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

part nine: frantically yours

AN: this one's a little goofy but i love it sm. we r rly eating good i swear

CW: alcohol mention, light profanity, possible second-hand embarrassment (sorry again) (no im not (again))

Bold: Eddie's POV

The only sound in the trailer was the reverberation of metal dropping onto the linoleum floor, backed by the distant tremor of coffee dripping into the pot.

Fuck. What the fuck.

He stared at you, mouth agape.

You stared back.

The silence was unbearable.

He sucked in a breath, like he was about to say something, but you were too overwhelmed to listen as you suddenly turned on your heel and booked it back to his bedroom.

You were standing on his carpet, having slammed the door shut in your own fit of nerves, when he rapped on the frame from the other side.

"(Y/n)?" He sputtered, clearly unsure how to interpret the series of events he'd just experienced. "What the hell?"

You hid your face in your hands, embarrassed even from behind the closed door. "Yeah, yep, that's valid."

"You love me? What? And why'd you run away? What's going on?" Concern and confusion equally laced his gravelly voice as he continued tapping on the door, trying the handle.

"I just... I need a minute!" You shot back, pacing around in circles in front of his closet.

You caught your reflection in the massive mirror housing his guitar; makeup was caked under your eyes; you were still in your clothes from the party last night, the hem of your shirt now twisted around your waist from sleep. Your cheeks were puffy from the alcohol, a faded blush stamped on them from the heat, now magnified by your own humiliation.

Fantastic.

Eddie stood outside of his own bedroom door, contemplating.

Recapping.

After revisiting the order of events several times, he was still confused. And he really needed to see you.

"(Y/l/n)," Eddie sighed, exasperated, from the hall. "Come on, open up."

You made your way to the door, palm hovering over the knob, when you had an epiphany:

"I need to call Robin!" You gasped, swinging the door open to face him.

He'd been leaning on it, and as he stumbled over the threshold into his room, you ducked under his arm, swapping places.

Now in the hallway, your frantic gaze met his. He seemed equally as confused as you were ardently panicked.

You put a hand to his chest, pushing him back further into his room as you swung the door shut again.

"Stay!" you shouted desperately. "I'll, uh," you searched for the phone, still hanging on the hook where you'd last seen it, "I'll be right back."

"Seriously?" he mumbled, presumably to himself as he rubbed a hand over his face.

What the fuck?

You sprinted to the phone through the kitchen, already trying to figure out what you were going to say.