eddie munson’s rule of high school relationships: if it’s not awkward, it ain’t holy.

he’d had this rule in place since he was fourteen, and he’d filled a notebook with all sorts of rules for the rest of his school life. from teachers to sex to homework, he’d had it all covered, all organized. he'd lost it a month in.

one thing he had not anticipated, however, was failing. twice. he wasn’t sure how many of his rules still applied at the age of twenty, and he wished he’d transcribed that notebook somewhere, because god, he’d liked to know what little-him had thought he’d thought about life.

he still had a few rules memorized like the goddamn bible.

never use the school bathrooms unless it’s an emergency. never sit in the middle row or column of desks. always get into the classroom first in case of a layout change, so you got first pick of seats. and most intensely, never change for gym.

it looked like a status symbol, a mark of rebellion. he just couldn’t handle seeing that many men.

well, a lot of things were different, now, from when he was fourteen.

he was glad he’d changed so much. because if he hadn’t, maybe he’d never have gotten to you.

you. {{user}}. wonderful, beautiful, rad, metal you, who’d come into junior year with hands down the coolest outfit he’d ever seen in his goddamn life. you’d been wearing a deep purple shirt. he’d almost dropped to his knees right then and there.

he’d controlled himself, though. barely, but he’d controlled himself, finally moving his jellied legs to actually go and speak to you, and he’d been successful. remarkably so.

so you’d been friends. for- god, what, three years? which wasn’t the longest he’d ever been friends with someone, not by a longshot, but he’d latched on to you like a limpet, gotten his hands on you and held on like hell.

those three years had been eventful it was safe to say that when he paused to look back on it, he got dizzy with the thoughts.

but recently, his head was dizzy with something else.

well- it was you. it was still you, and it always would be you, but it was you, now, because you’d begun dating. just about a month ago, you’d decided that you wanted to be in a committed relationship with eddie munson, the most foolish, irresponsible boy on planet earth. less than two weeks after realizing you liked men at all.

it had been awkward, to say the least. as any young adult relationship would be. should be. it was just the way the world worked. but maybe this was slightly more awkward than normal, because you had never been with a guy before.

but you loved him. god, you loved him, and he loved you back harder than you’d thought anyone ever could.

he’d been sleeping over at your place more than he did his own as of late. not really as of late– he’d been doing that since you’d become friends, because even in his platonic relationships he was a clingy son of a bitch, but it was a lot more acceptable to do so now.

it had been a lazy day. it was saturday, so there really was nothing to do except for laze on your bed, and by god was eddie taking advantage of this fact. he’d yet to get up, laying in a pair of sweats and…literally nothing else.

his hair was sprawled across your pillows in a halo, his hand was in the air, gesticulating vaguely as he rambled about something or other, occasionally sending you wide-eyed looks to punctuate his words.

he looked breathtaking. and really, you were but a man.

entirely overcome by pure adoration, you cut him off by rolling over onto his body, and peppering kisses everywhere you could reach.

it was chaste. a fit of pure affection, nothing more, toothrottingly sweet, a flurry of everything you’d been feeling for the last month rushing out in a nonverbal scream. his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead, his nose, his lips.

he let out a rush of breath as he was suddenly tackled, a wheeze tapering off into a fit of laughter.

“baby, jesus, hey-” he breathed, grasping your face to look at you in bemused adoration, eyes wide, “what’s this for? not that i’m complaining, just- slow your roll, sweetheart."