The clock reads 10:00 PM when the phone first rings. Willow ignores it, continuing on with finishing up the last of her homework.

It can't be that important, she thinks to herself.

But then it rings again at 10:02. And again at 10:05. By that third time, she's starting to get concerned that it might be Robin, or even Steve, and one of her friends might be in trouble. It's a worrisome enough thought that she finally pushes away from her desk, reluctantly dragging herself to the phone in the kitchen just as the final trill echoes throughout her empty house.

She doesn't even have to wait another full minute before it comes to life again, ringing annoyingly.

Her hand flies out and she picks up the phone, bringing it to her ear quickly, "Hello?"

"Jesus H. Christ, finally."

It's not Robin. It's not Steve.

It's Eddie.

"Edward Munson," she groans, "You better have a good reason for calling my house this many times in a row. Is someone dying?"

"I do have a good reason," he snaps over the receiver, and she's shocked by how emotional he sounds, "Someone did die."

Her heart stops, her stomach sinks. " What? Oh my God, Eddie, who's hurt? Fuck, do I need to come over? What happen-"

"This goddamn book . You're cruel, Willow Victoria Jenkins, extremely cruel," in his pause, she's stunned. Book? What the Hell is he going on about? "How could they do this? How could this happen?"

"Eddie," she says slowly, "I'm a little lost. Is someone actually hurt, dead , or are you just being dramatic? Because if it's the latter, I'm hanging up."

"Beth!" his voice shouts, and that's when it clicks.

Oh, realization hits. Oh my God. He finished Little Women, or at least is nearly finished.

She crosses her arms, grinning despite the fact he can't see her as she leans against the wall smugly, "Oh, you're at that part."

"Oh, we're well past that part. Why the fuck would you read this book, Red? In what world is this book your idea of fun ?" She can hear him sniffle slightly, and it hits her just how serious he is.

It's kind of adorable, and dreadfully endearing. He's reacting in a similar fashion she did the first time she read the book.

"I never said it was fun!" she tries to hide her laughter, genuinely, but it slips out between her words, "I just said it was one of my favorites."

" How ? I mean, c'mon, seriously. I guess I could brush past the whole Jo and Laurie ordeal - which, by the way, gut-wrenching - but Beth? How cruel does Alcott have to be to tease her death earlier in the book only to actually go through with it? What bullshit ."

"Hold on. Can we backtrack to your thoughts on Jo and Laurie? Because, honestly, I'm interested in that."

"Fuck you," he spits, and she can only laugh as she knows the venom in his words is disingenuous and temporary.

"So I assume you weren't a fan of Laurie ending up with Amy?" she continues on as if he hadn't cursed at her.

"What?" his voice is slightly muffled, some white noise over the line before he comes through clearer, "When did I ever say that ?"

That sets him off. For the next thirty minutes, Willow listens to Eddie's ranting about her favorite book, and the smile on her face never fades. Even when her cheeks begin to burn with a painful ache, even when she finds herself disagreeing with a few of his opinions. He admits to her how he actually liked that Laurie ended up with Amy, how he couldn't help but grow soft at the way the two had accepted their mediocracies only to find something special in their relationship. He talks about all the things about Laurie that annoys him, and he mentions every attribute of Jo's that he found respectable. His thoughts on her speeches and revelations, on the underlying messages in the coming-of-age book that hadn't gone over his head.

When Willow catches sight of the clock reading 10:45, she has to fight a yawn. Eddie is still lively over the line.

"I'm still not over you not warning me about Beth's death."

She finds herself rolling her eyes, "That would be spoiling the book, Eddie. No spoilers, remember?"

"No, I actually don't recall agreeing to that."

"It was in O'Donnell's rules for the project! C'mon, please tell me you took the time to read about the assignment and not just the book," she pleads, although even if he didn't think about the assignment, she's proud he even finished the book to begin with.

Especially within less than twenty four hours of her silent treatment.

