Chapter Text
You had known Eddie Munson for as long as you could remember. His uncle Wayne was good friends with your uncle Dennis, your mom’s brother. They’d grown up together in Hawkins, the kind of small-town loyalty that stuck around. Wayne was a permanent fixture at every backyard barbecue, loud Fourth of July, and even the odd holiday party. Whenever Eddie was staying with him, he was there too. Always lingering a few steps behind the adults like he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to be for the first little while.
You used to watch him. Not obviously, never obviously. Just little glances from across the yard while the grown-ups talked too loud, and the smell of charcoal and sunscreen hung thick in the humid Indiana air. He was two years older, which felt like a lifetime when you were a kid. He was old enough to seem untouchable. Old enough that you assumed he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. He would usually end up with the other kids tearing across the yard in chaotic games of tag, or climbing halfway up the maple tree before someone’s mom inevitably yelled for them to get down. Sometimes he’d invent elaborate games on the spot, barking out dramatic rules like a dungeon master in training, while everyone else scrambled to keep up. You usually stayed closer to the quieter edges of the yard. Not because you didn’t want to play. You just didn’t quite know how to jump into the middle of things once they’d already started.
Once, he noticed you hovering there and waved you over. “Hey! We could use one more!” he called from the middle of the yard, already halfway into whatever game the other kids were playing. You had thought about it, but by the time you worked up the courage to move, the game had already started again, kids scattering across the grass. Eddie shrugged and started shouting about new rules and lava monsters or pirates or whatever the game had become. So you stayed where you were, and watched instead.
You started to notice that most of the time he was performing. Big gestures, dramatic groans when someone mentioned school. That loud, exaggerated laugh that made the grown-ups shake their heads and say, “That boy...” Every now and then, when he thought no one was paying attention, the performance slipped. His shoulders would sag, like he had forgotten to hold them up. His smile would flatten into something smaller and quieter. He didn’t look bored exactly, just like his mind went somewhere else. You had seen him flinch when one of the uncles clapped him a little too hard on the back. He covered it quickly. Rolled his eyes, made a joke, but you noticed. You didn’t know why it stayed with you. You didn’t have the language for it yet. You just realized that there were two versions of him. The one everyone else saw, and the one who looked like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He always seemed more relaxed when Wayne was nearby though. It made you curious. You found yourself watching for those quiet moments after that. As if you were waiting to see which version of him would show up.
You’d end up near each other sometimes on the porch steps, under the maple tree, by the cooler of sodas. Never crossing that invisible line into a true friendship. You existed in each other’s orbit, close enough to feel the pull, but never quite brave enough to fully step into it. Until the summer you turned twelve.
The heat that year felt relentless, and the grass prickled against your bare legs as you hid in the only patch of shade your backyard could offer. You held a paperback copy of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien above your face, using it as both a shield and a sanctuary. You didn’t hear him approach.
“What part are you at?” His voice cut through your concentration, and you startled, the book thudding against your chest. “Oh-sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” He dropped down beside you, brown eyes wide with panic, like he had committed some unforgivable crime.
You blinked back at him, heart still racing. “It’s okay.” you said, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “Um, I’m on chapter 8. They just got to Mirkwood, and Bilbo was getting wrapped up by a giant spider! It was kind of scary, like the forest doesn’t want them there…” you say excitedly. “They kept going anyway though, because turning back would be worse I-” You froze, suddenly aware you’d maybe said too much.
Eddie’s expression shifted, interest lighting behind his eyes. Not polite interest, real interest. “No way! That’s where it gets good.” Before you could protest, he gently took the book from where it had landed and thumbed through the pages. He was surprisingly careful for someone who pretended not to care about much. He stopped exactly where you’d left off, and handed it back like a peace offering after scaring it from your clutches in the first place. “There,” he said, a crooked half-grin pulling at his mouth. “Didn’t want you spoiling it trying to find your place again.”
You stared at him for a second longer than you meant to. No one else had ever noticed what you were reading before. No one else had cared enough to make sure you didn’t lose your page.
“Have you read any of his other stuff?” he asked, rolling onto his side, propping his head up with his hand like he had nowhere better to be.
You shook your head. “No, I just found this one at the library.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Just found it?” he repeated, mocking offense. “You can’t just stop at The Hobbit. That’s basically the warm-up.”
“There’s more?” you asked, sitting up a little straighter.
“More?” He let out what sounded like a cross between a sigh and a quiet laugh. “There is so much more.” He lowered his voice slightly, like he was sharing a secret. “The Lord of the Rings. Three books. Bigger. Darker. Way better battles.” He said holding up one finger at a time to count the reasons.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Bigger than dragons and giant spiders?”
“Oh, way bigger.” He leaned in closer, more animated now. “An army of ghosts, an ancient forest that can literally move, entire cities under siege. It’s not just treasure and adventure, it’s about loyalty and sacrifice and-” He stopped himself, shrugging. “It’s just better. Trust me.”
