Through A Glass Darkly | Eddie Munson x Reader

Chapter One

Note: This fic will be S4 compliant up to a point - and we all know which point that is.

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"Did you see that new chick in Homeroom?" one meathead said to another.

Eddie hung back behind the tiled partition in the locker-room to listen. He hated the public bathrooms. One too many cornerings for his taste. But the gym locker-room was usually deserted between classes.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who'd figured that out.

"Saw her in the hallway," the second one said. "Kinda weird. Hot, though."

The first meathead hummed in agreement, then said, "Total lezbo."

Eddie knew what that meant: She'd ignored the meathead.

"How do you know?" asked the second, a tease in his tone. "You say something?"

"Nah, man, you can just tell."

Yeah, Eddie bet that one had a lot of experience getting rejected by smart, weird girls. Him, on the other hand? Well, he had experience getting rejected by all the girls in Hawkins. He didn't think they were lesbians, though. They were just afraid of his reputation. Or maybe intimidated by his presence, his wit, his fashion sense, and stunning good looks.

Yes, he joked with himself, he was the total package.

In a run-down trailer he shared with his uncle to go along with it.

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. Apparently, she shared a homeroom with that meathead, so she was a senior. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

Later that day, he monitored the cafeteria, never finding a new, hot, weird chick. Maybe she had a different lunch break. Though, he figured he would've seen her by now. There were only so many seniors at Hawkins High.

Gareth and Jeff were discussing - arguing - with Henderson about... something. Eddie lost track of the conversation a few irrelevant facts ago. His baggie of generic Cheez-Its was long empty, along with the plastic cup he'd filled at the water fountain.

Tired of sitting, Eddie stood and left the table. There were fifteen more minutes until class. Maybe someone would buy the last of his weed; then he could go through the lunch-line for a sublime-smelling slice of pizza.

He marched to the tables in the shaded courtyard. People noticed him, and his black lunchbox, but looked away.

No takers.

There were always people hanging around behind the building. Usually smoking.

He went through the open double-doors beside the gym, the sun blinding him.

On his left, a male voice said, "Hey, Munson!"

Eddie squinted and turned to the voice. His eyes adjusted, and he grinned when he recognized the speaker.

Bingo.

He said, "Lowe, what's up?"

"You got anything good in that lunchbox, dude?" asked Lowe.

"Don't I always?"

Lowe chuckled. "Hell yeah."

Seven minutes later, Eddie was twenty-five dollars richer and had an invitation to a weekend party. He smiled to himself as he joined the lunch-line. Parties meant drugs, drugs meant money, money meant adding to the Get (the fuck) Out of Hawkins Fund. He reminded himself to call his Indy connection for a meet-up, checking his pockets for change for the payphone.