Dirty Little Secret| Eddie Munson x Reader

Time After Time

Y/N's POV
Friday, November 29th, 1985.

The piece was finished sooner than I expected, only taking me fifty-six minutes to complete, a new record for me. I feared I'd been too hasty, that I'd worked too quickly to produce anything good, but as I reread the piece for the umpteenth time, making sure I got everything right, scrutinizing my work down to every last tittle crowning each and every "i" scrawled upon the page, I knew it was done. In less than an hour, fueled by pure determination, unyielding devotion, and the last brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tart, I did the impossible. It was perfect. I mean, it had to be. My future depended on it in more ways than one. I held the coveted manuscript against my chest, reveling in my genius for a moment before folding it once and tucking it under my arm. I would have to borrow my dad's clanky word processer that he kept tucked away in the coat closet to type up two more copies, but that would have to wait until later. Right now, it was of the utmost importance that it got to the first person, the only person's eyes I cared about seeing it, right away. I sprung up from my bed and searched for my tennis shoes. Fruitless, I settled for my bunny slippers. Embarrassing, yes, but I was in too much of a rush to track down anything more appropriate for the occasion. I sprinted down the stairs, clutching the pages in my fist, the paper crumpling in my hand as I grabbed my dad's keys from the bowl on the entry table. Thunder cracked beyond my front door and I swiped my father's raincoat from the coat rack, slipping it over my pajamas. I tucked the pages into the waistband of my flannel pants before zipping the jacket all the way to my chin, an attempt to shield the precious manuscript from the rain as I rushed out to the car.

I barely let the car roar to life before haphazardly backing out of my driveway, not even looking behind me as I gunned it full speed into the road, knocking over my trashcan at the end of the drive in the process. Making a mental note to clean it up when I got back, I headed straight to my destination, reckless and speeding, hoping in the back of my mind that the police weren't patrolling tonight to pull me over and dampen my momentum. Thankfully, I was in the clear as I finally pulled into that unpaved makeshift driveway. I sprang out of the car, not bothering to close the driver's side as I marched right up the rickety porch steps. I knocked firmly at the ramshackle screen door as the rain showered over the top of my head, slicking my hair to my face and neck as a few drops trickled down my neck and down my shirt, making goosebumps raise across my skin. I received no answer at first, understandably so, as the pattering of the monsoon atop the metal roof of the trailer was deafening. I knocked again, vehemently, not stopping until he opened the door, his face overtaken by shock at the dripping wet girl standing on his doorstep.

"Hey, what're you-" Eddie started, speaking slowly as his eyes spanned over me, befuddled as he took me in.

"I read it, Eddie," I proclaimed, averting my gaze to his plump pink cupid's bow as my confidence began to waver at his apprehensive disposition. His eyes widened at my words, honestly looking like he'd seen a ghost as his eyebrows shot up and his jaw slacked. In the moment, I shrunk under his stare, not knowing if I should worry about his expression, whether or not it was an indication of the fact that he didn't want this to be the outcome of his letter. I dared to look back into his eyes, sinking back into the fondness that still lingered behind his gaze. I waded through those twin russet nebulas, finding his words there, the ones he'd spilled out onto the page just for me and I was brought back to earth, back to the reason I'd come here in the first place. Despite how he felt for me in this moment, if he suddenly found himself regretting what he'd confessed or if he didn't mean it anymore, it was my turn to deliver a letter and I'd be damned if I left without him reading it. I slipped my hand under the bottom of my jacket, my hand fishing underneath the rain-slicked polycotton until the wrinkled pages crunched under my fingertips. I yanked the manuscript out of my waistband and shoved it into his grasp.