out of tune (the guitarist: book 2) | eddie munson x reader

part four: freak out! on the fourth

AN: i was in a silly goofy mood! now back to the pining.

CW: brief drug mention, mild profanity

The landscape of the town fair absorbed the festival lights, painting the tents and stalls every hue from bright red to neon green.

Rides were spinning on their axes, laughter echoing through the crowds en masse to and from the food stands on the fairgrounds.

The Hawkins Fourth of July celebration was in full-swing.

And, of course, you were more so planning on lying in your bed wallowing for the evening, but, double-of-course, Robin had dragged you out of the house to "get some fresh air."

You'd simply cackled when she'd stepped into your bedroom, taking in the scent of weed and scented candles you'd burned to try to mask the sorrow.

She hadn't asked you about him. Part of you was glad.

What you were less glad about, however, were the waves of families and stray highschoolers bustling around you, eagerly seeking out the thrill of the festivities.

"So-" Robin began, nudging you with an elbow, just as a child ran past you, nearly knocking the bucket of popcorn from the taller girl's arms.

"Sorry! Sorry," he rambled, arms outstretched in apology. He seemed like he was about to turn to continue running, but ground his heel into the dirt to halt before you. "Wait. (Y/n)? (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"Hey, Henderson," you mumbled, pulling out that dazzling wince-slash-smile.

The kid had been present for a few of those D&D matches Eddie used to drag you to. Even the sight of the shortcake made your heart sink.

"I didn't know you two hung out," the kid pointed at you and Robin, brows knit in confusion.

"You know not everything revolves around you and your babysitter, Dustin," Robin smirked, reaching out a hand to swat at the bill of the boy's cap.

He huffed. "Steve is not my babysitter. Also, he told me to pass a message to you for making him cover your shift." The kid then raised a dramatic middle finger, waving it in the air as he barked out a laugh.

"Jesus, kid, throw that right back at him!" Robin chuckled, unoffended, beside you.

You had no idea how they all knew each other, but now didn't seem like the best time to ask as you peered over the kid's shoulder, past the darts booth.

Your heart caught familiarly in your throat.

There, sauntering toward you, was the unwitting object of your agony, about whom you'd cried listening to The Cure for the past week and a half. One Hundred Years didn't really get old when you were hopelessly broken-hearted.

And apparently, neither did the lightning shooting down your spine when you saw him for the first time since that night.

"Eddie!" Dustin half-shrieked, throwing up an impatient, accusatory arm. "I was looking for you!"

"Yeah, well, I got a little turned around, kid."

His voice. His goddamn voice.

"So demanding," Robin interjected with an incredulous shake of her head.

"It's his tone, right?" Munson leaned in, grinning at your friend.

Then, his eyes fell leadenly to you.