddie Munson was now your roommate. And weirdly? That didn’t feel so weird, in fact… This was gonna be fun.