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

part six: the reunion

AN: i love this chapter sm. also, if anyone's seen the summer i turned pretty, tiny bonrad easter egg somewhere

CW: alcohol, drug mention, profanity

Bold: Eddie's POV

What the fuck was going on with you?

Eddie's heart had raced from the moment he'd heard your voice on the other end of the phone, distorted and slow, and was racing still as he followed the thump of music around the bend of the lake.

The moonlight was streaming eerily through the van windows, illuminating the treeline as he sped down the graveled path.

Finally, he reached a familiar stretch of drive; he knew this kid– had catered keggers here years ago. Back when it certainly wasn't your kind of scene. Hell, even now he was baffled at the object of you getting obliterated surrounded by insufferable future-frat initiates in the home of someone you hardly knew. It wasn't like you.

God, he hoped you were alright.

Your hands caught the back of the massive pleather couch, the sweat on your palms practically adhering you to the surface as you leaned over to check the sitting area for your sweater.

Where, where, where...

"Looking for something?" Someone spoke from your left.

Or was it your right?

You didn't look up, instead keeping your eyes peeled for the knit green heap of fabric you'd shucked off what felt like mere moments ago.

How long had it been?

"Sweater," you stammered back in response. "My sweater."

You began lifting pillows off the couch, clambering around it to unsuccessfully search the cushions.

It was hopeless. Your most reliable cardigan was at large, floating around the party and probably drenched in the same beverage now intoxicating every remaining cell in your brain, blocking them from producing a consistent chain of coherent thought.

You could've cried.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, don't sweat it," the same voice rasped, closer to you now.

Your vision was too hazy to recognize their face, but their voice didn't sound familiar at all.

It sent an uneasy chill down your spine.

The owner of the voice raised a hand to your head, patting it comfortingly but eliciting a jolt of rage from somewhere in your drunken brain.

"Fuck off! I have a boyfriend!" You swatted their arm away, not even waiting to watch it fall as you stormed through the living area and out to the foyer.

Red solo cups lined the ground as you kicked past, grabbing the staircase railing for support while your head experienced a particularly dizzying absence of clear sight.

You just needed some air.

Before you could reach for the handle of the massive entryway door, it swung open.

"(Y/l/n)?"

You were crying.

Why were you crying?