058

The venue in Indianapolis is bigger than you expected. 

From the outside, it’s just another industrial building, a converted warehouse with faded brick walls and a loading dock that now serves as an entrance. A banner flutters above the doors, announcing the 92.3 Rock FM Battle of the Bands in bold, jagged lettering.

But the moment you step inside, the whole place hums with energy. The air smells like dust and old wood, mixed with the sharp bite of cigarette smoke from a few band members lingering by the open doors. 

It’s bright, sunlight spills in through high windows, streaking across the scuffed-up floor and the massive stage at the far end. Techs are already at work, crouched over pedalboards and tangled wires, testing microphones with sharp, static bursts of sound. The occasional thud of a kick drum rattles through the space, setting your heartbeat off-kilter. Other bands mill around, gathered in tight clusters. Some are fine-tuning guitars, their fingers dancing over frets in half-played riffs. Others are running vocal warm-ups, humming or shaking out their hands like they’re psyching themselves up for a fight.

There’s a nervous energy in the air, a mix of excitement and tension that makes your stomach twist. 

And then there’s Eddie. He walks in like he owns the place. Not in an arrogant way, no, it’s something else entirely. He’s just comfortable here, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. His usual slouch is gone, replaced by a confident stride as he leads the way, the rest of Corroded Coffin trailing behind him. You can feel the anticipation radiating off of him, coiled beneath his skin like a live wire.

At the check-in table, he barely even slows down before leaning on the counter, flashing the girl behind it an easy grin. "Corroded Coffin", he announces, drumming his rings against the surface. 

The girl flips through a clipboard, nodding. "Yep, you guys are on the list. Just need a signature." As the band scrawls their names down, Eddie keeps talking, throwing out a joke about bribing the jury with beer. The girl snorts, rolling her eyes, but she’s smiling. He’s like that. Effortlessly funny, disarming, making people laugh without even trying.  When they hand back the clipboard, she gives them their passes. "You’re all set. Tech check in fifteen."

Eddie winks at her before turning back to you, and the moment he does, it’s like everything else fades into the background. His hands find your waist as he dips down, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, warm and grounding. "You good?" he murmurs, just for you. You nod, and he studies you for a second longer before pulling back, grinning again, "Then let’s go take over the world, sweetheart."

And then he’s off, moving through the venue like he belongs to it. 

He chats with the tech crew, talking cables and monitors and setlists like it’s second nature. He gestures a lot when he talks, rings flashing under the bright stage lights. Every so often, he glances your way, making sure you’re still there, waiting for him to finish. It’s subtle, but you catch it - his eyes flicking to you between conversations, a quick once-over before he goes back to business.

It’s fascinating to watch.

Eddie’s the guitarist, not the lead singer, but here? He’s the face of the band. Grant might be the singer, maybe even the frontman on stage, but Eddie’s the one who makes sure they get remembered. He’s the one cracking jokes, shaking hands, making people like them before they’ve even played a note. 

And damn, he’s good at it.

At one point, the band steps onto the stage for a quick sound check, leaving you alone on the floor. You glance around, taking it all in. The empty venue, the high ceilings, the jury table set up front and center for tonight's show. Four chairs, four names from the music business. The kind of people who could change a band’s entire future. You let yourself think about it, just for a second. 

If things had gone differently...

If you were here with your old band instead, waiting for your turn on that stage.

If you’d never gotten kicked out, if you were stepping up there tonight to play Losing Grip in front of a crowd that might actually get it.

But you’re not.

You sigh, shoving the thought down, and turn back to Eddie, only to find him already looking at you. He must have noticed the shift in your expression because his smile falters, just slightly. Then, as if deciding exactly what you need, he hops off the stage and lands in front of you, all dramatic flair and showmanship. "Missed me already, my love?" he teases, looping his arms around your waist. You roll your eyes, but he presses closer, hands warm against your back. "Here", he murmurs, slipping something into your hand. A backstage pass. "Now you’re official", he adds, grinning as he watches your reaction.

You look at it, then at him, "This means I can go anywhere?"

"Anywhere", he confirms, "With me". His fingers trail up your spine, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver through you. Then he dips down again, pressing a kiss just below your ear, letting his lips linger. "Could take you somewhere right now", he murmurs, voice low, teasing. You swat at him, laughing, and he grins, catching your wrist and bringing it to his lips, kissing your skin, eyes locked with yours. He’s buzzing, practically vibrating with excitement now, and it’s impossible not to get caught up in it.

You know what this means to him. How big of a shot this is. You squeeze his hand, trying to ground him, but he just smirks. "You nervous?" you ask.

"Nah", he denies, but you can tell he’s lying. His fingers drum against your hip, restless energy thrumming beneath his skin. The others aren’t worried about rehearsing again, and Eddie, cocky as ever, just shrugs when you suggest it. "We’ve got this", he grins, like there was never any doubt. 

It’s 3 p.m. now.

The event doesn’t start until 6.

Fifteen bands. Fifteen-minute sets.

Four hours of performances.

One winner.

You know how much this night means.

And even though you’re not playing, even though you’re not up there proving yourself, being here, with him, feels just as important.

Back outside, after they're done preparing inside, Eddie locks up the van with a quick flick of his wrist, the metal clicking into place. "Alright", he sighs, spinning the keys around his finger as he turns back to the rest of you. "We’ve got three hours to kill, and I am not spending it watching a bunch of try-hard wannabes tuning their guitars like it’s a damn religious ritual".

Gareth snorts, "So… food? Maybe a beer?"

"Absolutely", Jeff agrees, stretching his arms over his head, "anything to keep us from psyching ourselves out before we even get on stage".

You fall into step beside Eddie as the five of you head down the street, the city buzzing around you, his arm on your shoulders, cigarettes between both of your fingers.

Cars roll past, music spills from the open doors of bars and record stores, and somewhere in the distance, a street performer is absolutely butchering a Led Zeppelin song. Eddie winces at the off-key wail, shaking his head. "Fucking blasphemy".

Then, a block later, you spot it.

An arcade.

