The inside of Eddie's van is soaked by the time they're back in it, windows rolled up and heater blasting. Willow is sure Eddie only turned on the heater because she's shivering.

August nights in Hawkins were unforgiving, cold and treacherous, but that wasn't why she was shivering.

"Only in your dreams, Jenkins. "

His words are haunting her every move. They had laughed it off, continued to splash in the puddles until Eddie declared they'd had a sufficient amount of fun, but Willow's mind was far away.

It was buried in her comforter at home. It was reminiscing on her dream, on something that clearly could only happen in her dreams. Eddie Munson would only be kissing her in her dreams.

She almost couldn't stomach it.

She doesn't know where the impossible need to feel Eddie's lips on hers had come from, but it had completely intoxicated her. She was sure if she didn't experience it soon, she would die. It would be the end of the world, right there in his van, a heater serving as the excuse for her pink cheeks rather than the image of Eddie's lips, Eddie's tongue, invading her every space and every thought.

She'd never wanted to kiss somebody so badly.

She blames it on the weather, the adrenaline. This new emotion was simply a by-product of the thrill of the life experience she'd just checked off her list with him. It was temporary. It would pass.

"Storm's getting pretty bad," she murmurs into the quiet van as they pull into her street. They hadn't talked much on their drive back, letting Toto fill their silence instead. She couldn't take it anymore, wanting to distract herself from the current mess of her mind.

Right on cue, the sky illuminates with a flash of lightning.

"Yeah," Eddie responds in a chuckle, hands gripping his steering wheel tightly as the torrential downpour assaulted his windshield, "It is."

The delayed thunder shakes the van as Willow's house finally comes into sight, and she can feel the dread Eddie had been trying to distract her from returning with vengeance. She can hear the wind against the windows, whistling carelessly as it forces the trees in her yard into the slightest tilt.

"Are you sure you'll be able to drive home okay?" she asks suddenly, realizing Eddie still had the journey to make back to the trailer park.

He simply nods, giving her a quick look as if she were crazy, "Don't worry about me, Red. I'm the best damn driver in Hawkins-"

"You can't possibly be the best driver and the best liar. Pick one," she scoffs at him. He just smiles back.

They pull into her driveway too quickly for her comfort. She knows this part well - they'll say their farewells, she'll go inside to an empty home, and she'll probably spend the night restless and hiding beneath her covers. Maybe she'll call Robin at some point to distract her, but her best friend couldn't possibly stay up with her all night.

Besides, knowing Hawkins' history this last summer, she'll be lucky if the power doesn't go out.

"Well, this is your stop," Eddie says slowly, turning to her expectantly. She glances at him, and can't stop herself from the quick look to his lips.

It'll pass. It's temporary.

"Indeed it is," Willow replies, taking her sweet time unbuckling and reaching back for her backpack from the back of the van. It's only once she's turned back around the face Eddie, all her things in hand, that she glances down and embarrassment floods her.

She hadn't processed this entire time that she had gone out in the rain in a white shirt. The flimsy cotton material had soaked through, clinging to her skin, and left little to the imagination. She could see right through it; she could only thank the Universe that she had half the mind to wear a white bra today.

Immediately upon her discovery, she pulls the backpack to her chest. She doesn't even process the gasp that has left her lips until Eddie is looking at her confused. It only takes him a moment to follow where her shocked stare lingers on her own chest.

"Oh my God, I-" she starts, now knowing her face was definitely crimson with humiliation - there was no passing it off for the heater this time, "I forgot- Fuck, oh my God. I'm sorry, shit, I'm so sorry."

She's so absorbed in her rambling that she hardly notices Eddie immediately leaning himself into the back, grabbing something before settling back into his seat and his hand shooting out in her direction with a fistful of denim.

"It's okay, Red. Here," he insists, not looking at her, probably for her own benefit, "For your modesty."

She nimbly grabs the levi and recognizes it as his Dio vest, "What? No, I can't, I'm just going inside-"

"Seriously, it's all good. You can give it back tomorrow."

