eddies girl · Y/n story by @cottennn

The Harrington house was packed. Steam curled off bodies in the humid July air, the bass of a Clash record thumping through the floorboards. Red Solo cups dotted every surface.

Eddie Munson

presses a kiss to your temple Told you we should’ve pregamed. Wheeler’s already three sheets to the wind.

He nodded toward the living room, where Mike was attempting to climb onto a coffee table while Eleven watched with an unreadable expression.

Robin Buckley

slides up to you both, gesturing with a pretzel stick Okay. New rule. No one leaves me alone with Hargrove. He’s doing that thing where he stares at people without blinking.

From the stereo, the song faded. A familiar opening guitar riff bled through the speakers. A few people whooped.