"Honestly? I forgot I was reading for class," his voice softly admits, "I was just reading for you."

His words ring out in her chest, a feeling similar to fondness warming her bones.

"So you didn't like the story?" she asks, wrapping the phone cord around her finger a few times.

"Never said that. It's definitely no Fellowship of the Ring, but... it wasn't half bad. Some might say I even enjoyed it."

"Mmm," she hums, "Well, I'm glad that some might say you enjoyed it."

"Does this mean you're talking to me again? And we can hang out?"

"Yes, I'm talking to you again. And I suppose we can hang out tomorrow."

"Fuck that," he curses once more, and she resists the urge to chastise him for his language, "I'm coming over."

She freezes up immediately, glancing over at the stovetop clock and pinching her eyebrows. "What? Like, right now?"

" Yes , right now."

"Eddie, it's late. And a school night. You can't come over."

Her words have no effect, clearly, as she can hear the jingling of keys over the line.

"I'm serious," she continues, dropping the cord of her phone from between her knuckles, "You can't . We have school tomorrow and I was going to bed soon-"

"I'll see you in ten, Red."

With that, the line goes dead.

—

True to his word, Eddie is tapping on her window ten minutes later. It all feels a bit dramatic, considering he could have knocked on her door given the fact she was home alone. But she's glad for it as when he does, she's sat cross-legged on the center of her bed, nervously chewing on her nails as she stares off into space.

She knows if she tells him to go home, he will. If she firmly stands her ground, Eddie Munson won't push her. But she can't lie; she wants him to come over. So when the sharp rapping of his rings against her window pane sounds, startling her back into reality, she doesn't ignore him. She's quick to jump up off her bed and head over to the window, looking at his figure barely peeking in with a cheshire grin.

Her window opens easier than normal, and she's quick to slap his fingers away when he tries to grab the edge and lift himself up.

She wants him here, but she's going to make him sweat first.

"Hey, Red," he says, eyes shining as he continues to grin at her, unphased by the way she'd smacked his hand.

"Munson," she nods, keeping a serious face, "What are you doing here?"

His face falters ever so slightly, "Visiting my girlfriend, obviously."

"Oh?" she keeps up the act, leaning out slightly and furrowing her brows as she musters a glare down at him, "And didn't this girlfriend tell you to not come over?"

"She's just playing hard to get," he chuckles nervously. His hand reaches up to the back of his neck quickly, "You know, gotta love the chase and all."

"Yeah? I don't recall her saying it was anything like that. Actually, didn't she say it was because you two have school in... t-minus, eight hours?"

His face falls fully, losing any cockiness. It almost makes her slip up in her own mask from how disappointed he looks, "Do you really not want to hang out?"

"Never said that, some might say I actually do , but someone here has to be responsible, you know," she parrots back his own words to him from their phone call, and that's when her entire act finally slips. She doesn't move back from the windowsill to let him into her room, but she does lean back to stand up straight again.

"Are you really not going to let me in?" he whines. He looks as if he's about to stomp his foot, possibly even fling his entire body down into her mother's rose bushes and throw a proper tantrum.

Adorable. He's fucking adorable, and she hates it, because it drives her to the brink of insanity. It almost drives her to reach down and grab him by the stupid collar of his shirt, and pull his stupid lips to hers.

She takes two steps back, putting the distance she resents between them, before waving her hand and motioning him into her room.

He nearly fumbles over himself excitedly as he leaps up and climbs through the window.

"Hey! Careful!" she laughs when he nearly knocks over the lamp on her desk, "Don't make me regret this."

"Regret this?" he scoffs, "As if, sweetheart. We both know you were always going to let me in," he says assuredly as he recovers from almost tripping.

