Archive of Our Own ^beta

His room smells like a mix of sweat, vanilla, shaving cream, and cigarette smoke. He watches dazedly as flaxen sun beams spin beneath the ceiling fans breath, a quiet hum vibrating about the stuffy air from the record player by his window. 

He blinks, warm, doe-like eyes scanning around, bringing an aching, pasty scarred arm up to scrub over his jaw.

“You wore your binding to sleep”.

He nearly jumps out of his skin, suddenly tense and tight, shoulders hiking up to his ears and a loud squeal of surprise escaping his lips as he glances over to the far corner of his room.

Chrissy is sitting on the floor in front of the full-length mirror, carefully applying viridian shadow to her eyelids and lathering her lower face in that lovely floral, feminine aftershave. .

“You scared the shit out of me”, Eddie breathes, picking at the fraying scraps of the ace bandages wrapped tight around his chest, wheezing thinly on the exhale, wincing at the sharp pain dancing about below his breastbone.

“So are you gonna take that off or am I gonna have to call in for backup?”.

It’s a loaded threat wrapped in a deceivingly pretty rich, gold-leaf envelope, sealed with a sickly sweet strawberry kiss.

Chrissy has this numerous times before when Eddie has refused to stop binding. She would call Steve, the cissiest cis man to ever live, over to Eddie’s new trailer and tell him that Eddie ‘felt sick’, and in turn, Eddie would either be forced to hop up and change so Chrissy would drop the call and let Steve know it was alright, or he would have to ditch the binding so Steve didn’t stress over his laboured breathing and how he’d huddle up under a mound of blankets as Steve interrogated him about his mysterious, reoccurring colds because Steve doesn’t know .

Both sounded dreadful .

Eddie gulps, whining throatily at the shooting pain down his back as he inhales. He ignores Chrissy. Maybe she will let him off the hook just this once.

Chrissy sighs, dropping the shadow brush to the carpet once she’s cleaned up her cut-crease and clambering over to the side of Eddie’s bed, tilting her head and smiling at him.

“You gotta take it off, handsome. It’s bad for you”.

Chrissy’s voice is kind yet firm with that slight scratchy edge of hers, not quite a lisp but a little ruffled, and it eases the anxiety in Eddie’s gut.

He sniffles, trying to neglect the water pooling along his lash line at the term because Chrissy is too good.

Chrissy frowns at that calf-like look on his features, knowing not to push when Eddie’s still half asleep and this dysphoric. She hooks her chin on the edge of the tattered mattress, eyes flickering over the curtains that wave to her in the fan and its synthetic wind. 

“How about…” she pauses, “you take it off, I’ll go prepare a blunt for us and grab you one of Steve’s big sweaters?”.

Eddie shutters on the exhale, ignoring the way Chrissy’s eyes dance across his torso with concern, her lips tugging up as she observes his litter of tattoos.

“I need to give that hoodie back” it’s both a feeble attempt at deflecting and a thought spoken aloud, one that somehow flies over Chrissy’s head as she grins slyly.

“I don’t think he wants it back” she chuckles, and Eddie sits up comically pin-point straight, his heart speeding up at the tight tug of fabric around his chest.

“Do I really smell that bad?” he whines.

Chrissy giggles, gaze flicking down and blonde curls bouncing gently with her laughter, eyes creasing, her locks and bangs catching the light of the sun and haloing her face with a flaxen ring.

Eddie mentally notes that he should tell her to wear gold more often. 

“No, you don’t, dork”, she shoves his arm gently, giggling when Eddie crumbles dramatically beneath the force, losing his balance and falling back to his pillow. 

“I think he just likes seeing you in it” she says carefully.

Eddie scoffs, wincing and rolling his eyes before tilting his head to look at Chrissy.

“You’re the dork here, princess”, he shoots back, “I’m sure he’s just bought a new one by now with that Harrington wallet of his”.

“Or maybe he got Robin to ask me last week about said sweater's whereabouts and whether or not it needed another spritz of his expensive cologne”.

Eddie’s brows furrow and draw together in confusion, eyes glittering wetly as he chokes on an inhale because these bandages are tight. 

“You’re bullshitting?”.

Chrissy smiles, eyes gleaming with a look he isn’t too familiar with from Chrissy. A look that tells him she knows something he doesn’t. 

“Does he know?”.

Chrissy widens her eyes, tilting her head before shaking it rapidly. “That you like him? No, don’t think so” she mumbles.

“It’s number two on my ‘Things I Really Don’t Want Steve Harrington To Know About’ list”.

Chrissy laughs loudly, “He just likes you, dingus”.

Eddie groans, ignoring the head of the statement because the lack of truth behind it stings, and instead clings to the tail. “And you’ve been hanging around Robin way too much, Cunningham”.

A quaint blush dusts the apples of her cheeks as Chrissy rolls her eyes, “She’s…” she pauses, “she sweet , it’s refreshing to have someone else like me”.

Eddie snorts fondly, smiling weakly and not missing the strawberry hue lacing Chrissy’s complexion. 

“Does she know? About both things”.

Chrissy shakes her head, pouting a little. 

“You’ll get there, my pretty girl”, Eddie whispers, flicking the blonde's freckle-dotted nose with a dimpled and sly grin.

Chrissy whines, prodding Eddie in the cheek with her pointed, baby-pink manicure, earning herself a whine and a muffled cry of ‘blonde bitch’ , before she crawls across the messy floor towards Eddie’s closet. 

“So, sweater it is, I assume. C’mon, big boy, let’s get that binding off”.

Eddie rolls his eyes in his sleepy daze, sitting up and grunting, succumbing to Chrissy’s puppy eyes as he lifts his arms above his head.

Chrissy sighs, leaning toward and pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head for his compliance.

He lets the hoodie fall over his shoulders and slip over his wrists. Eddie hums as a means of distraction as Chrissy tugs the hoodie so it will sit full and fluffy around him.

Eddie follows, reaching under the cotton plushness and unraveling the tight bandages, letting them fall around his waist and hips. 

Eddie gulps in both discomfort and relief, inhaling heavily as air flow slips back into his lungs with ease, ribs stinging.

“Good boy” Chrissy praises, and Eddie opens his eyes, watching as Chrissy smiles brightly, ruffling his hair and earning her a quiet, shy giggle before he tugs the folds from his waist.

She leans down and presses a sweet peck to his lips, Eddie quickly reaching up to cup her cheeks and press back just as firmly. It’s sweet and warm and Eddie sighs into it when Chrissy runs a hand through his hair, tugging him away.

“No blunt or kisses until you eat breakfast” and Eddie flops back and groans.