#something a lil cheesy for this dreary monday! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pullhisteeth · 1 year

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in which Eddie's love languages are quality time and acts of service - and you're a commitmentphobe

something small that came to mind the other day (I definitely do not do the annoying thing of never doing the things I commit to, no, definitely not). it's a lil bit christmassy so sorry about that lol. college!au, gn!reader, etc etc. fluff. 1.4k.

so you do this thing which you are convinced pisses all your friends off, where you declare that you're going to do something - wash the dishes, finally fold your laundry, finish a book, braid your hair, go to the gym, bake something - and then never do it. it happens far too often and you are so sure it drives them mad, Nance and Robin surely rolling their eyes at one another when you once again flop down on the couch and resolve that today will be the day that you repot the plants in your dorm room.

and it does. they're your friends, but friends can be irritating despite how much we love them regardless, and it's maybe one of your bigger flaws.

they groan about it between themselves sometimes, the same way you do with Robin when Nancy ditches girls night to finish another piece for your college newspaper, or the way you do with Steve when you catch Robin in another conversation with the cute girl behind the counter at the campus café who she still hasn't asked out. every single time, she joins the two of you with that look on her face that says, not this time, folks, sorry.

they often brush off your declarations of intent, humming without paying much interest, and you know it, of course. you also know they're your friends, so it's their job to put up with this.

but then there's Eddie. Eddie is a new friend, as of the months before summer break, though his presence at nights out or evenings in with the whole gang is so concrete he may as well have been here the whole time.

Eddie is also incredibly pretty. he throws you off guard often with his throwaway compliments ("you look great tonight, sugar") and those hands he fails to keep to himself. they land on the small of your back sometimes when you're leaving the bar. other times his knee nudges yours when you're sat beside each other during movie night. and, worst of all, sometimes his fingers brush yours as you walk, and it takes everything in you not to grab hold and never let go.

one evening, you've come home from class and changed into pyjamas and you're padding sullenly through the apartment you share with Nancy and Robin. like clockwork, you throw yourself onto the empty couch and say: "tomorrow I'm gonna go on a long walk."

"right," you hear Robin mutter from where she's sat on the other couch, her eyes trained on the complicated looking crochet project in her lap. Nancy's out but Steve and Eddie are sat at your dinner table - they may as well live here, you sometimes think - working on assignments.

"I'll come with you," Eddie says.

it surprises you; normally the only acknowledgement of these whims you ever get are the uninterested noises from Robin or Nancy.

"you will?" you return, turning your head to look away from the ceiling and over at Eddie.

"sure," he says, still looking at the assignment on the table in front of him. he's holding his forehead, pinching it in concentration. he looks pretty in the ebbing sunlight, as usual.

"sweet," you mutter back.

and he does. he sticks to his word, turning up sometime mid-morning the next day with a thick coat on and two coffees in takeaway cups. you wander with him around the park near campus and try your hardest to keep your expectations low.

he's a friend. it's not a date.

the following week you're back on the couch, watching a rerun of Golden Girls, and you let your eyes wander around the room, paying little attention to the television. you stare up at the plants hanging from the top of the cabinet by the door, and the ones on the windowsill.

"I'm gonna do it," you say. "I'm gonna repot them."

"mm-hmm."

Nancy's at the dinner table, scribbling away on various pieces of paper. she gives you the usual hum of okay, sure, yeah without looking up at you.

"need a hand?" Eddie asks. he's on the other couch, halfway through a joint.

you turn over onto your side to look at him.

"yeah, okay. wanna go to the garden centre?"

"only if we can look at the fish."

"obviously."

this cycle continues. every few days, your dramatic commitment to a new thing will go unnoticed by your seasoned friends, but Eddie won't let whatever it is go. when you tell them you're going to go to the beach, for some fresh air, he offers to drive you there. when you declare that you're going to bake them some bread, and finally learn how to kneed, he brings you bread flour and promises he'll bake weed brownies with you one day. and when you decide that today is the day that you'll take your resumé to the cafe round the corner, he looks it over with you and walks you over. I could do with a coffee, he tells you.

you get the job, starting a week later. you're working 3 shifts a week between classes and sometimes closings shifts roll into the evenings, when you'd usually be doing nothing in your little living room with your friends. on these nights, when it's dark before you finish, Eddie is always stood beside the back door as you leave. the first time it happened he said he'd been on his way home from class and had spotted you cleaning up inside so thought he'd wait for you, but then it happened two days later, when you know he doesn't have any afternoon classes. and so after every late shift you emerge from the back door to find him smudging out a cigarette with his shoe, and he looks up at you and smiles, and you walk with him two blocks back to your apartment.

after a month or two, you're on another close. it's December and you're on your last shift before you hitch a ride back to Hawkins.

"he's out there again," your boss mutters as he comes in from emptying the trash.

"hmm?"

"your boyfriend. does he have to smoke out there?"

you feel yourself warm, the bloom of embarrassment and something more under your skin.

"he's not my boyfriend. I'll ask him to stop smoking, though."

"some friend you got then, walkin' you home every night."

you don't respond, bottom lip between your teeth to hide your smile. you speed through everything else on the list and grab your jacket and bag when your boss waves you off with a half-hearted happy holidays, and skip a little too quick out the fire door behind the kitchen.

sure enough, here he is, though tonight feels different. you quickly spot him smudging the cigarette out, but as your eyes drift back up they land on something colourful in his hand.

he looks up when he hears the door but he doesn't smile like usual; instead it's small, laced with apprehension. but it blossoms when you grin at him, so wide your eyes nearly close.

"good shift?" he asks.

"hm, it was okay. what've you got?"

you step closer and look down to see that it's a pretty bunch of flowers.

"uh, I... if I don't do this now, I owe Steve fifty bucks."

you look up at him, confused. "what?"

"wanna go get dinner?"

the bliss that swells inside your chest feels like enough to lift you off your feet. you grin again, and he smiles back.

"Eddie Munson, are you taking me on a date?"

he looks down at his feet, bashfully kicking the stub of his cigarette with one shoe.

"I mean, I thought the walks home and everythin' were obvious enough, but..."

you giggle at him, thinking about all the evenings he'd drop you home without more than a hug goodbye, leaving you kicking yourself for thinking this could be anything more than good friends.

"my fault," you say. "wanted to say something, but I'm not good at committing to stuff."

"nah," he says, looking up at you again. "you just needed a hand gettin' it done."

lifting the flowers, he holds them out for you to take. as you do, he takes your bag and, before you can protest, slings it over his own shoulder. they're pretty, deep reds and purples.

"these are beautiful, Eddie."

he smiles back at you and brings his hand to the small of your back, as always, as you leave.

walking down the street, past closed-up shops in the cold, your hands brush his as he gets closer and closer. you seize the opportunity, finally committing to something, and wind your fingers between his.

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