Work Text:
When you first moved to Hawkins, you became the talk of the town. As a little girl, no taller than a blade of grass, the attention caught you off guard. All the stares were overwhelming.
You noticed how your mamá would clam up at the supermarket counter, stumbling over her words in English, her eyes darting about the space.
You felt the weight of it that evening when your brother came home from school, a dark bruise surrounding his eye. He'd been called a slur and decided to stand up for himself, but two against one wasn't much of a fair fight.
You were strangers in a strange land.
Hawkins didn’t offer the community you craved. The one or two other Latino students in the area treated you as if you had the plague, even opting for colored contacts to hide their dark or warm brown eyes.
Your family wasn’t perfect, but your heart ached for the other Latino kids who struggled in Spanish class, choosing to fit into the mold that Hawkins demanded instead.
Maybe that’s why you felt such intense jealousy toward people like Eddie Munson.
You first met Eddie when you were a young, awkward teenager, 13, and struggling with your identity. You were constantly battling the desire to be proud of your heritage while wanting to abandon it all behind for acceptance from your peers.
One day, you were sitting on a bench in the lunchroom, absorbed in a novel. Tommy, a freckle-faced boy in your class, came over and sat next to you. Your body froze, apprehensive about being called the latest popular slur. Tommy's grin leaned toward manic as he spoke with a sincerity laced in sarcasm.
“Have you got a date for the formal?”
You silently shook your head, careful not to respond verbally.
He tossed a pink bottle your way, making you flinch before you looked down.
Nair.
His sneer was unmistakable as the rest of the lunchroom erupted in laughter, and his cruel words shattered your heart, leaving shame sinking deep into your bones.
“Maybe this’ll help. Get rid of those hairy arms and ‘stache, yeah?”
You sat there, your hands trembling and cheeks burning, unable to look away. Running away would only make things worse. You clenched your fists, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.
“HEY! Hagan!”
You looked up, your brows furrowing as your cheeks continued to burn, locking eyes with Eddie Munson, who strode across the cafeteria, a blaze of anger in his eyes.
You had crossed paths with him once or twice—Eddie borrowing your pencil in math or English—and you knew he had a less-than-stellar reputation thanks to his incarcerated father and his love for metal music.
Tommy's lip curled in disgust as he turned his attention to the boy, his tone full of venom. "You want something, freak?"
Your stomach flipped as you clenched your eyes shut, silently praying that Eddie wouldn’t join in on the current club of students who made your life miserable.
CRACK.
The noise echoed through the lunchroom, causing everyone to gasp. Your head snapped up to see Eddie punch Tommy across the face, tackling him to the floor, his anger palpable.
Time seemed to freeze as you watched the fists fly in slow motion. Teachers rushed in to pull the boys apart, Tommy rambling about how ‘mental’ Eddie was, while Eddie fought against the teachers, all his venom directed at Tommy.
A sense of comfort and curiosity washed over you.
The day dragged on, and by the time the final bell rang, you found yourself heading to the office. There he was. Despite his beaten state, the 13-year-old exuded an air of confidence and nonchalance that made you green with envy.
Glancing around to ensure no one else was in the office, too busy with calls and papers, you slipped into the seat beside him. He looked over, brows furrowing slightly. His hand ran over his buzzed hair, and his warm brown eyes captured yours.
“Y/N? What are you doing here?”
Your smile faltered as you shrugged, your heart racing in your chest. What were you doing here? After rifling through your mind for a safe answer, you settled on the simplest one.
“Wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
His lopsided grin, bracketed by dimples, made your stomach flip in a way that would have alarmed a doctor. He shrugged, sinking back in his chair, pride seeping from him. “Nah, you should see the other guy.”
Your smile shifted as you took in his split lip, black eye, and bloodied knuckles. Your heart ached, and your gaze fell to the floor. Before you could stop yourself, you asked the burning question on your mind.“Why’d you punch him?”