Neon lights flicker above a wide glass window, casting a pulsing red-and-blue glow onto the sidewalk. Inside, rows of old arcade cabinets stand like monuments to a time before at-home consoles, their screens flashing in bursts of pixelated action. The air conditioning hums, almost drowned out by the rapid-fire beeps, electronic jingles, and the excited yells of kids and teenagers gathered around their favorite machines.

"Holy shit", Gareth blurts, his eyes already locked on a familiar sight, "They have Street Fighter".

Grant, right behind him, gasps, "And Galaga".

Jeff doesn’t even hesitate before bolting for the entrance, Gareth and Grant hot on his heels.

You laugh, watching them push through the doors like kids on Christmas morning, "Well, guess food has to wait". But when you glance at Eddie, he’s grinning at something else entirely, flicking his cigarette away.

"Oh, hell yes", he breathes, eyes lighting up in pure, unfiltered nerd joy. He grabs your hand, tugging you inside, "C’mon, c’mon, you have to see this".

The moment you step in, the scent hits you. Popcorn, warm and buttery, mixed with the artificial sugar of slushies and the faint, metallic tang of old coin machines. The carpet is sticky in some places, the hum of a dozen different games blending together in a chaotic symphony of pew pews and game over chimes.

Eddie, still holding your hand, drags you toward a cabinet in the corner, his excitement practically vibrating through him. "This! This is my game", he announces, gesturing grandly.

You glance at the screen, where pixelated demons and skeleton warriors flicker in ominous reds and blacks. "Ghosts ‘n Goblins", you read off the side, arching an eyebrow at him, "Eddie, I hate to break it to you, but this looks nerdy as hell".

He gasps, clutching his chest like you just shot him. "Excuse me? This is a classic. A masterpiece. A test of true skill, endurance, and... Wait, you don't know that one? Didn't have that in Chicago?"

You shrug, "Dunno, arcades haven't exactly been on the list of places I used to go".

He stops, narrowing his eyes, "Wait. Have you never played in an arcade before?"

You shrug again, "I mean… I went to them a couple of times. Played some games, probably. Just... not much".

Eddie stares at you like you just admitted to never hearing of Metallica. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across his face. "Oh", he purrs, stepping closer, backing you up against the arcade machine. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in. "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’ve just done".

You laugh, placing a hand on his chest, "Eds-"

"No, no, no. This is a travesty", he goes on, ignoring you entirely. His head dips, lips grazing your jaw as he whispers, "I have to be the one to fix this".

Before you can protest, he slides a token into the machine with a dramatic flourish and takes the controls. The screen blips to life, the little pixelated knight jumping onto the screen, ready for battle. "Alright, princess", Eddie says, eyes gleaming, "Watch and learn. And don't try to fall even harder for me, okay?"

You roll your eyes. He plays with practiced ease, fingers flying over the buttons as he dodges zombies and throws lances with precision. And yeah, okay, maybe he’s actually really good at this, but you’re not about to tell him that. Not when he’s already insufferably smug about it. "You getting all this?", he teases, glancing at you with a cocky smirk, "Because I will be testing you later".

"Uh-huh", you deadpan, crossing your arms, "Are you always this obnoxious when you’re good at something?"

He grins, "You tell me".

And then, because he’s Eddie, because he never misses a chance to make you flustered, he leans in and presses a kiss just below your ear. Then another, trailing down to your neck, his hands sliding low, just enough to make you squirm.

"Eds", you hiss, glancing around to make sure no one’s watching.

"What?" he murmurs, nipping lightly at your skin before pulling back, "I’m just making sure my girl’s entertained". You shove him, laughing, and he dramatically throws his arms up, "Alright, alright, fine. Your turn, princess". He hands you the controls, stepping behind you, arms bracketing yours as he guides your hands to the buttons. "Just move here... yep, good- now jump... no, not there, you’re gonna - ah, shit, you died".

You groan, smacking his arm, "You’re distracting me!"

"You love it", he teases.

You try again, and he lets you play a bit longer, but when you inevitably lose, you huff and start scanning the room, searching for something you might actually stand a chance at. Your eyes land on one across the room, something fast, something competitive. "Alright, since you’re obviously some kind of arcade prodigy," you say, rolling your eyes as Eddie smirks, "let’s see if you’re as good at this."

Eddie follows your gaze, and when he sees the flashing marquee, his grin widens. "Oh, hell yes," he practically purrs, cracking his knuckles, "Mortal Kombat, sweetheart? You sure you wanna do this to yourself?"

"You talk a lot of shit for someone who hasn’t even picked up a controller yet," you fire back, already moving toward the cabinet.

The machine hums, bright reds and blues flickering across the screen as the game cycles through its attract mode. The moment you both step up, Eddie slots in a token with a smooth flick of his wrist, passing you the second set of controls. "Best two out of three?" he challenges, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"You’re going down, Munson."

He snickers. "Baby, I lived in the arcade. You don’t stand a chance."

The first round starts, and from the second the countdown hits zero, he absolutely destroys you. He’s barely even looking at the screen, fingers moving over the buttons like second nature, combos flowing effortlessly. Your character barely gets a hit in before he pulls off some brutal finishing move, grinning at the KO flashing on the screen. "Oooh, rough one, sweetheart," Eddie teases, leaning against the cabinet like he’s barely even trying. "Y’know, if you need me to slow down..."

"Shut up."

The second round starts. You do better this time, actually managing to land some solid hits, but still, he’s too damn fast, too practiced. You make a frustrated noise when he lands the final blow, watching your character crumple to the ground in pixelated agony. Eddie snickers. You whip around, pointing a finger at his chest. "You suck".

"I won," he says smugly, raising both hands in mock surrender.

"You suck," you repeat, crossing your arms. Then, after a beat, you huff and glance toward the rows of flashing prize counter, "I wanna win something."

Eddie tilts his head, studying you. His smirk softens, just a little. "Yeah?" You nod, even pouting a little. "Alright," he murmurs, stepping in close, a hand grazing your lower back, "Then let’s get you something good."

With that, he leads you to a different machine, a classic claw game, the glass case filled with plush toys, keychains, and arcade trinkets.

You narrow your eyes. "This is how you’re gonna redeem yourself?"

