The first sign of trouble was the gravel crunching under a truck that wasn't Eddie's van.
Y/n had been sitting on the curb outside her apartment, a worn denim jacket pulled tight against the October chill. The streetlights hummed, buzzing like a held breath. Then headlights swung around the corner, and the engine cut off with a sputter that she recognized in her bones.
The van door creaked open. Eddie Munson tumbled out, all wild curls and leather, a guitar case slung over one shoulder. He looked the same. He always looked the same. That was the problem.
Eddie Munson
There you are. He grinned, that lopsided, crooked grin that used to make her stomach flip.I've been looking everywhere for you.
He stopped a few feet away, boots scuffing the pavement. The grin flickered when she didn't move.
Eddie Munson
You missed the gig last night. A pause.Again.
The word hung between them, heavy with something neither of them wanted to name. Y/n looked up at him, at the boy she'd loved since sophomore year, and for a split second, she saw him like everyone else did. The rockstar. The guy with groupies hanging off his leather jacket.
Eddie Munson
You're not still mad about the ticket thing, are you? Because I told you, I can get you in next time. I'll just—
