Archive of Our Own

 

Eddie stares at the tiny piece of paper like he expects it to fold back into itself and fly away. He rereads the words, trying to see if this is some practical joke.

There’s no signature or sign-off or anything. That’s it. Just a tightly folded piece of paper shoved between the cracks of his locker. The only hint in this weird note is that they know Mr. Pope has been an utter jackass lately during his American Government class, which happens to be one of the largest classes Eddie has. It’s two classes merged together. They were told it was for some cross-functional teaching exercise, but he thinks it’s because Mrs. Fields is one breath away from death, and Principal Higgins wants to make sure he doesn’t get dinged on the poor standardized test scores at the end of the school year. So, forty people are in that classroom, and none have ever paid much attention to Eddie.

He reads the letter one more time and can’t deny that he enjoys the way the compliment feels in his bones. He does look good in his new leather jacket. He’d been lucky and found it stashed in the middle of the rack at the thrift store that weekend. He knows that’s where all the good stuff gets tucked away. People try to hide their prime goods and come back later with money. When he tried it on, it fit like a glove, as if it was made for him. It doesn’t keep him warm in this Indiana winter, but nobody ever said that looking good was easy

“Eddie! Come on, man.”

Eddie whips his neck around to catch Jeff waving him down from the doorway of the drama room. He shoves the note into his jacket pocket, grabs his stuff out of his locker, and slams it shut behind him.

“I’m coming. I’m coming. Calm your tits, man.”

“We’re waiting on you.” Jeff raises his hand in frustration as if it’s been 30 minutes and not an extra two.

"Like you should be," he says with a wide grin as he jogs lazily down the hallway.

Eddie had completely forgotten about the note until another one fluttered to the ground, out of his locker, a week later.

No sign-off or signature again. There are no further hints about who this person is other than the fact they think Eddie has a nice smile and probably wants to poke his dimples. His mom used to do that when he was a kid. It drove him crazy. But this new letter, barely one sentence long, still makes him blush. He doesn’t even know who this person is, and the idea that they like his smile is making him swoon like a fucking giggly middle schooler. Is he that hard-up that a stranger’s compliment makes him all goo-goo-eyed?

He remembers that he’d shoved the other note into his jacket pocket, and thanks to never cleaning up after himself, when he slides his fingers into his pocket, he’s grateful to feel the paper still tucked carefully away. He unfolds it and puts the two pieces of paper beside each other. Yep, the handwriting is the same. So, at least it’s the same person and not some other possible secret admirer. Although, two secret admirers sounds kind of fun. He reminds himself not to get greedy. One is plenty. He’s shocked out of his analysis when someone’s hand shoves onto the locker next to his.

“Move, Freak.”

Eddie steps back to see Tommy Hagan attempting an intimidating sneer. He looks more constipated than anything.

“What was that? I’m sorry, munchkin, I can’t hear you from all the way up here.”

If there’s anyone with a raging Napoleon complex, it’s Tommy fucking Hagan. Eddie loves to poke the weasel. He knows the guy is too much hot air to do anything than be an annoying douche canoe.

“What’d you say, asshole?” Tommy shoves his shoulder into Eddie’s arm, nearly causing Eddie to drop the two pieces of paper in his hands, but he clutches them just in time.

Before Eddie can respond, Tommy is pushed forward into the locker, and Eddie sees Steve Harrington come out of nowhere and throw his hands up in apology.

“Oh shit, sorry, man. Someone just ran into me.”

Eddie takes that opportunity to grab his math book from his locker and slam it shut, slinking away before Tommy tries anything else. He glances over his shoulder briefly as he escapes and makes eye contact with Harrington. Steve gives Eddie a wink before Eddie turns away to get the hell outta dodge. What fucking alternate universe has he slipped into?

Eddie’s sitting in the back row of Pope’s class, with the two notes spread open on his book like he’s reading their assignment, but instead, he’s using the opportunity to scan the classroom and observe the other students. Everyone’s heads are angled down reading the text. Eddie should be doing the same, but he’s too distracted. Some of the students fiddle with their pencils or play with the corners of the book pages. Allison Morris is twisting her gum around her finger, which is disgusting. Eddie doesn’t want to go anywhere near Allison’s mouth. Matt Romanski is throwing tiny balls of paper into someone’s open backpack. Steve Harrington is shaking his foot under his desk as if he has an abundance of energy. Jocks and their overzealous physical activity.

Then, as if Steve can feel someone’s eyes on him, he looks up and makes eye contact with Eddie. Shit. Eddie glances away quickly, diverting his attention to the letters spread under his hands. He doesn’t risk glancing up again, just in case Harrington is still looking at him. He doesn’t need that guy thinking he was staring at him. Instead, Eddie rubs his knuckle across a crease in the corner of the second note, trying to smooth it out.

Eddie starts opening his locker carefully, anxiously anticipating another note. He’s only received two, but he doesn’t want to accidentally throw the door open and risk Hagan grabbing it as it flies out. This time, as he smoothly pulls open the door, he smiles when he sees a small folded piece of paper stuck to the slats of his locker door. He snatches it and pushes it into his pocket before shoving everything else into his locker to head home for the day. If he rushes a little faster through the hallway to get to the parking lot and the privacy of his van to read his new note, no one but he will know. He doesn’t even turn the van on when he gets inside. He yanks the door shut and rushes to get the tiny treasure out of his pocket.