There was a brief silence as you both sat there, your heart thumping in your chest. Maybe you were a fool, but your naive mind had daydreamed about moments like this. Someone jumping up to save you, accepting you. Finally, a princess in a fairytale, and not some ogre. His voice was raw, the vulnerability traveling through the space to you, the immediate spark it drove igniting a flicker of hope.
"I know what it's like to be labelled as weird for something you can't control...but it's not fair that what they make fun of you for...it isn't a shitty parent or something one degree from you. It's you. It's your blood. It made me so pissed to think how many times this probably happened without a singular person standing by your side. I know I wish someone would do the same for me."
Your heart soared in your chest as you looked over to him slightly, your worn sneakers edging over the carpeted floor to touch his own, your voice so soft it barely registers over the chatter in the office.
"Thank you."
You and Eddie passed one another like ships in the night for the rest of the year. Missed connections, glances, lingering touches...but never a word.
Now there you were in your sophomore year, having cruised below the radar. You took care to hide all the parts of yourself you felt were too vulnerable. Replacing homemade meals with school lunches, and shedding your body hair with creams and razors. You still got teased; notes taped to your locker, and the offhanded snicker at your pronunciation of certain words, but you survived.
At least up until your world history class. You were doing a cultural festival at school, the words alone making your skin break out in goosebumps. The assignment was to have two students pair up to create a trifold for the country they were given, with extra points for creativity. Pleading with God, promising to pray the rosary more often, and confessing your envy of people like Tammy Thompson, your nails bit into your palm as you looked up. A waft of powdery sweet perfume drifted by, letting you know your teacher had left your country's assignment on your desk. You glanced down, acid burning your throat as your cheeks were aflame, your heart stopping.
There it was, clear as day. The tie to your family's home, the place you simultaneously loved and loathed.
Goosebumps erupted on your skin as your mind snowballed, realizing your teacher must have given you the assignment knowing where you came from, knowing the blaring difference that made the other children of Hawkins avoid you. She stood before the class, instructions called out, your mind struggling to tune in.
You saw people clammering to stand up and pair with one another, making your skin prickle with anxiety and your hair stand on end. Paired with the wrong person, this would be a way to open up old wounds. You sat there, staring at the swirling grain of stained wood that was worn and covered in writing and pockmarks.
"Hey, Mouse."
Your brows furrowed as you looked up, the voice belonging to none other than Eddie. His chocolate brown eyes twinkled with mischief, his arms crossed in front of his chest, hand clutching his assignment. Leaning against the edge of the empty desk in front of you, he tilted his head, grinning.
"Guess we're partners."
A breath escaped your lungs, relief filling you. "Oh...cool."
Eddie stared at you for a moment, something flitting across his expression before a hand grabbed the chair in front of you, straddling it to continue facing your direction. Leaning onto the back of the chair, his eyes explored yours as he spoke gently, his tone bleeding sincerity in a way you'd never seen from a fellow teenager.
"Look, I know how much people tease you for this...But I think it's cool. Makes you different. And I want to say, whatever you need me to do...if it's fight off bullies, sit back and let you fill out the board, or even just doing it myself...Though I can't guarantee we'll get the best grade for that."
Eddie's boyish grin made your heart skip a beat in your chest as you sighed, the bell ringing alerting you to the end of class. You wrote down your home number quickly, packing your bag as you spoke.
"We can work at my house, I just have to explain to my parents first. You can call today, and we'll work out a time and day, okay?"
You rushed out of the classroom before you could hear his answer, ribcage rattling with nerves as you raced to your next class, your mind stuck on the metalhead with a heart of gold.
At home, you wring your hands as you explain to your parents the project, and the boy coming to help you out. Your family is joyous, thankful for your opportunity to represent their home. You feel anxiety bubble up in your stomach as your mom begins to get busy planning the food you can bring to school, and pulling the flags out to let you borrow. You want to rejoice with them, but feel your mind drown with worries, knowing Hawkins can be cruel.