She doesn't fight him, still clutching her backpack to her chest as she stares at the vest. All the buttons, all the patches. The one article of clothing Eddie wore every single day. Her back turns to him as she quickly shrugs it on, the material very oversized on her. But it does the intended job; once she's slipped it on, you can no longer see her exposed chest from her wet shirt.

It smelled like him. Just like the leather jacket once had. The cologne, the weed, the cigarettes - all scents she would have once turned her nose up at, now sending her into a spiral of comfort and emotions she needed to bury. Her chest felt like a shaken soda can, ready to burst at any moment. One wrong move and she might end up spewing across the dashboard of Eddie's van, erupting all her feelings messily and stickily into the space between them with no sense of consequence. How she wanted to spend every possible moment with him, how she never wanted their hang-outs to end. How he had come to consume her with every breath and every word exchanged.

"Call me when you get home, okay?" she insists as her hand reluctantly falls to the handle of her door, "I want to know you got back safely."

Eddie nods fervently, "Of course, sweets. Now hurry up and get inside so you don't ruin my vest."

Her grip on the handle is loose, unwilling to make the move to leave him.

"I mean it. Please drive safely," she reiterates. The storm was growing worse by the second, and she had half the mind to ask him to come inside. To say to Hell with going home, instead spending the night with her. She doesn't, though, out of the fear of how much she'd genuinely embarrass herself when he witnessed the full effect of her fear of thunder.

Eddie is looking at her so softly, nodding honestly, until she's finally satisfied that the boy will take care on his journey home.

Her hand finally tightens on the handle, but her eyes are still trained on him.

"Goodnight, Red," he says with a sincere grin. His hair is still wet, clinging to his cheeks and forehead.

It's taking her breath away. "Goodnight, Eds."

She opens the door and wastes no time sprinting up her driveway once it closes behind her. She doesn't let herself look back initially. Her entire focus is on wrapping her arms around herself as she makes it up to her front door, swinging her backpack around on her shoulder to dig into the front pocket and find her keys. Right as her fingers wrap around her keychain, though, a particularly loud crack of thunder sounds that sends her jumping.

All her movements pause. She can still hear the loud van in her driveway over the pounding of the rain. She knows he won't leave until she's safely inside, out of the storm, out of his sight.

But she can't move.

It's not completely out of fear - there's a pounding in her ears that she can't pass off as anxiety from the storm. The longer she stands there, the more she can feel the rain soaking through the denim of Eddie's vest. But staring at the dark cherry wood of her front door, she doesn't care. All she cares about is the decision that finally clicks in her brain.

She turns to look over her shoulder, eyes catching sight of a patient Eddie watching her carefully from behind his steering wheel. She swears she can see him raise his eyebrows even with the distance between them.

Her mind is finally made up.

All it takes is that one glance to encourage her to drop her backpack by her door suddenly, keys still buried in the front pocket before she takes a deep breath and runs back out into the rain, towards his van, towards Eddie.

She didn't want to spend the night alone, and the worst he could say is no. He could laugh at her and send her back up to her front door with her tail between her legs. Her ego would be bruised, but she would survive.

The minute he registers that she's running back to his van, this time to the driver's side, he's rolling down his window. " Red ," he shouts over the storm, "Get your ass inside!"

She makes it to his open window in record time, panting and hair damp once more. Her eyes are wide, with fear and a rush of determination. She stares at him for just a second, willing the adrenaline to continue to pump through her veins.

"Seriously! You're getting soaked! Did you forget somethi-"

"Stay the night," she interrupts him, voice coming out breathless. Her words shock him. He's quiet, the rain invading his van once more and getting his shoulder wet once more. The longer he's silent, the more she loses her nerve. All she can do is pathetically add, "Please."

The worst he can do is say no.

He's debating it for a second before he suddenly rolls up his window.

Or, apparently, not give an answer at all.

