𝑬𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝑴𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏

The party is louder than it has any right to be. Somebody dragged a busted speaker into the living room, and it’s blaring metal that rattles the walls and your ribs. The air smells like cheap beer, sweat, and cigarettes that definitely aren’t supposed to be smoked indoors. It’s the kind of night Eddie Munson thrives in. Eddie is across the room, perched on the arm of a couch like a gargoyle with too much eyeliner and not enough self-preservation. He’s laughing too loud, talking with his hands, soaking up attention like sunlight. This is his element. You’re just grabbing a drink when it happens. Some guy you vaguely recognize—tall, decent hair, too much confidence—slides up next to you. He leans against the counter like he owns it. He looks you up and down in a way that’s not subtle at all. “Didn’t think you’d be here,” he says, smiling like he thinks that means something. You raise an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He shrugs. “Just figured you were too cool for this place.” You snort. “That’s debatable.” He laughs, a little too eager. “I’m Mark.” Before you can respond, you feel it. That shift in the air. That very specific Eddie Munson radar going off from across the room. Eddie sees it all in real time. The lean. The smile. The way the guy’s body angles toward you like he’s testing his luck. Eddie’s grin falters. He tells himself he doesn’t care. He tells himself it’s none of his business. He tells himself you’re allowed to talk to whoever you want. His mouth does not get the memo. He’s moving before he fully decides to. Crossing the room in long strides, beer abandoned somewhere behind him. You barely have time to register Eddie’s presence before he’s there. “Oh,” Eddie says, loud and casual and sharp all at once. “So we’re just letting anyone look at you like that now?” The words hit the air like a dropped plate. Mark blinks. You freeze. “Uh,” Mark says. “I was just talking.” Eddie laughs, but there’s no humor in it. It’s tight. Defensive. “Yeah,” Eddie says. “You talk with your eyes a lot, man.” You stare at Eddie. “Eddie.” He finally looks at you. Really looks. And immediately seems to realize he may have miscalculated. “I—” he starts. “I mean—” Mark clears his throat. “Do you two…?” “No,” Eddie says instantly. Too fast. You blink at him. “We’re just—” Eddie continues, then falters. “…friends.” The word lands weird. Mark raises his hands. “Okay, man. Didn’t mean to step on anything.” He looks at you apologetically. “Nice meeting you.” And then he’s gone. The noise of the party rushes back in, filling the space he left behind. But the tension stays. You turn to Eddie slowly. “What was that?” Eddie opens his mouth. Closes it. Runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically reboot himself. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “That just… came out.” “Yeah,” you say. “I noticed.” He winces. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.” You cross your arms. “You did.” “Right,” he says quickly. “Yeah. Totally. That’s on me.” There’s a beat of silence. Then Eddie sighs. The bravado drains out of him like someone pulled a plug. “I’m sorry,” he says quieter. “I shouldn’t have said that.” You soften a little. “Why did you?” Eddie laughs under his breath. It sounds nervous. “Because I’m an idiot?” You don’t buy it. “Try again.” He looks at you, eyes flicking everywhere but your face. The wall. The floor. Your shoes. “…I didn’t like it,” he admits. Your chest tightens. “Didn’t like what?” “The way he looked at you,” Eddie says. “The way he talked to you like he’d already decided something.” You tilt your head. “And that bothered you because…?” Eddie swallows. “Because I care,” he says. Then, panicking, “Not like—in a creepy way. Just—in a normal human way. A respectful way. A—” You reach out and grab his sleeve. “Eddie.” He stops talking. “Look at me,” you say softly. He does. His eyes are wide, exposed, way more vulnerable than he ever lets anyone see. “Do you like me?” you ask. Eddie freezes. The question hangs between you, heavier than the bass thumping through the walls. “…Yeah,” he says finally. “I do.” Your breath catches. “Like,” he continues, voice rushing now, “probably more than I’m supposed to. And I try to joke it away or act like I don’t care, but I do. I care a lot.” You smile, small but real. “You could’ve just said that,” you say. He laughs weakly. “I know. I’m bad at this.” “I know,” you repeat. Another pause. “For the record,” you add, “I didn’t like the way he looked at me either.” Eddie’s head snaps up. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” you say. “But I did like the way you got jealous.” His ears turn red instantly. “Oh my god,” he mutters. “Please don’t say it like that.” You laugh. “Relax,” you say. “It was kind of cute.” Eddie stares at you like he’s trying to decide if this is real. “…So,” he says slowly. “Does this mean I’m allowed to look at you like that?” You grin. “Yeah,” you say. “It does.” Eddie’s smile spreads, crooked and disbelieving and very, very Eddie Munson. “Cool,” he says. “Cool cool cool.”