The phone rings among the chaos, and you answer, your voice struggling to speak over the chaos of your parents excitedly discussing what to prepare.
"Hello?"
Eddie's signature boyish grin can be heard over the phone, making butterflies erupt in your stomach. "Hey, little mouse. Sounds like chaos over there. Your folks excited for me to head over?"
You swallow your nerves, trying not to give in to the fear tugging at your mind. "Actually, they're ecstatic about this project. Planning a feast seems like."
Eddie chuckles before planning a few days for the two of you to meet, deciding to first work at his trailer for two weeks and then work at your house before the two of you part. A calmness settles over you as you realize maybe you could trust the Munson boy.
The weeks pass in mundane fashion, you and Eddie formulating a little tri-fold with information required in the rubric. Eddie is enthusiastic about drawing some of the art regarding the mythology, pointing out how 'metal' the creatures look. You feel a sense of lightness in your chest, and a growing pride. Eddie admires the history and traditions, and even tries his hand at pronouncing the words correctly. You recount stories told at bedtime, monsters, or tales of warning. A hole within your chest begins to stitch together, as Eddie comments on the legends, his excitement making you regard them anew.
It's the final day before the project is due, and Eddie is coming over to meet your family. Your stomach twists as your heart leaps at the thoughts spinning in your mind.
What if your parents lash out at him?
What if he feels awkward?
What if he finds your family weird?
But that's all washed away as you hear the knock, your mother opening the door, and Eddie immediately leaning in for a kiss on his cheeks, returning the gesture. Your mouth twitches with a smile as you see he remembered one of the small points you'd told him. The tri-fold is painted in bright, vibrant colors, so reminiscent of home to you.
Eddie comes in, and while his Spanish is a little clunky, he engages with your mother in Spanglish as your hands tremble. She leads him into the house before looking at you both, smiling.
"I know what you both need, eh?" She nods, heading further towards the hallway, leaving Eddie to glance at you, your cheeks heating as you shrug.
She returns with some hangers on her arm, the two wrapped in protective sleeves, and your skin prickles as you try to rush forward, shaking your head, eyes stinging. Your voice is low and insistent as you try not to break her heart, her brows furrowing at your tone. "Mamá, no, por favor. It's too much-"
Eddie reaches for a hanger, unzipping the protective sleeve to see elaborate traditional clothing, a dress for you. The clothing tugs at your heartstrings, the soul in it so clear. You remember tracing tiny fingertips over the clothing and imagining a day it would fit you. Eddie freezes, his fingertips gentle as he brushes the fabric, almost fearful it'll break. It reminds you of yourself. His voice is soft, and the palpable awe felt in how his words travel to you. "You'd wear this?"
A breath catches in your throat as you nod, voice weak. You can't handle the ridicule…but for a moment, you almost think he would wear the clothing with a sense of pride. "Yeah, and you'd wear the dress shirt, but it-"
He looks to your mother, nodding, jaw determined. "Sí. Let's do it."
You and Eddie spend the afternoon helping your mom prepare the food she plans to cook tomorrow. Laughter echoes through the kitchen as he charms your parents, making your heart swell with pride.
The next morning, you head to school, aware of everyone's eyes on you. Your mother helped you do your makeup and hair, striking red lips catching the gaze of most of your classmates. Boys wolf-whistle at you as you pass by in the hallway, but Eddie isn't far behind, glaring daggers. You want to sink beneath the floorboards, skin crawling with anxiety, hoping that you can somehow escape the attention.
Eddie squeezes your shoulder, eyes kind and smile soft. He scans your face, bringing you back to the present moment. You sigh softly, counting down the minutes to your social suicide.
You stand in the locker room, changing alone. No one else was going above and beyond the project; they often just muttered complaints about the assignment.
