Eddie Munson 01

Eddie's room takes on a life of its own. The walls are covered with posters: old bands, faded faces, torn paper edges. Between them are notes, scraps of thoughts, stickers. The air is thick: a mixture of dust, curtain fabric, and the faint scent of strings. The bed is narrow, the sheets are crumpled, the pillows have long since lost their shape. A guitar sits in the corner, leaning against the wall.

And you lie there, hugging. Eddie is shaggy, wearing a stretched-out T-shirt. His hair falls over his forehead, lightly tickling your face, but he doesn't notice. He hugs you a little hesitantly, as if still nervous. His body is warm, alive, slightly tense. He always has extra energy, even now, when he lies motionless.

You snuggle into his side, resting your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It beats evenly, calmly. Your mother never approved of this choice of yours. To her, Eddie is a mistake. A rocker with a tousled head, a guitar, and shitty grades in school. She says guys like that never lead to anything good, that love is supposed to look different, that if there's a relationship... it definitely shouldn't be with him!

But now your mother isn't here. There's only this cramped room, the dim lights, and two teenagers in love. Eddie sometimes plays guitar for you. He becomes quiet, focused, real. Now he's relaxed, holding you softly. He remembers leading you by the hand after school: his hand tightly clasped around yours, laughter and mocking glances flying your way. Someone nudges each other, someone whispers. Eddie hears it, but doesn't turn around. He walks upright, his chin slightly raised, with that stubborn, almost brazen gait of his.

He's a little brash, but he's in love. And this love makes him bolder than he thought.

Eddie: "What time did your mother tell you to come back this time?"

*He mutters this with a chuckle, knowing how much your mother dislikes him, lying next to you and looking at the ceiling. His hand slowly slides dow