Eddie cracks his neck like he’s about to step into a real fight, "I never lose these." You step up, slotting in a token. The claw hovers, waiting. "You wanna do it?" he asks. You nod, wrapping your hands around the joystick. But before you can move, Eddie steps behind you, hands sliding over yours, his chest pressing flush against your back. He’s warm. Solid. The scent of his cologne, smoky, woodsy, something dark, fills your lungs. His breath fans against your cheek, sending heat curling through your stomach. "Here," he murmurs, voice low, guiding your fingers to the right position, 'You wanna line it up just right… yeah, there. Hold it steady, baby." You swallow hard, shifting slightly. Eddie’s arms bracket yours completely, his breath warm on your skin. His fingers tighten over yours. "Now, just tap it, quick and light..." You do as he says, pressing the button, watching as the claw lowers...

and misses.

Eddie clicks his tongue, but he’s not disappointed. Not really. If anything, his grip shifts, his fingers flexing over yours, adjusting you again. "Almost," he murmurs, right against your ear. You shift again, just enough to press back into him. His breath hitches. Just slightly. Barely noticeable. But you feel it. You bite your lip, rolling your hips ever so slightly, just a little nudge of pressure against him. Eddie clears his throat. "Ahem." His hands flex again, tightening, "Focus, sweetheart". You hum, amused. He steadies you once more, guiding your movements, but you can feel the shift in him, the tension in his frame, the slight rock of his hips as he presses back just a little. You move again, slow and subtle, another gentle grind against him.

He curses under his breath. His fingers twitch over yours, but he doesn’t stop. He just leans in further, chin resting on your shoulder, pretending to be totally focused on the game. "You’re trouble," he murmurs, voice dark and rough. You just smirk.

The claw game starts again, but neither of you are really paying attention anymore. His hands shift, sliding lower, gripping your hips lightly. His lips graze your neck, just a flicker of warmth before he bites, gently, right at the spot that makes you shiver. "Eddie," you whisper, but it’s not a warning. It’s something else entirely.

He hums, the sound deep, vibrating against your skin. "Mm? Just playin’ the game, sweetheart." You roll your hips again, slow, pressing just the right way. He groans softly, low enough that no one else can hear. His fingers dig into you, his grip turning possessive. "Fuck, baby…"The claw descends again. You don’t even see it this time. Eddie’s chin drops to your shoulder, his nose brushing against your jaw. "You’re not even playing anymore," he accuses, voice hushed, laced with something dangerous.

You smirk, "Neither are you." His grip tightens, his hips pressing forward just slightly. You swallow hard, tilting your head as his lips ghost over your skin again, teasing. "You think anyone’s watching?" you murmur. Eddie huffs a laugh against your neck, "Let ‘em."

And then, just when you think he’s about to pull away, he doesn’t.

Instead, he presses even closer, his hands sliding down, gripping your waist as he pushes against you properly this time, just once, just enough to make heat pool low in your belly.

The game ends. You don’t even notice.

Eddie’s lips brush your ear, his breath ragged now. "You keep this up," he murmurs, dangerously soft, "and we are not gonna make it to the show."

You shiver, gripping the machine. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And just to prove it, he rolls his hips forward again, slow, deliberate. You suck in a sharp breath. Eddie groans, quiet and low, barely restrained. "Better pick that prize fast, sweetheart," he rasps, "before I drag you out of here".

"Oh, I don't care about a prize anymore", you whisper back, leaning into him, feeling his smirk growing. You feel the way his chest rises and falls, how his fingers press into you, like he’s trying so hard to keep himself in check.

But then, he exhales sharply, like he’s forcing himself to focus, to pull himself back from the edge. "No, you wanted a prize, you get one", he mutters, voice rough. "One more shot."

With that, he steps away just enough to shove another token into the machine, but his hands linger on your hips, as if he’s reluctant to let you go completely.You smirk, shifting your weight, stretching just a little in front of him. He notices. Oh, he definitely notices, because his jaw clenches, his fingers tightening again. But then, he’s forcing himself to concentrate, both hands moving to the joystick and button, eyes narrowing in determination.And of course, because Eddie always backs up his cocky little boasts, he lands it perfectly this time. The claw snags a plush toy, lifting it smoothly, no hesitation, no second-guessing. It drops into the chute with a satisfying clunk.

You blink. "You actually did it?"

He smirks, reaching into the prize slot, "Told you, princess."

When he pulls out the plush, you snort. Because, of course, it’s a little devil, bright red with tiny black horns and a mischievous expression stitched onto its face. "Fitting," you murmur, amused.

Eddie holds it up, considering it. Then, he turns to you, eyes dark, still heated from your little game. He steps in close, brushing the soft toy along your jaw, your throat. "Very fitting," he murmurs, voice dripping with meaning.You swallow hard, pulse jumping. He grins, something wicked in his expression, and suddenly, he tosses the plush in the air, catching it again dramatically before shoving it into your hands. "There. You happy now?" His voice is still low, still rough around the edges. But you can tell he’s trying to rein himself in.

You clutch the little devil to your chest, smirking. "So happy."

Eddie watches you for a beat, then shakes his head, running a hand through his curls. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath. You arch a brow.

"What?"

He huffs, exasperated, like he’s annoyed, not at you, but at himself. "You're killing me. Like, actually killing me". He rubs a hand down his face, then gestures toward the exit, "C’mon. Before I do something that gets us banned from this arcade forever."

Eddie moves fast, gripping your hand like he needs to get out of here, his strides a little too purposeful, a little too tense. You bite back a smirk, clutching the little devil plush as you follow, trying not to stare too obviously at the way his jaw is clenched, his fingers twitching slightly around yours.

The arcade is still buzzing, filled with overlapping jingles and chaotic beeps, the occasional groan of someone losing their last life. But Eddie isn’t paying attention to any of it, he’s aiming straight for the exit, determined, like fresh air and maybe a cigarette are the only things that can possibly cool him down.

Then you see it.

A snack counter near the entrance, tucked beside a row of pinball machines.

Brightly colored syrup dispensers stand in a row, each one labeled with bold, cartoonish fonts.

Blue Raspberry. Cherry. Lime.