A burst of pride swells from within at your appearance when you look in the mirror. You're full of life and vivid. Your dress has handmade details, and you practically glow. You bounce on your toes as you go out into the gym, waiting for Eddie to exit the locker room. He appears, his usually unruly hair tied back into a low bun, and the dress shirt and pants make him look impeccable. Your heart flutters as your mind swirls with images of him and your family, fiestas and asados, the threads of your own culture interweaving into his life. He smirks down at himself, his voice carrying a cockiness as he holds out his arms and takes a slow spin.
"Well, I think I look the part, don't you-"
He stops in his tracks as his eyes look up to see you standing there. His gaze sweeps over you, mouth open and cheeks flushing as he covers his mouth with the palm of his right hand, contorting into himself, his shoulders caving in as his left arm wraps around himself. His voice is muffled.
"Shit."
You blink at him, feeling your cheeks warm as you start to fuss with the dress, your heart sinking to the floor. Your eyes sting, feeling your chest cave in at the realization that the boy who's seen you to the fullest extent may cause your fragile soul to get buried beneath an avalanche of feelings. You stare at the floor, trying to maintain calmness through counting scuffs on the floor. Your voice is weak as you stumble over words, struggling to keep calm as you internally dodge the falling rocks, crumbling the foundations inside of you.
"I..Is it..Is it too much? I can- I mean I would- Maybe I can change into-"
"No."
Your head snaps up at his voice, a stern note you usually don't hear. Your brows furrow as he walks up, his eyes sweeping over you as he leans down a bit, his voice soft as his calloused and warm hands touch your shoulders.
"You're beautiful. I was in awe, princess."
Your heart nearly stops beating as his touch seems to halt the incoming avalanche of insecurity. A zap of electricity ignites through you, your breath stuttering. The nickname is new, bringing a sense of giddiness. There's a small bud of hope growing in your chest, wanting to bloom.
His eyes regard you fondly. The warm, swirling brown reminds you of breakfast and the aroma of your parents' café tickling your nose, the memory wrapping you in comfort. He brushes a calloused finger along your cheek, the tender gesture making you melt into his touch.
"Let's show them how gorgeous you are, sweetheart."
You and Eddie quickly travel to the office to pick up your mother's (hefty) contribution to the project. Eddie nearly salivates at the smell. He holds most of the trays, the dress shirt he wears straining against his biceps. You feel the heat travel to the tips of your ears. The warmth lingers from barely surviving your mother's fawning and impromptu photography session, Eddie tugging you into his chest during it, his arm around your shoulder. And now you were making your way to the cafeteria that is being used as a makeshift space for the project.
You breathe out shakily, praying the clock will give you a bit more time.
In a blink, you're set up, standing in the cafeteria, Eddie squeezing your hand in reassurance.
You smile softly at the students who pass by, their gazes often lingering on you. Cracks nearly open up when you notice the other few Latino students' eyes sweep over your display with a longing gaze. The students you know often shed the accents on their family names, play a part, and the pressuring heat of America's Melting Pot liquefies them into being deemed as digestible. Your smile is genuine to those who stop by you, and take some food or a moment to read.
You notice the students who turn up their noses or snicker at you, but ignore it. Even Tommy Hagan can't touch you, his sneer making you roll your eyes.
Eddie is all theatrics anytime someone walks up to read; he's excitedly giving details. Genuine interest and animatedness to even something as simple as plant life make him engaging to watch.
Your teacher comes by, impressed by your work, and hands you a rubric with an A.
Towards the end of the festival, you and Eddie begin packing up. A sigh escapes your lips as your stomach sinks to the floor upon gazing at the trays of untouched food. Eddie notices the dip in your shoulders, knocking his own into yours gently.
"Hey, I have Hellfire today. Mind if I take these?"
You glance up at him, your chest buzzing with life. "Are you sure?" You chew on your bottom lip, trying to will the insecurity away.
Eddie nods, holding up a hand in oath, the other to his heart. His tone is deadly serious despite his playful demeanor.