Eddie had been playing his acoustic out there on the bleachers. Wayne is still asleep right after Eddie leaves school, so Eddie sometimes goes to the field to practice. There are always different sports teams outside warming up, practicing, and doing god knows what. The cheerleaders do flips and pyramids while the track team runs in circles. Any of them could see Eddie up there. It’s not like he’s hiding. He likes the relative privacy with the odd background noises. When he’s trying to think through some lyrics or figure out his next notes, he can gaze out to the jocks and watch them bounce around aimlessly like fish in a fish tank.

So now he knows another thing about his admirer. They’re one of several who are outside on Tuesdays after school.

Or, he assumes they are. So, that at least gives him enough information to make a list

Eddie nervously tucks a piece of paper into the top slat of his locker door. He pushes it through enough so someone can tug it free from the front but ensures it’s hidden so no one can see it unless they’re looking for it. He spent the weekend writing out his list of potential admirers. He crossed names out and added them back on every time he reevaluated what he knew or didn’t know. He’s hoping they’ll see his note sometime this morning. He doesn’t know where else he could stash a reply since this is the only spot he knows they both frequent. If there were some kind of return address, that would’ve been helpful, but there isn’t a protocol for anonymous letters with the USPS.

He admittedly spent a stupid amount of time trying to come up with something to say. He didn’t want to come out too aggressive and scare them away. Since they’re obviously nervous for Eddie to find out who they are. Then, everything he tried to write sounded stupid and arrogant. As if he was aware of how hot he was, and they should be grateful to secretly admirer him. Which isn’t even remotely how he feels about it. So he’s going for friendly, or at least attempting to. He also didn’t want to write anything that could bite him in the ass later, in case someone other than his secret admirer found the note. If Hagan gets ahold of this, his hot air could get loud and even more annoying. Eddie has a reputation that he spent years crafting. He doesn’t need people to think he actually cares about things and has feelings.

Hi [insert name],

I didn’t know how to write back to you, so I hope you find this. Just so you know, I’m not weirded out, and they do make me happy, so thank you.

It’s good to know no one can hear my guitar playing when I’m on the bleachers. I’m usually fucking around, trying to work stuff out, and I’d hate for my reputation as a sexy rocker to be tarnished with my out-of-tune notes and off-key singing. And I don’t know if you know this, but you could actually see me play. My band has a standing gig every Tuesday night at the Hideout. The owner won’t stop any underage fans from coming into the bar. She knows we can use all the fans we can get. Maybe I’ll see you there sometime?

You said I wouldn’t like who you were if I knew you were writing the notes, but you’ve said too many nice things for me to think you’re someone I don’t like. Maybe you could give me a hint.

I hope to hear from you soon.

-E

He carefully closes his locker door, ensuring the note stays in position, and steps away like it’s a live bomb. As he backs up, he nearly bumps into Steve Harrington, who’s standing too close for comfort.

“Dude?” Eddie sneers at the younger boy.

“Sorry,” Steve steps back and looks at Eddie like he’s surprised he sees him. Does Steve think he’s invisible?

“Hagan was by earlier. You missed him.”

“Oh,” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “I wasn’t- Tommy and I aren’t-.”

“Whatever, man.” Eddie doesn’t care what Steve’s stammering on about. He waves the boy off and heads to his first period. He wants to give his admirer enough time to get to his locker just in case they are watching him.

Eddie spends most of his class period tapping his pencil against his desk. He has no idea what Mr. Franklin is going on about, too distracted by the idea of his admirer, or terrifyingly anyone else, finding his note. By the time the bell rings, he’s bolting out of his seat and shoving his way through the other teens. A few of them grumble at him as he pushes them out of the way, but most ignore him. He’s been around long enough that most people are used to Eddie doing and saying whatever he wants.

When he reaches his locker, he’s annoyed to see Tommy shoving his tongue down Carol’s tonsils. Honestly, she’s cute enough she could do so much better. It’s a shame, really.

“Can you two roll over a foot or 50?”

Tommy doesn’t bother to come up for air, tosses his middle finger over his shoulder, but graciously slides Carol to the side so Eddie can get into his locker. How thoughtful. In reality, Eddie doesn’t need to get anything out between his first and second periods, but he’s too amped up not to check and see if his note has been found.

He yanks his padlock down and carefully opens the door. His heart kicks up a notch when he sees the note is gone. He searches on top of the pile of shit in his locker, just in case it fell, but he doesn’t find it or a new note. And Tommy isn’t teasing the ever-living shit out of him, so he must not have found it. Eddie lets out a long, slow breath, feeling his body relax for the first time in days. Ok, so now he waits for a reply. He can do that. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to have to wait, but he does remember the saying patience is a virtue or some shit.