A massive slushie machine churns behind the counter, thick, icy liquid swirling hypnotically under the glow of the overhead lights. The scent of buttered popcorn lingers in the air, mixing with the artificial sweetness of the syrups, the faint, plasticky tang of wax-paper straws.

You slow down, tugging at Eddie’s hand. "Wait".

He stops so abruptly you nearly walk into him. "What?" He turns, eyes still a little dark, voice still holding the edge of something frustrated, something barely contained.

You point at the slushies. "I want one".

Eddie blinks, like he can’t believe you’re making him pause right now. Then, his gaze shifts to the swirling machine, watching the way the icy liquid moves, the way the condensation drips down the plastic. Slowly, he exhales, tilting his head, considering. "Actually…", he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face, "Yeah. Yeah. That’s probably a good idea."

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh at the sheer relief in his tone.

You two step up to the counter, him still shaking his head like he’s pissed at himself, and orders two large ones - one cherry, one blue raspberry. He pays quickly, then shoves the red one into your hands before grabbing his own.

You take a sip, the cold hitting your tongue instantly, a sharp contrast to the warmth still lingering in your body.

Eddie groans after his first sip, pressing the cold cup against his forehead. "Jesus Christ".

You raise an eyebrow, "Feeling better?"

He levels you with a look. Then, suddenly, he grins, his usual cocky, mischievous self flickering back into place. "Oh, don’t think you’re off the hook, sweetheart".

Your stomach flips, heat curling back immediately. Suddenly, he shoves an ice-cold hand against your bare arm, making you yelp. He just laughs, wide and genuine, all traces of tension melting as he takes another long sip of his slushie. "Told you I’d get you back", he says smugly, licking his lips, his mouth tinted blue now.

You roll your eyes, shoving at him playfully. But you’re grinning. You’re always grinning with him.

You lean against the snack counter, slurping lazily at your slushie, eyes flicking toward Eddie every few seconds, watching the way he grips his cup a little too tightly, the muscles in his forearm flexing. The blue tint of his lips doesn’t make him look any less dangerous, it only makes you want to lean in and bite at them.

Eddie’s trying so hard to act normal, to cool off, to distract himself by glancing over at the others, who are still locked in their games, oblivious to everything but high scores and button combos. He's rolling his eyes when he catches a glimpse of Gareth and Jeff practically screaming at each other over Street Fighter. "The kids are fine, by the way", he jokes.

But every time his gaze drifts back to you, you make sure he gets a show. You take another long sip, slow and deliberate, wrapping your lips around the straw, hollowing your cheeks just enough. When Eddie notices, his Adam’s apple bobs hard. His fingers twitch around his cup.

Oh, this is too easy.

Tilting your head, you slide your tongue out, exaggerated and slow, letting the bright red slush coat it before rolling it back into your mouth. "Mmm", you hum innocently, licking your lips, "Cherry’s really good".

Eddie inhales sharply through his nose.

You grin around your straw.

Gotcha.

"Babe", he mumbles, voice tight. He takes a deep breath, then another sip of his own drink like it’ll save him.

But you? You’re having way too much fun. So you do it again. This time, letting your tongue linger, swirling it around the straw before sucking, hollowing your cheeks once more.

Eddie groans, eyes squeezing shut for a second before snapping open. He steps in close, nearly cornering you against the counter. "You", he murmurs lowly, just for you, "are so fucking lucky we’re in public right now".

Your stomach flips at the heat in his tone, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s dying to touch you. You just smile. "Am I?"

His jaw clenches. His gaze dips, lingers on your mouth, "You really wanna find out?"

A challenge. A promise.

Your heart hammers. Your body hums. You take another sip, making a show of it again, just to watch him suffer, smirking widely, when something catches your eye.

A photo booth.

Tucked near the far end of the arcade, half-hidden behind a neon claw machine. The old-school kind with a curtain, just big enough for two. Perfect. You glance at Eddie, then at the booth. Then back at Eddie. A plan already forming.

He notices. His eyes narrow slightly, cautious, curious. "What?"

You smirk, reaching down to take his hand. "Come on", you chirp sweetly, pulling him with you. He lets you lead him, but he’s eyeing you you’re up to something.

"…Where are we going?"

You just hum, pulling him toward the booth. And when you get there, you let go of his hand just long enough to slip inside, sitting on the small bench, patting the spot next to you.

He raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and the machine, "Seriously?"

You bat your lashes, throwing a quarter into the slot, "C’mon, rockstar. Don’t tell me you’ve never done a photo booth before. I wanna have some pictures with you, before you're getting famous".

Eddie exhales, running a hand through his hair, setting down his slushie next to yours before stepping inside, crowding into the tight space with you and yanking the curtain close. He barely has time to settle before the first flash goes off, catching him mid-smirk as you press up against his side, leaning in close. You flash a wide, toothy grin, your cheek brushing against his.

Click.

The next one, you’re pouting at the camera, tilting your head, eyes big and teasing, while Eddie rolls his eyes but can’t hide the little smirk creeping onto his lips.

Click.

Then you get a little bolder.

You shift, turning toward him, running a hand through his curls, your fingers dragging down to his jaw, tilting his face toward yours. You press a soft, slow kiss to his cheek, just barely brushing your lips against his skin.

Click.

Eddie lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head, but you catch the way his fingers flex against his knee, resisting the urge to grab you.

Oh, but you want him to grab you.

So you climb onto his lap. You move slowly, deliberately, straddling his thighs, feeling the way his body stiffens, how his breath catches for a fraction of a second. But then, his hands find your waist, big, warm, already gripping tight. The next flash goes off just as you lean in, brushing your nose against his, watching his lips part slightly, his eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes and back again.

Click.

You kiss him. Hard. Eddie makes a surprised sound against your mouth before melting into it, his hands sliding from your waist to your ass, gripping tight, pulling you down into him. He groans when you rock forward just a little, his fingers digging in.

Click.

You lick at his bottom lip, raspberry flavored and already a little swollen from kissing. Then lower, down his jaw, his neck, leaving wet, red-tinged marks on his pale skin. Eddie swears under his breath, gripping you even harder, his head tipping back against the booth wall.

Click.

You drag your lips back to his, kissing him again, murmuring between kisses, "Smile for the camera, baby".