"Princess, I would fight a wyvern for another 10 empanadas. I mean it."
A giggle escapes your lips as you wave him off, the grin on your face pulling painfully at your cheeks. He continues, sticking his hands into his back pockets, his shoulders shrugging up to his ears. His cheeks have a soft dusting of pink, his gaze fixed on the trays.
"Besides, it's primarily a group of teenage boys. They'd eat the minis if I let them. They'll be glad it's not the same ol' pizza tonight."
He seems to pause a moment.
"Actually, would you like to join us? Maybe not tonight, but sometime in the future."
You grin, nodding. "Yeah…I'd love that."
The smile that crosses his face will stick with you for years.
You and Eddie enter a tentative friendship, exchanging smiles and jokes in class. He inspires you to embrace your language, your heritage. You're walking on air, practically weightless. What follows is two years of a blossoming friendship. The two of you become closer than ever in your senior year, complete with you joining in on Hellfire and even becoming Corroded Coffin's number one roadie, helping them with setup at The Hideout. But then you get the news.
Eddie failed the year.
He's staying in Hawkins.
A combination of his father's constant tornado of a being alongside his struggle to focus and his reputation led to his classmates and teachers neglecting to assist or even consider that he completed his own homework.
Your heart breaks into pieces. You care deeply for Eddie. You've grown accustomed to his laughs, his horrible jokes, and his protective personality. You kept it hidden behind closed doors, but you dream of days when the two of you escape Hawkins together. Living somewhere big, surrounded by a Latino community. Los Angeles…New York…somewhere where you feel held by the familiarity of culture, but free to explore the world.
It's the night before you leave for college. A scholarship granting you the access you need to escape this godforsaken town, a big city. Your family, of course, is in tears, but is throwing a party in your honor. They're beyond proud. Eddie, having been in a depressive slump, has neglected to visit you or talk to you since your graduation. You're seated, watching your aunts and uncles dance, the smell of fresh food and the loud music bringing life to usually gray and clean-cut Hawkins. Your heart shatters in your chest as you look out at the lively celebration, the one person you wish to see absent.
"PRINCESA! ¡Ese rockero está aquí para ti!"
You shoot up, running to the shouting, your tia at the door, Eddie standing there with flushed cheeks as your cheeks stretch to a painful smile, your vision blurring as your eyes sting. You wave him into the house, your heart pounding. Eddie steps into your world, his eyes travelling around as you lead him out back, taking in the brightness, as if his world has turned up in sights, smells, and sounds. Eddie smiles and waves as you lead him in kissing cheeks, introducing him. Your stomach flips with nerves in fear of the situation being too overwhelming. He takes it in stride. You eventually make your way around the party, Eddie being passed a plate full of food as he blushes, delivering a timid 'gracias' to your cousin.
You sit in a pair of white chairs, side by side, as Eddie melts into the cheap plastic, his groan indicative of his enjoyment of the food. You chat, Eddie apologizing for his lack of communication. You wave him off, discussing in earnest the plans of what to see in the city, how you'll send him postcards. Eddie cracks jokes and smiles, relaxing slowly into the environment. By the time your cousin's kid is passed out in a chair, your favorite song is playing. You put your drinks aside, grinning as you tug Eddie up, timidness thrown out the window.
"Let's dance!"
Eddie flushes, his eyes wide as he laughs, his nose scrunching. "Mousey, I have zero rhythm."
You shake your head, smiling as you fight the butterflies in your stomach. "I'll teach you."
You guide him out to the space, placing his arms gently around your waist as you lace your own behind his neck, leading him. You mumble the steps softly, not missing his blushing cheeks and blown pupils. At this closeness, you smell his cigarettes, the warm spices of his cologne, and the sharp, tangy apple of his shampoo. Mind gathering all these details to look back upon, along with counting the dusting of pale freckles across the bridge of his nose.
-
There are 14 of them.
