Converse | Eddie Munson x OC x Billy Hargrove

Chapter 10

About a week had gone by- I hadn't gone back to school. Or seen Eddie. Steve and I had begrudgingly gotten the Christmas decorations out, lighting the tree without any ornaments, and only placing about 6 small gifts beneath it. Christmas Eve came quickly, with no word from our parents whatsoever. I'd decided to enhance our meal prep to include some more festive options, but as we both sat devouring our ham, festivity felt far away. Shortly after the early meal I had opted to make some cookies. The house smelled like childhood. And yet, it still felt like a hollow effort. Gingerbread and chocolate chips couldn't replace good old fashioned parental guidance- and god, did the two of us need it right now.

I was operating on a whim, my whole worldview feeling tainted ever since the exorcism of Byers. Steve was operating on an outdated, denial based strategy that he'd learned from other shallow high-schoolers. What I needed, and he needed, too, was a compass. Just an indicator that we were going the right direction. But frankly, with the way our relationship had been as of late, their advice would be exactly what I needed to avoid.

I turned on an old Christmas Cassette I'd dug out of my father's study, humming along to Bing Crosby as I churned the mixture. My eyes flickered to the tree, and then to the presents beneath it, and then back to my work at hand. Upstairs, hidden in my desk, was a small, rectangular package. I'd considered not doing it at all- but something had swayed me to give him a Christmas present. I'd never really wanted to before. I felt like Christmas was something expected- presents were expected of me. I had to pick them out, from their lists, pretend to care when they pretended to be surprised. But with Eddie- I was excited to give him just a little present. And I was nervous, too. I didn't know when I'd even see him next- probably at school. School would be weird, now, between us. What were we? Were we friends? I didn't even know. Nor how I wanted to approach him at school.

After the cookies go into the oven I find myself pacing around the island of the kitchen. I take a deep breath through my nose, then out through my mouth. My head bobs a little to the music, and I spin around, trying my best to feel Christmas-y. I try really hard. But I don't feel anything. The house feels impossibly empty, and everything is too quiet- despite the music in attempt to draw more color in. I slam on the power button, going to watch TV until the cookies are done.

It's 9 at night, now. With about a dozen warm cookies gathered onto a plate on my bed, I've snagged up a magazine I've read repeatedly and flip through it aimlessly. I feel so antsy. I consider calling someone up, but when I look at the phone I realize that everyone will most likely be hanging out with their family- I'm an outlier here, wanting to chat, having nothing to do. I toss the magazine across the room. Then there's just silence.

And then there's a light patter outside of my window.

It's ignorable at first, as I wallow in my loneliness. But then it happens again, louder. I cautiously make my way over to the window, snagging a lamp on the way. My hands wrap around it defensively, and I peak outside, nervous. But there's nothing on the roof. And then I watch a rock fling up from the ground below, directly hitting my window. I jump.

Annoyed now, I fumble with the lock, dragging the stuck pane up. A few more rocks come my way before I manage to pry it open.

"What the hell?" I hiss to the person below, who I can't see beyond the roof.

My heart picks up instantly as Eddie backs up, waving his arms over his head exasperatedly. "Oh, thank god. I've been tossing those for like 20 minutes, man,"

"Eddie?" I whisper, completely stunned. I look around, as if Steve will materialize in an instant. But it's just me, in my room. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm a Christmas miracle- hold the applause," He bows.

"Shut up." I mutter, realizing how visible he was to anyone inside the house while standing on the front lawn. "Get over here."