He huffs a laugh against your lips, shaking his head, breathless, "You’re gonna fucking kill me".

You just smirk, nipping at his lip before pausing, glancing to the side as the pictures begin printing, the small strip slowly sliding out of the machine. When they're done, xou reach for it, still perched on his lap, flipping through the shots. "Ohhh, these are so cute", you coo, fanning them out, giggling as you hold them up for Eddie to see, "Look at you. All flustered".

Your boyfriend groans, tipping his head back, eyes shutting, "Jesus Christ".

You laugh, still looking at the photos - at the way his hands are all over you, the way your lips are pink and swollen, the way you’re practically devouring each other in the last few shots.

Then, a new idea strikes. A reckless one.

You glance back at Eddie, at the way he’s still catching his breath, eyes lidded, looking at you like he wants to do something about this but knows he can’t.

Not here. Not now.

So you decide to push him a little further. You wink at him, then turn fully to the camera, fingers hooking under your shirt as the countdown starts again. Before Eddie can stop you, you lift.

The next flash captures everything.

Click.

Eddie chokes. "Holy shit".  You hear him scramble behind you, see his wide-eyed, stunned reflection in the screen just before the next flash goes off, capturing it again.

Click.

You drop your shirt back down, twisting to face him again, grinning. "Something for you to keep", you murmur, dragging a finger down his chest, "for when you’re all famous, touring the world and missing me".

He just stares at you, suddenly lunges, slamming his lips back on you, kissing you filthy, hands grabbing at you, groaning into your mouth, and you know you’ve officially broken him. He kisses you so hard it steals your breath, his hands greedy and hot as they roam over your body, fingers pressing into your hips, your waist, your ribs, like he’s trying to memorize you. Like he needs to own every inch of you.

You feel the booth shake slightly as he shifts under you, adjusting the way you’re straddling him, pulling you closer, deeper into his lap. His hands slide under your shirt, fingers teasing the bare skin of your lower back, nails scratching just enough to send a shiver up your spine. He’s groaning into your mouth now, swallowing your little gasps, hips shifting up into yours.

His usual teasing edge is gone. He’s wrecked, flustered and desperate and completely at your mercy.

And God, it’s a sight.

You break the kiss just to look at him - his lips pink and spit-slick, his eyes blown wide and dark, his curls slightly disheveled from where you’ve tugged at them. He’s breathing heavy, like you’ve just knocked the air right out of his lungs. "Fuck", he mutters, voice low, wrecked, and strained. His fingers tighten on your thighs, like he’s trying to ground himself. Or stop himself from doing something reckless.

You grin, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. "Problem, Munson?"

He glares at you, but it’s weak, he’s too undone to be truly mad. "You are such a fucking tease".

You hum, leaning in, lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper, "You love it, baby. Look at you".

Eddie inhales sharply. His hands clench around your thighs, and for a second, you think he’s going to completely lose it, going to shove you against the booth wall and take what you’re teasing him with.

The machine beside you beeps, and another strip of photos prints out. The noise jerks Eddie back to reality. He stiffens under you, eyes darting toward the curtain, suddenly remembering where you are. He exhales hard, dragging a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ", he mutters, "We’re in a fucking arcade. There are kids everywhere".

You laugh breathlessly, rolling your hips once, just enough to make him hiss through his teeth, "Now you’re worried?"

He groans, tipping his head back against the wall. "You’re gonna kill me", he repeats, voice strained.

You lean in, pressing one last slow, open-mouthed kiss to his neck before sliding off his lap, fixing your shirt. Eddie just sits there for a second, still looking dazed, before groaning and adjusting himself, cursing under his breath. You pluck the new photo strip from the slot, grinning at the last shots, the ones where your shirt was up, Eddie’s expression caught between shock and fuck yes. You hand it to him, winking, "For later". He snatches them, eyes scanning them hungrily. You can practically see the thoughts racing through his head, the way his throat bobs when he swallows hard. You bite down a laugh. "Don't lose 'em, okay?"

He groans again, shoving the photos deep into his pocket like they’re evidence of a crime. "Baby, if you think I’m ever losing these, you’re outta your mind". He looks at you then, and his gaze is dark, burning, full of promise. "If we weren’t in a goddamn arcade full of kids", he mutters, voice low and rough, "I’d have you whimpering on my dick already, you fucking tease".

You wiggle your brows, enjoying how worked up he is. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Then, finally, he stands, adjusting his jacket, his jeans. "We need to get the fuck out of here before I can't resist you any longer, and probably get us arrested".

You giggle, taking his hand and letting him pull you out, grabbing your plush and slushie, feeling how his fingers lace tightly with yours. And as you step back into the flashing lights and chaotic noise of the arcade, you can’t help but grin, already wondering what other ways you can drive him crazy before the night is over.

The arcade doors swing shut behind you, and the afternoon air rushes in to replace the neon-lit chaos you just left.

Eddie is at your side, slurping his slushie loudly, exaggerating every sip just to annoy you. You nudge him with your elbow, "You sound disgusting".

He smirks around the straw, eyes twinkling, 'Thank you, sweetheart. I do my best", and he slurps the last of it loudly, obnoxiously, making you roll your eyes again. Then, he's licking his lips dramatically before turning to his bandmates, "Boys, anyone wanna share the last of this fine, gourmet beverage?"

Gareth immediately recoils, "Dude, no".

Jeff makes a face, "I’d rather lick the floor".

Grant just shakes his head, lighting a cigarette, "Hard pass".

"Your loss", Eddie shrugs, completely unbothered as he empties it, tossing the cup into a gun next to you, sighing as he mumbles, "I kinda want another one". He turns to you, narrowing his eyes.

"Nope", you say immediately, clutching your own drink tighter, "Absolutely not".

But he moves.

You squeal, dodging, but he’s too fast, snatching your cup right out of your hands. He takes a dramatic, deep sip, sucking down as much of your slushie as possible before you can get it back. When he pulls away, his tongue is deep purple. "Oh my god", you groan, "That’s so unfair".

Eddie just grins, wicked and mischievous. "That’s life, baby". Then, before you can react, he leans in and licks your cheek, slow and obnoxious, his tongue ice cold.

