Eddie Van Halen imagines

Cliche

Warnings: none
Word count: 925

I enter my fifth period English 3 class, taking a seat. I waited for Eddie to get to class, he was usually in after me. The classroom was cold, and the window had a perfect view of the bleak and rainy day it was.

"Hey, y/n." Eddie says, taking a seat

"Hey, what's up?"

"Not much." He shrugs "kind dreading this class."

"Why?"

"Cuz it's English."

"I like English." I shrug

"I know, it's cuz your good at it, writing and stuff."

"You don't know that, it's not like my writings are free to the public."

"True, but still. You've helped David with song lyrics sometimes, and they're really good."

"Thanks I guess."

The teacher walks into the class, writing o the chalkboard.

"Alright class, today we start our poetry unit. We'll be writing a free verse, all of us." She says

I hear groans among the students. Poetry was one of those subjects that you either love or hate, and most people hated it.

I see Eddie sigh.

"What? Don't like poetry?"

"No." He shakes his head "that's why I wrote music, not lyrics."

"That's fair." I nod "but it's free verse, there aren't any rules."

"True."

I rip out a piece of paper from my notebook, handing it to Eddie. I watch him blankly stare at the paper for a few minutes. A few minutes turned into twenty, and still the sheet in front of him was empty.

"Let me help you." I say

I move my chair closer to him, straightening out the paper.

"Ok, it's really not that difficult. Think of something you love, so much that it's changed your life forever." I say

"Music." He finally says after hesitating

"Ok, now think of what you love about it."

"I don't know." He shrugs "it ties me to people, it's built relationships?"

"Good." I nod "Now take all of that, think of how you write music, and so it with words."

"Ok."

Minutes later I turn and see he'd finished the poem.

"May I?" I ask

He nods, handing the paper to me. It read:

She sang my soul back together
More times than I can count
I hope somewhere, somehow
She knows that

"Holy shit Ed, this is amazing."

"It is?"

"Yea, I like it a lot."

"Alright, let me read yours then."

"No, no!" I panic, watching as he took the paper

My shoulders fall and my face goes full panic.

"Wait y/n this is really good."

I stay silent.

"She never looked nice, she looked like art. And art wasn't supposed to look nice, it was supposed to make you feel something." He recites it

I bring my hand to my eye, preventing a tear from falling.

"Y/n, this is amazing."

The bell rings and I take the paper from him, giving him a small smile before abruptly exiting the classroom. The last two classes quickly ended and I made my way home.

I pull into the driveway, taking the key out of the ignition, and sitting in silence. I sighed before getting out and walking to my front door, making my way inside. I walked upstairs and into my bedroom, quickly searching through my backpack for the piece of paper.

After finding it, I lay it on my desk. I pull out a binder from underneath my bed. It was labeled POEMS in large cursive writing. I open it and flip to the very back, adding in the poem I'd written today, the one Eddie had complimented.

I hear a knock on my door and hurriedly push the binder back under my bed before scrambling to the door. I open it and see Eddie standing in the doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Hey." I say, stepping aside to let him into my room

"Hey, I'm sorry for taking that paper today."

"It's ok, it's not a big deal."

"I really liked it too."

"Did you?"

"Yea, I was actually wondering if I could read it again?"

"Uh, yea sure." I nod

I pull the binder out and flip through the pages, some old and brown, some new and crisp, some smelt of autumn and others bleak and cold. I find the poem, taking it out and slipping the binder away. I hand the paper to Eddie, watching as his eyes scan over the page multiple times.

"Well?" I ask

"It makes me think of you." He says

"What?"

"This poem, it makes me think of you."

"It does? Why?"

"Cuz, you make me feel something."

"What?"

He leans into me, closing the space between us with a kiss. His hands roamed from the back of my neck to my jaw to my arms and then to my waist. He was gentle and smooth, the kiss was slow and melodic. He kisses me once more before pulling apart.

"I know the poem says you don't look nice, but you're so pretty."

I smile, my eyes pouting at the comment. Not because it made me sad, or angry that he'd said that, I just appreciated it, so deeply appreciated it. Nobody had told me that since I was little, it was a feeling I missed. It was like my heart skipped a beat and then got covered in pixie dust.

"Thank you." I say, my head falling

"Of course." He nods "What was that big binder?" He asks

"It's just full of all of my poems, some are really old."

"Maybe we can read them sometime."

"Yea, maybe." I nod