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

part eleven: hold on tight

AN: i've only been gone for a day and i already miss u all. also so many people guessed the cliffhanger i genuinely considered changing it LMAO but i'll let u have this one. this time. (although in fairness the chapter i started as a rewrite of this one ended up taking an off kilter turn and it will never see the light of day, so original plan it is) next chapter coming as soon as i can! still no consistent wifi :/

CW: brief allusion to drugs, alcohol mention

"Harrington?" You whisper-yelled as you approached him at the edge of your driveway, blocked from view of the front door by your family's station wagon. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Steve Harrington, who you hadn't seen since school, aside from a few passing interactions at Family Video, held up the ball of green fabric in demonstrative defense. "Figured you'd want this back."

You snatched it from him as you squinted against the bright morning light, crooking an elbow to shield your eyes.

He nodded at your gesture, now with his arms crossed against his chest. "Yep, a few too many rounds of party punch'll do that to you."

"Thanks. For this." You held up the knit fabric, nodding to him. Before you turned to leave him, you stopped in your tracks, curious. "So, uh, did you see me last night? Or did you just happen across this?"

"Oh, right, well, you sorta did this maneuver of grabbing me and laughing in my face, giggling about whoever you were just on the phone with. And then you did a little dance, I believe, followed by what I can only think to describe as a tunnel-visioned trek to go find your boyfriend."

Oh, Jesus.

Your face reddened as you cringed against the foggy remnants of the prior evening. "Anything else?"

"Aside from dropping the sweater and throwing it at Jason Carver? No. Although you did have another... altercation with him." The older boy winced as he dropped the words out slowly.

"Spare me the details. Please." You huffed a laugh, pressing a hand to your brow as you bit back the hovering embarrassment from your intoxication, the fabric of your sweater clutched in your fingers. "I'm officially never drinking again."

"Good on you," he tapped your shoulder lightly with a fist before crossing in front of you to pass through your driveway. "Hold onto that thing. And hold onto him."

You tilted your head, turning to face him as he backed away. You knew who he meant. "How'd you know?"

He gave you a knowing smile, like he'd been in your shoes before. "I've never seen anyone drive all the way to Lover's Lake from the other side of town for somebody they wouldn't do anything for." He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, kicking a rock with his toe before looking up at you again. "I know love, (Y/n), and I know what it's like to lose it. So friend to friend? Hold on tight." He dipped his chin to you as he exited, making his way down the block where'd he'd likely parked his car to avoid any questions from your family.

You'd always remembered Harrington to be a bit of an ass. But if the past few months have proved anything to you, it was that people aren't always what they seem. You supposed the guy was a good person for Robin to have around. And you were certainly thankful as you clutched your sweater to your chest, optimistically trying to ignore the scent of tequila entwined in the knit polyester.

He was right, of course.

The gesture reminded you of Eddie. How much he'd done– even without knowing it– that had kept you grounded all these months.