Eddie Munson Oneshots

Green Isn't Your Color

"What would you think if I started hanging out with Chrissy Cunningham?"

The question is so sudden. With no preface or anything to call back to, you simply turn quickly to Eddie and blink. You offer somewhat of a nervous smile, pinching the half-smoked cigarette between your fingers and adjusting the red beanie on your head. "What?" you chuckle lightly.

He chuckles a little in return, seemingly nervous as he runs a large hand through his hair and shrugs his right shoulder. He repeats his question. "What would you think if I started hanging out with Chrissy Cunningham?"

You don't know how to answer his question. Is he asking you if you like Chrissy? Is he wondering if he should go through with it? You can't tell, his eyes don't give you much to work with, nor do his words. You shake your head and take a long inhale from your smoke, allowing it to fester in your chest for a moment before you blow it out and pass it back to Eddie.

"I'd think you were being weird," you say, picking at some peeling paint under your hands on the picnic table. You shrug your own shoulder next, trying to ignore the way your heart pounds especially hard in your chest at the prospect of Eddie laughing with the blonde leader of the cheer squad. "It's Chrissy Cunningham. I mean, I thought cheerleaders weren't your type."

He leans back with his hands gripping the edge of the table, laughing a little as he flashes that Eddie-smile that almost has you melting. "My type?" he chuckles. "Who said anything about my type? I said 'hang out', not 'go out'."

Then your heart quickens in your slight panic to correct yourself. "Oh, well...still," is your only save. Again, you shrug it off like it's nothing, shaking your head lightly as you make a little face of furrowed brows and tightly pressed lips.

Eddie's smile widens, ever-teasing as he licks his bottom lip. "What, are you jealous that we only 'hang out'? Do you want to 'go out' with me, Red?" His joke hits too close to him. You feel the muscle in your chest hammer ruthlessly against your ribcage.

You are quick to respond, though, shaking your head and laughing over the throbbing heartbeat in your ears as he takes a drag from the cigarette and watches. "What? No, don't be ridiculous!" you lick your lips, you can taste your red lipstick painted over chapstick.

"I don't like you like that." A lie. "I hardly like you at all!" A joke. "I mean, it's just..." A pause. "It's Chrissy Cunningham. Why would you want to go- hang out with her?"

You have no quarrel with Chrissy, you know how kind she appears to be to everyone in the school. You have known of Eddie's mentions of his liking toward her for years, but never bring any attention to it for fear of making it true.

Eddie shrugs again, "She's nice." It's the only explanation he gives, a half-hearted attempt to convince you of her virtue — or it's him leaving your answer open for rejection. But you don't catch that second possibility. It flies right over your Eddie-gifted ruby red beanie that grants you your nickname-sake.

"Alright? And?" you inquiry, as if genuinely looking for another example. And part of you is, but the other part is hoping he'll drop it all together and forget it ever happened so you can keep him all to yourself.

He doesn't.

"I need another reason?" he questions, raising a brow and huffing out a half-hearted laugh.

"I mean, yeah," you lick your lips again and feel your fingers flex toward your bag in an absent-minded search for your lipstick. "Kind of."

"She caught my attention, alright?" He taps the butt of the Marlboro a couple of times and watches the ashes fall onto the picnic table, which he smears over the wood after a moment of hesitation for the heat.