She's lost in what she assumes is rejection when suddenly, the van kills. Eddie is shoving the keys into his pocket quickly and swinging his door open, causing her to take a step back in shock. He steps out, face immediately scrunching up as he's hit with the rain that Willow had started to grow accustomed to.

All she can do is stare. She didn't expect him to say yes - she hadn't planned this far ahead.

He looks at her finally, a little amused, as he says, "Well? C'mon."

She lets him wrap an arm around her shoulders and force her to practically run back up to her door with him, under the small lip of the roof that blocks the rain from them. By the time they've made it, she's regathered her composure and leans down to grab her backpack up. She doesn't have time to cringe at the way the bottom of the bag is now soggy, probably meaning her books and binders inside are as well. Instead, she immediately pulls out the keys to her house and unlocks the door, letting them in from the storm.

Eddie insists that she enters first, closing the door behind them as they stand in her entryway, dripping.

"Let me get us some towels," Willow says after a moment, still breathing hard as she carefully makes her way across the living room and towards the hallway. Eddie doesn't follow her, instead staying in the living room as she hurries to the small closet at the end of the hallway.

When she returns with two clean towels, fluffy and white and sure to stain from Willow's red hair (she'd deal with her mom later - she's sure she'd be able to bleach the pink out when she washes her comforter and pillowcases), Eddie is glancing around at the shelves where her mom has set out small knick-knacks and family photos. His focus is particularly on one of Willow's school photos from middle school.

"Hey, I, uh, have the towels," she mutters as she walks to his side, looking at the photo. It was from eighth grade. Her hair was impossibly frizzy, with tight curls her mother had spent hours on that morning. Her smile was tight-lipped in the photo and it didn't reach her eyes - the sparkle there was faux, coming from the impossibly bright lights the school had set up for the pictures.

Eddie reaches out for the towel that Willow offers him as he continues to stare, "How old were you there?"

It's a simple enough question.

"Uh, probably around fourteen. Maybe fifteen. I can't really remember," she explains as she takes her own towel to her hair.

Eddie turns to her curiously, towel limp in his hand, "Fourteen? What grade was it?"

"Eighth."

"Aren't most eighth graders like, thirteen?" he questions, scrunching up his eyebrows in intense thought, clearly trying to do the math in his head.

"Yeah, well - I had to repeat the seventh grade," she says it as nonchalantly as possible, but it doesn't stop him from wearing an adorably shocked expression.

"You, Willow Victoria Jenkins, the top of our class, had to repeat a grade?"

There it is again. Him saying her full name, sending butterflies awry in her stomach. She's starting to think it's the best thing she's ever heard fall from his lips; it was better than Red, or sweetheart, or doll, or sweets. Better than any nickname he could ever give her in the future.

"Don't look so shocked," she laughs nervously, "It was the year we moved here to Hawkins. My first go around was... I just had a lot going on."

He hums, not pressing the issue, and she's grateful. To say she had a lot going on was dumbing it down, simplifying a very complicated story.

Seventh grade had been Hell. It had been the year everything went awry, when Willow's life completely changed against her will. It was the last time she ever served as the problem child for her parents, for her mother . She could still picture her mother's disappointment, soft and quiet, when she had been informed her daughter hadn't passed that year. Part of Willow had wished her mother would yell at her, would scold her for doing badly and punish her. That she would have sat her down and demanded an explanation.

But she hadn't - her mother had been so understanding, doing nothing but reassuring her daughter that it was okay, that they would be okay, and it killed one of the small pieces of Willow that had survived that year.

"We should probably change into some dry clothes," Willow finally mumbles, wanting to change the subject and run as far away from the memories as possible.

"Right," Eddie nods, finally following her this time when she retreats down the hallway. This time, instead of heading straight to the small closet at the very end, she turns into her room. It's just as she had left it that morning; bed neatly made, Eddie's leather jacket draped across the back of the chair at her desk, her math textbook laying open on said desk to the page of the latest homework assignment.

She finally deposits her backpack beside the desk before she turns to her closet, Eddie standing awkwardly in the center of the room. Any other time, she'd insist that he take a seat on the bed, get comfortable, but she'd rather not sleep with wet sheets tonight.