Three days. It was three fucking long ass days. Patience is stupid. When he sees a new note resting on top of his Math book, he almost doesn’t register it. It’s between the 5th and 6th periods, and he’s fighting off a headache. He got into an “argument” with Mr. Pope again today. Eddie calls it an enthusiastic conversation, but Pope calls it detention. So he’s in a shitty mood knowing he’s going to be spending his afternoon in Mrs. O’Donnell’s classroom and not out at the picnic table making some extra cash before the weekend. He’s got customers that will be pissed.

He initially grips the piece of paper between his fingers, giving it a puzzled glance, but when he registers that it’s what he’s been waiting three long ass days for, he excitedly tears it open. He doesn’t even bother checking to see if anyone is behind him or nearby. He’s too eager to finally have a response.

Eddie,

I got your note. I was worried you were telling me to stop, so I didn’t read it right away. I’m sorry it’s taken a few days to reply.

I didn’t know you were in a band. That’s cool. Maybe I’ll find a way to see you some Tuesday. If I can figure out how not to stick out like a sore thumb. And I bet you don’t sound too bad on the bleachers. I wish I could sit and listen to you play.

I can’t give you any hints, sorry. I think anything I say would give me away. I shouldn’t be writing these to you in the first place. I was going through some stuff, last semester, and I guess I was feeling lonely.

Valentine’s Day is coming up. Do you have any plans? If I could sneak a box of chocolates into your locker, I would. I bet you like dark chocolate. Maybe I can hide it under your van, as long as you don’t drive over it.

I hope you have a good weekend (maybe I’ll see you at Troy Wilson’s party on Saturday). Hopefully, we both nailed our Government test today. I’m writing this Thursday night and don’t know when I’ll be able to get this in your locker tomorrow. You’ve been around more, making it harder for me to sneak these in. Although that might mean you’re excited to hear from me—or at least to read my letters.

ps you looked really hot good with your hair up on Wednesday

Eddie angles the paper and can see the words his secret admirer scratched out. He bites back a stupid, giddy smile when he sees the word ‘hot’ scratched out. Like they couldn’t help themselves but didn’t want to come off too forward, Eddie wouldn’t mind a little forward, though. It might be fun. But the sentence mentioning the first semester makes him pause. He wonders what they were going through. He can almost feel the melancholy mood coming off the paper. He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears the bell for class.

“Shit.” He slams his locker door shut, locking it quickly, shoves the note into his pocket, and races to his last class.

He slides into the room just as the late bell rings above him.

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Munson. Please take a seat. Everyone, please have your copy of 1984 out. We will discuss the role of truth and facts within society and how they can be manipulated.”

Eddie falls into his seat, his heart still pounding from his run down the hall. When he slaps his stuff onto his desk as Mrs. O’Donnell mentions getting their book out, he wants to kick himself because he doesn’t have it. He hopes he left it in his locker or at least on the passenger seat of his van. If he lost that damn book, he knows that’ll be his last straw with the librarians. They’re a ruthless bunch.

“Fuck,” he groans under his breath.

“Do you want to share?”

Eddie looks to his right to see Steve Harrington holding his book open, a slight nervous smile on the boy’s face.

“Uh, you sure?” This would save Eddie’s ass right now if the boy is serious.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, then scoots closer to Eddie so he can see better.

“Thanks,” Eddie murmurs.

Steve gives Eddie a bigger smile in response, still a little hesitant but at least genuine. The sight makes Eddie feel unnerved, not because he’s scared of Steve but mostly because he can’t remember when the boy has ever smiled at him. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. Steve has a fantastic smile. Sure, Eddie’s not blind, but it feels like that means Eddie’s supposed to smile back.

Eddie scoots his desk closer, the two of them now only a foot apart. Steve holds the book between them, but Eddie still needs to lean over to read the words. He reaches out to grab the side of the book closest to him.

“Is this ok?”

Steve shifts in his seat, leaning closer to let Eddie hold half of the book.

“Yeah. Is that better? Can you see it?”

“Mhmm,” Eddie nods, and somehow, within this proximity, he realizes how long Steve’s eyelashes are.

The two boys share the novel smoothly throughout the class. A few times, as Eddie leans closer to Steve to mutter something funny under his breath, he glances up and sees Steve already looking back. But Steve darts his eyes to the book as if Eddie caught him doing something sordid.

After the 3rd time, Eddie can’t help himself and chuckles, muttering quietly only for Steve’s ears. “See something you like, Harrington?”

If anyone asks Eddie later on, he can’t explain why he asked such an insanely flirtatious question, other than that he loves testing people’s patience. Steve, however, doesn’t react as Eddie anticipates. Steve doesn’t scoff. He doesn’t stare in disgust. He doesn’t pull the book back and turn away. He doesn’t even attempt to rearrange Eddie’s face with his athletic fist. Nope. What Steve does do, however, is stare back with his mouth slightly agape and blush profusely.

“Mr. Harrington, can you read the next two paragraphs?”

Steve looks up to Mrs. O’Donnell, giving her a quick nod, before stumbling through the correct text but never pulling the book away from Eddie’s grip.

This is the first time Eddie thinks of Steve as adorable.