"Ew!", you yelp, shoving at him, "Gross!"

His friends groan in unison. "Jesus, Munson".

Jeff smirks, watching the way Eddie’s still grinning at you, how you slap him, laughing at his dumb face, his eyes warm, completely soft in a way none of them have ever seen before. "Nah", he mumbles, nudging Gareth, "It’s kinda nice".

Grant snorts, "What, them being horny all the time?"

Jeff rolls his eyes. "No, dumbass. Just… I dunno. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy before".

Eddie doesn’t hear them, he’s too busy licking his lips, chasing you as you take a step back, giggling. "I swear to god-"

"What?", he smirks, "You gonna punish me, sweetheart?"

His friends groan again.

"You’re a menace", you huff, still fighting back a smile. “And I will punish you".

"Ooh, promises, promises", he grins, stealing another sip of your almost empty slushie, wiggling his brows.

"Jesus", Gareth sighs, followed by Grant, groaning a "Do you ever stop?", and Jeff, who's voice sounds almost painful as he adds, "Some of us are so single, dude".

You just shake your head, letting him have the rest of your drink while turning to the others, watching them sulk about their very single status. Grant seems unbothered, still smoking his cigarette, but Jeff and Gareth are both sighing dramatically, shaking their heads like their loneliness is some great tragedy. "You know what, boys?" you say, crossing your arms with a smirk. "You deserve some good girls. How about I set you up, mh?"

Eddie immediately perks up beside you. "Oh?" He smirks, turning to you with that look, the one that tells you he’s already cooking up something awful.

You roll your eyes, "Don’t".

He ignores you, leaning in, "Good girls, huh?"

You narrow your eyes, "Eddie".

"I love good girls", he purrs, grinning.

You groan, "Stop".

"Good girls, decent girls - what a great idea", he continues, now looking at Jeff and Gareth, "Guys, can you imagine? Sweet, innocent little things? Girls who don’t call us degenerates every five minutes? Who don’t corrupt us?"

Jeff just smirks, waiting to see where this is going. Gareth just sighs. "Here we go".

Eddie turns back to you, pretending to look thoughtful, "Maybe I’ll get one, too".

Your eyebrows shoot up, "Excuse me?"

He lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head, "Yeah. I mean, I always wanted a decent girl". 

"Oh my god".

"Thought I’d end up with one of those sweet, shy little things", he muses, "Y’know, the kind who bakes cookies and doesn’t hand me pictures of her tits-"

You gasp, smacking his arm, "Eddie!"

"... but, alas", he continues, throwing a hand to his chest in mock despair, "I had to say goodbye to that fantasy the moment I met you".

"Oh my god, you are such a dick".

He grins, "The biggest, baby. Thought you'd know that by now".

You narrow your eyes, "Dreaming of a decent girl, mh? Y’know what? Piss off, Munson".

His smirk falters slightly, but he recovers quickly, "Oh, come on, baby, you know I’m joking".

"Nope", you say, lifting your chin, "If I’m not decent enough for you, then maybe you should just go without me. Find someone better. Find a good girl". Eddie’s eyes widen slightly, as if he didn’t quite expect you to turn this around on him.

"Ohhhh", Jeff snickers, nudging Gareth, "She’s playing dirty".

Eddie shakes his head, stepping closer, "No, no, no, you’re not getting out of this with fake dramatics, baby".

"I’m not fake", you argue, taking a step back, keeping the game going, "I’m heartbroken, Eddie".

He snorts. "Bullshit".

"Truly", you say, pressing a hand to your chest, mimicking his earlier performance, "Here I was, thinking my boyfriend loved me for who I am...."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake", Eddie groans.

"... but no", you continue, voice full of mock devastation, 'Turns out, he wanted someone better. Someone good. Someone decent".

He steps closer. You step back.

The guys are watching now, thoroughly entertained. You shake your head, sighing dramatically, "I guess this is it, huh? It was fun while it lasted, Eds".

You shriek at how he suddenly moves, laughing as you try to dart away, but his arms are around you in seconds, pulling you hard against him. His voice is low, warm against your ear. "Would you fucking stop, you menace? You know exactly how madly I love you", he murmurs. Your stomach flips. Eddie presses a slow kiss just under your ear, "I love everything about you. That you’re a little shit. That you swear like a sailor. That you hand me pictures of your tits like they’re business cards".

The guys groan again.

"I hate you", you groan playfully, letting him kiss your neck once more.

"So, you coming with me?", he mutters, smirking as he looks back down at you.

"Mmh", you sigh, "I dunno".

Eddie blinks, "What?"

You shrug, smirking, "Maybe I'll find someone else to hang out with. Someone decent".

His eyes darken, his jaw tightening ever so slightly, "Don’t you dare".

"Oh, but I will-"Your feet leave the ground. "EDDIE!"

Suddenly, he’s got you over his shoulder, holding you like you weigh nothing, his arms locked around your thighs as you squirm and kick, shrieking. "Oh no, you don’t", he laughs, carrying you effortlessly as he starts following the others, "You're coming with me, baby, if you want it, or not".

"PUT ME DOWN!", you yell, drumming your fists against his back.

"Nah", he says casually, passing by Jeff, who laughs and watches you as Eddie keeps going, "I like you here". You slap at his ass. The bastard has the nerve to moan. "Oh, baby, harder".

"EDWARD, I SWEAR TO-"

Smack.

You gasp. That fucking menace just spanked you. In public.

"Oh my god", Jeff mutters, rubbing his temples.

Gareth cackles, "Dude, we should just leave them. Let ‘em work it out".

Eddie ignores them, grinning as he tightens his hold on you. "Admit it, sweetheart", he teases, voice low. "You love me. We're made for each other".

You glare at him upside down, "I hate you".

He just smirks, presses a kiss to the back of your thigh, "No, you don’t".

Your fists drum against his back, your legs kicking uselessly in the air as he continues to carry you down the sidewalk. "Put me down, you absolute menace!"

Eddie just laughs, his grip on you steady, like you weigh nothing. "Menace?", he scoffs, bouncing you slightly to adjust his hold, "Baby, you wound me".

You huff, slapping his ass hard in retaliaion, "That’s for being a little shit".