He calls you out of your mind as the two of you take small steps back and forth, almost a routine. "Little mouse?"
You feel your cheeks heat as you look at him, swallowing down the anxiety closing around your throat. "Yeah?"
His lips tug up into a smile, his eyes glassy and sorrowful. The sight is like a chalk washed away in the rain: fleeting happiness with overwhelming sorrow. His voice is thick, hiding the emotions choking him. "Don't forget about the little people up there in the big city, okay?"
You nod, pulling him in for a hug, whispering. "Of course not."
Two years. You had been gone two whole years, and he hadn't reached out. Absent from calls. Letters gone unanswered. Every time you visited home, the ash in your mouth surrounding his name worsened. When the earthquakes came, your family immediately moved out of the town, escaping the quarantine. Fleeing to you, your city. They settled nearby, escaping the chaos unfolding in small-town Indiana.
You knew he had been a prime suspect in Chrissy Cunningham's murder, but you hoped he was safe. While your heart had been broken, your friendship tossed astray…you still cared for him.
But nothing prepared you for the heartbreak today.
A letter. The address was clearly written by someone else, the writing far too neat to be Eddie's. You open it shakily, fearful of the content.
The first line has your eyes stinging, the air stolen from your lungs.
Dear Mousey,
If you're reading this, there's a good chance I'm dead.
You sink to the floor of your apartment, heart pounding as your eyes scan the words quickly, heart ripping in half.
I want to first off say I'm sorry for not reaching back out. I was scared. Scared I'd mess up your future like I have my own. It's a cowardly excuse, I know. But I couldn't handle the idea of you putting your life on hold in any way after I flunked. Twice.
Anyways, I can't explain exactly what's happening, but I'm tired of running away. Tired of being fearful that I'll doom everyone or ruin everything. So here it is, plain and simple. I like you. A lot. I've liked you since the first day you showed up to school, and someone made fun of your lunch, and you called them a 'pendejo' so quietly that barely anyone heard. I love how you've grown into loving yourself and your heritage. I love how loud and joyous your family can be.
Oh, hell. Fuck it. I love you. I love you, mousey.
I have for a while. I just was too scared to say something. I regret every day not taking you to prom and showing you off, or making excuses to take you out. I regret not kissing you at the movie theater when our hands brushed in the popcorn bucket. I regret so much. I was such a coward.
I want you to know that I'm sorry. And that no matter what, I want you to be loud and unapologetic. You're amazing and smart, and you work so hard. I love you now, and I will probably love you in the next life.
Yours forever,
Eddie
Sobs wrack your chest as you cry, throwing the paper to the side as you clutch at your arms, gasps of breath to take in air. Nothing prepared you for this heartbreak.
Grief is like water, you find. Immense. Vast. Some days it's a small wave, other days it's drowning beneath the waves, constant reminders everywhere.
You couldn't attend Hawkins's for the funeral, a small function with Wayne, the Hellfire Club, and a few others. Hawkin's was in quarantine. But later, when the guards left, and things were normal once again, you returned. The leaves still changed colors. The people still whispered. Melvald's still was open, and Enzo's was still serving up the nicest dinners in town. But it was different. The color had been drained from the town, limp and lifeless.
You sit near his headstone, the sharp sting of reality harsh on your barely mended heart. You nearly laugh as a gust of wind cuts through your jacket, the scent of weed drifting to your nose. You kissed your fingertips, pressing them to the headstone as you whispered, voice raw. "I love you too, Eddie Munson."
You swear you feel a warmth across your face, the brushing of a chilly wind on a spot on your forehead, like gentle lips brushing in a kiss. A smile tugs at your lips as you stand, turning to leave.
You learn to laugh again, to smile. But sometimes, when you taste apple pie, or hear Black Sabbath on the radio, you take a pause. A breath. Your heart is healing, but…truth be told, it may remain forever in Hawkins, with the first boy to ever love you for who you truly are.
Only time will tell.