It doesn't take her long to pull out one of her favorite sweatshirts for herself before she begins digging for any clothes she might have that would fit Eddie. She could have sworn her favorite pair of sweats had just been cleaned, but the longer she digs through the closet the more she begins to doubt it.

Eddie has busied himself with his leather jacket on her chair, smirking as he rubs his fingers over the familiar material. "Glad to see she's treating you well, old friend," he murmurs under his breath to the jacket.

She glances over her shoulder, giving him a strange look, "Are you seriously talking to a jacket right now?"

"Hey! It's not just some jacket, it's my jacket. Beloved leather, old faithful. Treat her with some respect."

She scoffs at that, and doesn't notice Eddie grinning like a fool behind her. With perfect timing, she comes across the soft, grey material of the sweatpants she had been searching for.

"Aha! Here, these should fit you," she smiles victoriously as she turns to him and hands him the pants. He looks at them curiously, shuffling them between his hands.

"Are these men's sweatpants?"

"Yes, why?"

"Why do you own men's sweatpants?"

She pauses. The real reason was too close to home, so she settles for a lie, "'Cause they're comfy. Duh."

It wasn't really a lie. They were comfortable.

Eddie shrugs and it's clear he's bought her half-truth.

Willow doesn't have to dig much longer in her closet before she's found a shirt that seems big enough to cover most of Eddie's torso, flinging it his way before she grabs the sweatshirt for herself and moves to dig out a pair of comfortable pajama shorts from her dresser.

"If you want to change in the bathroom, it's just across the hall," she explains softly as Eddie just stands there, holding the clothes she's provided. She had assumed maybe he was lost as to where to change, but then she notices that his fingers are tracing over the waistline of the sweatpants. Specifically, over a small stitching spelling out 'PVJ'.

Her heart drops. But Eddie doesn't say anything, suddenly looking up and putting on a shining smile for her before he leaves the room to go change.

She tries to not get lost in her own thoughts for too long, shaking herself into action to quickly change into the clothes she pulled for herself once he's out of the room. The sweatshirt she had pulled for herself was an old college one, University of Pennsylvania. It was a light grey that nearly matched the sweatpants, with dark red lettering that spelt out 'PENN' across the top, the school symbol directly below it. And on the left sleeve, right at the edge in white thread, a matching stitching of 'PVJ'.

She knew Eddie was going to bring it up again. Between the box in the garage, and the stitching, there was no avoiding it.

He takes slightly longer than her to change, so she busies herself with collecting any spare blankets and comforters they have to build him a makeshift bed directly beside her own. It takes plenty of folding and three comforters, but by the time she's done with it, she's sure that it'll be at least semi -comfortable. She tosses one of the pillows off of her bed down to it and is considering giving him a second one when he finally enters the room again.

He clears his throat as he stands in her doorway, "Um, okay. I'm done."

She immediately turns to look at him, and has to swallow down the giggle that bubbles up.

The shirt she had given him was the Blondie one that her and Robin consistently fought over during sleepovers. It was well-worn and faded, soft and comfortable, but not very long. Some of Eddie's stomach peaks out from the bottom of the shirt.

"Go ahead - laugh it up, Red," he sarcastically says as he takes a few strides further into the room, sitting onto her mattress and looking at where she was standing beside the make-shift palette for him.

"I'm not laughing."

"Yes, you are."

"It's not funny-" her voice cracks slightly, and she has to pause and clear her throat as she looks up at the ceiling to compose herself before trying to reassure him again, "It's not funny. Sorry, I had no idea I gave you that shirt."

"You know, I never took you for a Blondie fan," Eddie muses, leaning back on his arms, watching the girl continue to fight back her entertainment for his sake.

She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she moves to sit beside him, avoiding staring too long at his exposed torso, "I'm not. Not really. Can I let you in on a secret?"

His eyes widen at this, leaning towards her with intent, "Oh, please. I'm a sucker for secrets."