the shire is burning [eddie munson x OC]

chapter fifty six

"Hey, Red."

She wishes she were exaggerating when she says that her boy was a daydream. But he was - plain and simple.

Willow had seen Eddie in a multitude of looks: his casual everyday, his signature Friday attire for Hellfire, his looks that have become slowly more bundled up for the cooler months, his edgier attire for his shows at the Hideout. But she has never seen the look in front of her - Formal Eddie.

He hadn't been joking when he said he wanted them to dress up nicely that morning. Beneath his normal leather jacket, he's wearing a black button down she doesn't think she's ever seen in his possession, even hidden in the back of his closet. It's a little faded, a little wrinkled, and a little tight, leading her to believe it might be a little older than Eddie would ever admit to her. He's left the top two buttons open, and she can see his signature pick still resting against his collarbones, the swirling ink of his chest tattoos barely peeking out from behind the fabric. The shirt is tucked, messily so, into a nicer pair of slacks that Willow is sure aren't Eddie's - they look too baggy on him, and they're just short enough that she can see a glimpse of his ankles. She's willing to bet money that he had borrowed them from Wayne.

What really takes the poor girl back is his hair. They've discussed it before, the scenarios in which he would pull it back and out of the way. She's seen it thrown into messy ponytails and buns that barely held their shape a few times now, but it's clear that tonight was not one of the nights he had carelessly thrown the curls up; his hair was pulled into a more deliberate, a slightly tighter, low ponytail, and it almost looked as if he might have tried to comb it. A few flyaways still frame his face, and his bangs are still a mess to behold, but there's so much effort visible to her that she nearly breaks down.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," His teasing voice makes her eyes snap up to meet his, and she gasps when he produces a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, "These are for you."

Red roses with a plethora of baby's breath stuffed sporadically, wrapped up in clear cellophane.

"Eddie-" she starts, her words failing her as she doesn't move to take them at first, "I- Oh my God. Thank you. "

"I told you, sweetheart," he nudges the bouquet further in her direction, a shy smile on his lips, "I'm determined to do this right."

And right he has managed. More than right, really. He's completely taken her by surprise.

No one has ever bought her flowers before. Not even family. As a matter of fact, the last time she can remember anyone around her receiving flowers was from her childhood, a blurry image of her father surprising her mother with daisies making its way into her brain. But that was a rare occurrence, a habit that died even quicker than the dances in the kitchen on Sunday mornings. Really, Willow will be surprised if they even have a vase for these flowers.

She finally reaches out for the flowers and the cellophane crinkles against her palm as she holds them, looking down at them in awe, eyes glittering, "You know, you didn't have to actually get me flowers," she tries to be snarky, but her voice fails her, wavering with each syllable, "You could have just taken me to Denny's and made me split a milkshake with you, and I'd probably consider it the greatest first date ever."

"You wound me with your low standards," he dramatically reenacts stabbing at his chest, and she looks up in time to catch his face twisted in faux pain. She missed that. Terribly.

"Not low standards," she clarifies, "Just... I want you to know I don't need extravagance. All I need is you."

She turns and walks towards the kitchen before he can catch any of the tears building in her eyes, motioning for him to follow her into the living room. He does exactly that, toes nearly nipping at her heels as he shuts the door behind them.