You studied him for a moment. “I take it, you’ve read all of them then?”
“I’m on the third one.” He said trying, and failing, to sound casual. “The Return of the King.”
The title alone sounded important. “You’re already that far ahead?” you asked.
“Guess you better catch up.” There was no challenge in his voice. No teasing edge. Just an invitation.
You looked back down at your copy of The Hobbit, then up at him again. “Okay,” you said before you could overthink it. “I will.” You let out a pleased chuckle, and gave him a half smile of your own.
His grin, a real one this time, was brighter than the sun you’d been hiding from. “Good,” he said. “We’ll talk about it when you’re done.”
We. That word settled somewhere warm in your chest.
You finished The Hobbit before the summer ended, and borrowed The Fellowship of the Ring from the library the very next week. Then life suddenly got very very busy, not granting you the free time to sit and read, which frustrated you to no end. You had saved up your allowance to start collecting them instead of having to hope they’d be available at the library. Once you had finally made it to The Two Towers you read the book every spare second you could. The whole time, you imagined telling him. You imagined arguing about Aragorn’s stubborn honor. Asking if he thought Legolas ever missed home. Confessing that you didn’t trust Gollum from the very start. How Boromir surprised you. You hadn’t expected to like him. He was proud, flawed, a little desperate in ways you didn’t fully understand. But when he fell, not as a villain, not as a coward, but trying to make something right…you cried harder than you meant to. You wanted to ask Eddie what he thought about that. Whether trying and failing still counted as being brave. Whether being scared of losing everything made someone weak, or if it just made them human.
You looked for him at the next barbecue, but he wasn’t there. Wayne mentioned something about him being busy or his dad being back in town. You couldn’t remember which. You only remembered scanning the yard, and being disappointed when you didn't see him there. You felt like you two were just nearly friends, and then he was gone again.
The seasons shifted the way they always did in Hawkins, subtle and then all of a sudden. School ended, and then started again. You entered your freshman year of high school, clutching The Return of the King like a lifeline. It turned out high school wasn’t quite as terrifying as you’d imagined. Somewhere between awkward group projects and shared complaints about homework, you even managed to make a couple of friends. One of them was a band kid named Robin who talked fast enough to fill every silence the two of you might have otherwise sat through. She was a safe place that allowed you to come out of your shell a little.
When you did finally see Eddie, it was in hallways instead of backyards. His laugh was louder now. His edges were sharper. The easy stillness from that summer was replaced with something harder, more guarded. You finished The Return of the King halfway through first semester. You closed the book slowly, relishing in how truly amazing the books had been despite how agonizingly long it had taken you to finish them. You carried the book in your backpack for a few days afterward, just in case. You never did get to tell him what you thought of The Return of the King that school year. After that summer, the backyard barbecues stopped lining up with Eddie’s time at his uncle’s place.
By the time you were a sophomore, Eddie was a senior. At least he was for a while. He disappeared in the second semester, not with a bang, but with a quiet efficiency. The rumor mill started running like it usually did. Someone said he had dropped out. Someone else said he’d been expelled after mouthing off to the wrong teacher. Another person swore they’d seen him loading his van like he was planning to leave Hawkins for good. Silently, you hoped none of them were true, especially that last one. You didn’t ask Wayne, it never felt like your place.
That summer came the way it always did in Indiana, humid and slow. The cicadas buzzing in the trees complaining like the whole town had been left out in the sun too long. You didn’t expect to see him again until school started back up. Hoping he would return with some weird story about his disappearance. Then Wayne’s truck pulled into your driveway for your family’s annual end-of-summer barbecue. Eddie climbed out of the passenger side, but for a second you didn’t recognize him. His hair had grown longer, down to his shoulders now, and there was something even sharper in the way he held himself. Like the world had taken a swing at him, and he had decided to swing back. His eyes were the same though. You tried not to stare.
The adults welcomed Wayne in their usual way. Someone handed him a beer, and someone else complained about gas prices going up. Eddie drifted away from the crowd almost immediately, drifting towards the shady area beneath the big maple. The very same spot you usually used to hide from the sun. He sat in the grass, back to the trunk, and shut his eyes. You found yourself there some time later, a familiar book in hand, and a silent hope that maybe you guys could finally talk about it. He noticed your presence, cracking an eye open. “Still doing that?” he asked.
You looked up. “Doing what?”
“Hiding from the sun with a book like it personally offended you.”
Your lips twitched. “It’s called self-preservation.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh and shimmied around to face you. Not as close as he had that summer when you were twelve, but close enough. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then his eyes flicked to the cover in your hands. “Wait, no way.” You turned the well loved book so he could see the title. The Return of the King. His eyebrows shot up. “Holy shit.” he breathed. “I didn’t think you’d actually-” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, okay, hold on! Important question.” He pointed at you like this was very serious business, causing you to straighten your posture a little. It also brought a smile to your face. “You actually finished them? All three?”