"Ow!" He groans dramatically, but you know it didn’t actually hurt, "Jesus, sweetheart, if you wanted a piece of me, all you had to do was ask".

"Oh my god", Jeff mutters ahead of you, shaking his head.

Gareth groans, "Do you ever stop?"

Grant just snorts, flicking the ash from his cigarette, "We’ve lost him. He’s gone".

Eddie ignores them, grinning as he keeps carrying you down the street, completely unbothered by the way people are turning to stare. A few onlookers chuckle, a couple of older women shake their heads fondly, and some kids actually point and laugh, amused by the sight of a guy slinging his girlfriend over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. And Eddie? He thrives on it.

"Ladies and gentlemen", he calls out, voice full of exaggerated bravado, "Feast your eyes upon my burden! My cross to bear! This absolute nuisance of a girlfriend!"

You gasp, smacking him again, "You asshole!"

"Ohh, she hits me!", he continues, shaking his head, "See what I put up with?"

Someone actually claps. You groan. And yet, despite yourself, you laugh.

You hate him. You love him. You hate how much you love him.

Eddie finally stops, giving your ass one last dramatic pat before setting you back on your feet. The moment you find your balance, you go after him. "You ass!" you shout, swinging at him - not hard, just enough to make him pay.

Eddie yelps, laughing as he dodges, backpedaling down the busy sidewalk. "Baby, baby, let’s be reasonable here-"

But you’re not reasonable. Not after he just paraded you around like a prize in front of half of Indianapolis. So you run. Eddie curses, spinning on his heel to take off down the sidewalk, and now you’re chasing him, weaving through the weekend crowds, your boots thudding against the pavement.

People watch, some stepping aside, some just laughing as they see a wild-haired metalhead flee from his (equally wild) girlfriend. "You’re dead, Munson!", you shout, biting down a laugh as he runs from you.

"Oh shit-", he laughs, when you finally catch him. You smack his back, his arm, his shoulder, hitting him over and over while he cackles, trying to shield himself. "Ow! Ow!" He’s laughing, barely even trying to defend himself, "Baby, mercy!"

"Not after that stunt!", you snort, lifting your hand again, aiming for his arm. But before you even know what’s happening, he grabs you, his hands firm on your waist as he lifts you, spinning you around in the middle of the sidewalk. You yelp, then laugh, clutching at his shoulders. He spins you faster. The city blurs, your head tilts back, your laughter mixing with the sounds of traffic, of distant music from street performers, of people cheering, actually cheering, as they watch him twirl you in the air like some dramatic rom-com hero. He's grinning, his eyes shining, his curls wild, and you grab his face, breathless, giddy, and kiss him.

People whoop and applaud. Someone whistles. But Eddie doesn’t stop kissing you."You guys suck!" Jeff groans, but there’s amusement in his voice.

"Oh my god, they’re so gross", Gareth mutters.

Grant, ever the instigator, just laughs, "I told you. He’s gone".

Eddie finally sets you back down, but before you can say anything, he pumps his fist into the air like he just won a championship, laughing down at you, his eyes so warm and full of love you can't take it. People cheer again, some laughing at his pose. "You're such an idiot", you laugh, shaking your head as you grab him by the collar to pull him back down into another kiss.

His hands tighten on your waist, his body melting into yours. "I love you", he mumbles between kisses, "I fucking love you". Your heart swells. "Thanks for being here with me", he continues, catching your lips for another breathless kiss.

You cup his face, looking into those shining brown eyes, and say, just as sure, "And I fucking love you".

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the parking lot outside the venue when you come back. The distant hum of the city blends with the chatter of musicians and crew members, the occasional burst of laughter or the distant soundcheck echoing from inside. The scent of beer, cigarette smoke, and food truck grease lingers in the warm cold evening air.

You lean against Eddie’s van, a cigarette dangling between your fingers, exhaling a slow stream of smoke as you watch the band talk in hushed but urgent tones. They’ve just found out their slot - 13th out of 15. Eddie’s lucky number.

Still, it means waiting. Hours of sitting through other performances, of nerves building and energy simmering beneath the surface. No drinking, not much relaxing. Just watching, waiting, anticipating.

Gareth runs a hand through his hair, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Dude, that’s so far back. We’re gonna be so wired by the time it’s our turn".

Grant shrugs, exhaling slowly, "Or everyone else is gonna bomb before us, and we’re gonna be the grand finale".

"Yeah", Jeff smirks, "Or they’re gonna kill it, and we’ll be the band everyone forgets before the headliners go up".

Eddie, perched on the hood of the van, boots planted firmly on the bumper, just rolls his shoulders, "Or we’ll fucking kill it, and that’ll be that".

They fall silent for a moment.

You glance at him, the cigarette hovering near your lips. He’s picking at the label of a beer bottle. His fingers are a little jittery, though he plays it off well. They all feel it.The pressure. You let your gaze drift, taking in the scene.

Bands are scattered across the lot, some unloading gear, some laughing like they don’t have a care in the world, others looking as tightly wound as your boys. Eddie recognized a few of them from previous battles, past events. Some are younger, wide-eyed and anxious. Others are older, seasoned, exuding quiet confidence. There’s a buzz in the air, an energy that crackles like static before a storm. The jury’s names haven’t been announced yet. Four big industry personalities. No one knows who. Speculation swirls in murmured conversations.

"Could be someone from Metal Blade Records", someone nearby muses.

"Nah, it’s gotta be someone from Roadrunner".

"Dude, if anyone from fucking Megaforce is here".

You exhale another slow stream of smoke, half-listening, letting your mind wander.

That’s when you see it.

A familiar car, parked across the lot. Leaning against it, a familiar figure. Small body, long hair, cigarette burning between fingers, drumsticks in her jeans pocket.

Lauren. Looking right at you.

The air feels heavier now, thick with something unseen but palpable. The noise of the lot - chatter, clinking bottles, distant soundchecks - fades into a low hum as you and Lauren lock eyes across the pavement.She’s too far away for you to make out her expression in detail, but you don’t need to.

You know how she feels. You can feel it.

The anger radiating from her.

The resentment. The sharp, bitter edge of jealousy.

Because you’re still here.

