Author's Note: Eddie "Shoes on the Bed" Munson I know what you are
Bold: Eddie's pov
CW: anxiety, fear
The following week, you were hunched over a textbook in Eddie's bedroom, squinting as you scrawled out the remaining calculations for your trig homework.
Eddie was lying on his bed, feet propped on the wall, fiddling with a lighter.
With his shoes on.
Despite your insistence on taking your own tattered sneakers off at the door, he had protested, insisting on "sticking it to the man" despite being the primary resident of the space.
Still, you'd abandoned them in the kitchen.
The lighter-flicking paused beside you as you furrowed your brow, punching a remainder into your calculator as you scribbled down the digits.
You could feel his eyes on you.
"Need something, Munson?" you wondered aloud, holding back your smile as you attempted to concentrate.
"No, no, don't mind me, (y/l/n). Just admiring the view."
You felt your face turn red as you pinned the boy with a glare, failing miserably in your attempt to appear contentious as he started cackling.
He threw you a knowing grin.
"You know," he rose, kicking his feet from the wall and pocketing the lighter, "you have been working for a while over there, ace."
He made to raise a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
You pressed the pencil to his face.
"Busy," you taunted.
"Busy!" He echoed, throwing a hand to his chest dramatically as he stumbled backward onto his bedroom floor.
He pointed at you, then gestured to himself, laced with amusement.
"Same here. Yep, totally occupied, personally."
You grinned, shaking your head with your eyes to the ceiling as he removed his guitar from the hanger on the wall and slung it over his shoulder.
He propped himself showily in the opposite corner as you turned back to your textbook.
"Care for a little soundtrack to your troubles?" he crooned as he plugged the axe in, flipping on the amp beside him before beginning to touch up the wilting tune.
"If it'll keep you occupied until I finish, then sure, Munson, soundtrack me." He'd always had a knack for setting your heart in wild turns, but you had to admit that something in you was feeling... crowded.
On edge.
He didn't typically unnerve you this much, but you felt a pinch behind your brow as you pressed a hand to your forehead, pulling at your focus.
That caught his attention.
"(Y/l/n)? You alright?" Concern laced his stare as he sat up straight.
"Fine, yeah. Just gonna grab an Advil."
"Bathroom cabinet. Want me to grab it for you?" He pinned you under a worried gaze, making to rise from his seat.
"It's fine, really," you assured with a forced smile, vaguely waving him back as you made for the hallway.
He leaned back again, but kept a worried eye on you while he tracked your movement from the room.
You slid into the space adjacent to his door through the hall, gripping the linoleum sink-top as you peered hazily at your reflection. Your eyes were glazed, as if you were about to cry.
As you looked closer, you could swear something whispered behind you.
You whipped your head around, highly alert, but found nothing.
Your body angled back to the sink, aiming to search the cabinet behind the mirror, but when you caught your reflection again, your breath stopped in your chest.
___________________
He'd finished tuning the high E as you'd stepped through the hall.
You seemed nervous, distracted somehow, and not by him.
Still, he couldn't bite back the urge to draw you back into the room without crowding you, to see if you were alright.
With a shake of his head, he began hammering out the tabs for the introduction to that hayseed excuse for rock you'd so adamantly advocated for.
Not in his usual flavor of "pretentious hair metal," as you'd so lovingly put it, but he'd settle for anything to get you back into the room in higher spirits.
______________
You gasped for air as it swirled around you, praying for anyone to hear you as you stumbled through the school hallway.
That same shadowy smoke trailed you, pulling air from your lungs as you fell.
"This essay is not the work of my star pupil," a distorted voice echoed.
It burned in your skull as your teeth sang from the shock.
"You're running out of time, (y/n)," something whispered, close enough for you to feel it in your bones as the bodiless voice echoed through the darkened hall.
You clawed at your throat, heart thundering.
Then, as if from another world, you heard it.
______________
He was picking the melody with more stability than the time the two of you had made a joint attempt to play it in your bedroom a week prior.
He smirked to himself, recalling your fumbling fingers over the fretboard he could tell hadn't been pressed in months.
The memory of your hands under his and your neck beside his mouth stole his focus as he lost himself in the resonance of the chorus.
It wasn't until he approached the final measure that he heard a thud from across the hall.
YOU ARE READING
the guitarist | eddie munson x reader
Fanfiction"weird is a strong word, (y/l/n)" the older boy rolled his eyes flamboyantly, making a mockery of the rumors about him. you were starting to think they might be true. even so, you kept pace by his side as the two of you stumbled through the woods. "...