You lifted the book slightly in your hands. “I wouldn’t be carrying this around if I didn’t. I was actually hoping you’d want to talk about it.” You let out a small laugh. “You sir, owe me a very overdue book discussion.”
He squinted at you like he was trying to determine if you were bluffing. “Alright,” he said slowly. “Then answer me this.” You raised an eyebrow. “Favorite part.”
“That’s not fair,” you protested. “There’s a lot of good parts!”
“That’s the point,” he shot back. “This is a test.”
You thought about it for a moment, laying the book down beside you in the grass and pulling your knees up to your chest. “The riders of Rohan showing up at Minas Tirith.” you said finally. “That was pretty awesome. It looked really freaking cool in my head when I read it.”
Eddie nodded approvingly. “Good answer.” Then his expression shifted, a little more thoughtful. “Alright, next question.” You waited. “Favorite character.”
You didn’t hesitate. “Gimli.”
Eddie blinked, then a grin spread across his face. “Gimli?” he repeated, sounding delighted.
“He’s loyal,” you said with a shrug. “And he’s funny. Plus the dwarves are super cool!”
“Okay, first of all,” he said, holding up a finger, “excellent choice. Dwarves are wildly underrated.” You laughed quietly as he leaned forward, warming to the subject. “Second, people think they’re all just grumpy miners, but Tolkien built this whole deep culture for them. Their language, their craftsmanship, their whole honor code… They keep records of their ancestors going back for generations. It’s insane! Plus they treat smithing like an artform. Half the stuff in Middle Earth that actually lasts was made by dwarves. Their cities, their weapons, their armor-” He stopped himself abruptly, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I get a little carried away sometimes.”
You shook your head smiling. “It’s fine. I like listening to it.”
He eyed you for a second, like he wasn’t entirely sure if you meant that. Then he nodded once, satisfied. “Alright,” he said, settling back against the trunk again. He stretched his legs out in the grass. The tension you’d noticed earlier and the tight set of his shoulders when he first arrived had loosened slightly. You realized it was the most relaxed he’d looked all afternoon.
You tilted your head slightly. “Okay, my turn for a question.” Eddie sat up, giving you his full attention. You paused for dramatic effect. “Boromir.”
He blinked. “What about him?”
“Good man who screwed up,” you asked, “or an arrogant idiot who got exactly what was coming to him?”
“What do you think?” He asked, redirecting your question to you.
“Nuh-uh. That was my question!”
Eddie smirked. “Yeah, well, you asked it like someone who’s already picked a side.”
You took a second to carefully consider your next reply. “He was brave.” you finally said. Eddie went very still, listening intently. You continued, a little more confidently now. “He knew he was failing, but he still tried to fix it.” You glance down at the grass, picking at a blade between your fingers as you searched for the right words. “Besides…everyone else already knew who they were supposed to be. Aragorn had a crown waiting for him. Legolas never misses his mark. And Gandalf… Gandalf always seems three steps ahead of everyone else.” You shrugged. “Boromir is just a guy trying to hold everything together for his people. Of course he makes a mistake, he's got a lot going on.” You risked a glance at Eddie. “I liked that he still stood up and fought anyway. That counts for something.”
Eddie looked away toward the lower tree branches above you. Then he nodded once, slow and thoughtful. “Most people don’t like Boromir.” he said, turning his head to look at you once again.
You frowned a little. “Why?”
He snorted softly. “Because he screws up. People like their heroes clean.”
You tilted your head. “That seems unfair.”
“You think so?”
You nodded. “I think people who try to make things right deserve a little credit.”
Eddie watched you for a long second, like he was trying to decide something. “Yeah.” he said after a moment. “Yeah, they probably do.”
The conversation drifted easily after that. You talked about the books until the sky shifted from late summer gold to the softer and darker blue of the evening. You talked about Ents, the surprisingly complicated nuances of Elven politics, about whether Aragorn had been avoiding his destiny or just waiting for the right moment. How both of you thought that Samwise Gamgee was quietly the bravest character in the entire story. Every so often Eddie would launch into another burst of lore committed to memory or some dramatic retelling of a battle scene, complete with sound effects, only to stop himself halfway through with an embarrassed shrug. It made you smile, seeing him talk so passionately about something like that.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, without either of you really noticing, you had finally settled into each other’s orbit.
Wayne called Eddie’s name from across the yard, somewhere near the house. Looking over, he gave his uncle a quick thumbs up before he pushed himself up, brushing grass from the back of his jeans. “Guess I’ll see you around.” he said, like the words didn’t mean much at all. But this time, you had a feeling that he did actually mean it.