Because no matter what she did, throwing you out of the band, out of the apartment, out of her life, it didn’t break you.

It didn’t make you disappear.

You shouldn’t be here, in her eyes.

But you are.

And worse, you’re here with him.

With Eddie. The guy who never wanted her the way she wanted him. The guy who never chose her. Not really.

Not like he chose you.

You remember exactly how he said it to her, voice dripping with venom after she had the audacity to insult you again, after she sneered about how you weren’t good enough for him, how you were just some temporary thing, that he’d get bored and move on.

You were just a warm body, Lauren. That’s all. Someone to fuck when I needed it. But I never fucking wanted you.

It had been cruel. Blunt. But it had been the truth. And now, you see that truth written all over her face, in the way her fingers tighten around her cigarette, in the sharpness of her shoulders, the rigid way she holds herself. She hates this. Hates that you’re here. Hates that you belong here in a way she never did. Because you belong to him.

It kills her.

A flicker of movement catches your eye.

Amy and Joanna approaching Lauren’s car, carrying bags of food, drinks. Laughing about something you can’t hear. And when they reach her, she finally breaks eye contact. Takes a beer from Amy’s hand. Pops the cap. Says something.

And all three of them turn their heads toward you.

They look at you.

And... they laugh.

Something cold twists in your stomach.It’s not like you weren’t expecting this. You knew they would be here. You knew the odds of seeing them were high.

Yet, it still stings.

Not because you regret anything, you don’t. But because for so long, they weren’t just your bandmates. They were your people. You had something real with them once. And now? Now, they’re just faces in the crowd. Strangers wearing familiar skin.

You exhale slowly, gripping the cigarette tighter, forcing yourself to hold your ground. To not look away.

That’s when Eddie notices. Notices that you’ve gone quiet. That you’re no longer listening, no longer focused on the band’s conversation. Notices the way you’re staring at something across the lot.

When he follows your gaze, when he sees them, his entire demeanor shifts. The casual looseness in his posture disappears. His grip tightens around the bottle in his hand, his jaw locking, shoulders going rigid as he jumps down from the hood, his eyes darkening. "You gotta be fucking kidding me."

You feel his heat at your side, radiating off of him in waves, but you finally manage to tear your eyes away from them, turning to look at him just as he rolls his shoulders, like he’s gearing up for a fight. You reach out without thinking, catching his wrist."Eds."

He stops, his head snapping to you, eyes blazing. He’s pissed. More than pissed. This isn’t just protective boyfriend irritation. This is deeper. This is personal.

He doesn’t just hate Lauren for what she did to you, he hates her for what she did to him. For trying to twist the knife. For using Billy to do it. For throwing his past in his face, for kissing Billy in front of him like that would somehow undo the fact that Eddie never wanted her. For making him fight again. For making him bleed again.

For making you watch.

You can still see it.

Eddie, fists swinging, Billy laughing in that sick way of his, taunting, goading, talking so disrespectful about you just to make him lose his shit. Again.

You squeeze Eddie’s wrist before he can do anything reckless. "Not worth it."

His jaw clenches. His eyes flick back to them, then to you. Then, exhaling sharply, he shakes his head, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he pulls his arm free, only to immediately wrap it around your shoulders, yanking you against him. "Fine." His voice is rough, low, "Fuck ‘em."He still feels like he’s burning up inside, like his skin is itching with the need to throw another punch, to make them feel even an ounce of what they’ve done to you. But then he looks at you, standing right there next to him, looking at him, not them, and his breath starts to even out. "They’re not the ones with Rick’s number pinned to their mirror," he mutters, voice gruff but steady. He takes another sip of his beer, eyes locked on yours, "They’re not the ones he told to call him, about their song. Because they didn’t write that song. They don’t fucking sing it like you do. They don’t have what you have."

Your stomach clenches.

"They won’t win," he continues, shaking his head, conviction thick in his voice now,  "Not without you. It’s their fucking loss."

And you know he’s right. But it still hurts.

You exhale through your nose, then nod, forcing yourself to let it go.

Because none of that matters anymore. Not them. Not what they did.

You’re not here for them.

You’re here for him. To support him. To watch him take that stage and win.

You smirk to yourself, glancing down at the black Corroded Coffin shirt you’re wearing under your leather jacket. You tug at the hem, showing it off to Eddie with a raised brow. "I don’t see anyone wearing a Cherry Burn shirt around here."

Eddie barks out a laugh, the tension in his shoulders finally melting as he grins at you. He takes another sip of his beer, then cups your jaw, thumb stroking along your cheek as he tilts your face up. "You’re fuckin’ perfect, you know that?" he murmurs.

You smile, pressing up on your toes to kiss him, soft and slow. "I’m so proud of you," you whisper against his lips, "I can’t wait to see you play. To see you win." He exhales, pressing his forehead to yours, drinking you in. And you know he believes you. Then you spin, facing the rest of the band, squaring your shoulders. "Alright, listen up, motherfuckers," you start, and they all turn to you, slightly startled, "You’re gonna go in there, you’re gonna get on that stage, and you’re gonna own it. Got it?"

Grant smirks, "Yes, ma’am."

"This is yours for the taking," you go on, pointing at them, voice filled with certainty, "You’ve got the talent, you’ve got the music, you’ve got this absolute talent shredding on that stage like he was born for it." You turn to Eddie, eyes blazing with conviction, "You know you’re the best band here. I know it. So prove it."

Gareth and Jeff exchange glances, grinning now, standing taller. Grant nudges Eddie, "Dude, I love your girlfriend".

"I know, right?" Eddie grins, throwing an arm around you, pressing a hard, proud kiss to your temple.

The sound of the crowd swells in the distance, the venue filling with bodies and energy. The first band is probably setting up, the stage waiting to be claimed. It’s almost time. You throw your jackets into the van, emptying your beers, flicking your cigarettes away. Eddie grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together as he pulls you toward the entrance. "Showtime, baby," he murmurs, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear as his hand wanders, his palm settling against the small of your back.

You don’t even notice the eyes following you, the appreciative glances from a few guys in the crowd.

But Eddie does.

And as he guides you inside, he pulls you even closer, his fingers flexing against your hip.

You're his.