She takes in the sight of him. His messy hair, a few strands caught against his cheek from all the commotion. His arms, with their scattered ink and some sort of face clearly drawn on his hand around his fingers. It's rare to see him wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and his denim vest, but his leather jacket is nowhere to be found. Ironic, given that it's finally cold enough for all his layers. Her eyes make their way down from his torso to his legs that were clad in their regular ripped jeans, patches of the pale skin of his knees poking through the tears. Instead of wearing his normal sneakers, he has a pair of house shoes on, that surely couldn't be his.

She's about to comment on them, but then he snorts, and her eyes flicker up to his eyes, alight with entertainment.

"You totally just checked me out," is what he says when she raises her eyebrows questioningly.

"Did not," she chokes out, trying to be quick to defend herself, "Just sizing you up, trying to figure out how far I can throw you when I kick you back out the window."

" Sure ," he drawls, taking a few steps closer.

When they're toe-to-toe, she remembers his shoe situation.

"Eddie, honey ," she immediately bites back her smile, and he goes red all the way up to the tips of his ears at the term of endearment, " What are those shoes?"

She almost adds, if I can even call them that , but he's still so flustered by her use of a pet name that he doesn't answer her at first. She has to gently kick at his ankle to regain his attention.

"Huh?" he says suddenly, clearly returning back to his wits, "What?"

"Your shoes . What are those, dude?" she tries out the different nickname, dude , almost as if she's trying to soften the previous delivery of honey . It doesn't taste the same on her tongue, and she nearly cringes at herself.

Note to self, Eddie is the one good at nicknames. Not you. Don't.

"Oh, these bad boys?" he lifts a foot and rolls his ankle around, as if showing off the slipper with a cuff of fur across the top. They're tan in color, and their woven material has certainly seen better days, "Just the latest in high fashion, dude ."

When he echoes the nickname back at her, she realizes just how ridiculous she sounded. She resists the urge to smack his shoulder, because the entire point right now is to embarrass him , not her .

"Those can't possibly be yours," she deadpans, avoiding giving him any sort of reaction he may be seeking out.

"They aren't," he shrugs, "They're Wayne's."

"And why are you wearing them?"

" Because I was in a rush. I had to get here before you had the chance to lock up the castle for the night"

She snorts. She can't help it, the image of Eddie rushing around, forgetting his jacket and stealing his uncle's slipper just to see her before she went to bed.

"Like you said, we both know I was going to let you in either way," she admits, finally taking strides away from him to sit back on her bed once more. He follows suit, toeing off the slippers before he launches himself onto the bed beside her.

She bounces a bit and gasps in surprise from the bounce that ricochets from the spot he lands, "Be careful . If you break my bed, I'll kill you."

He lifts his head back up, craning his neck to look at her with a smirk, "Promise?"

"Swear on my life."

"Well, in that case, I can think of a far more fun way to break your bed."

She wrinkles her nose, and she doesn't resist the urge to reach a hand out and smack him in the middle of his chest this time. He's cackling as she does it, unaffected even though she doesn't hold back.

"Jesus Christ, do you flirt this much with all your fake girlfriends?" she asks as he continues to chuckle to himself.

He immediately nods as he regains composure, "Oh, absolutely. All of them. Didn't you hear about that girl I fake-dated last year? Romanced her all the way to Indianapolis. Rumor has it her cheeks are still pink to this day."

"Poor girl," Willow clicks her tongue against her teeth as she lays down onto her side, facing Eddie with her head propped up, "At least she's going to save money on blush."

He shifts around so that he's mirroring her position, "You know me. A charmer for the people, anti-capitalist as can be."

"Yeah, you're really sticking it to the man by constantly making your cheap sex jokes at me."

He bites his lip immediately, cheeks puffed up, and she can tell he has another dirty joke to say.

"Well, don't hold back on me now, Munson. You've already got me in bed. What joke do you need to make about that?"

His nose scrunches up slightly, shaking his head, muttering something under his breath before he looks her in her eyes again with his own wide ones, "Don't need to stick it to the man if I'm sticking it in you."

The moment the words pass his lips, they both break down into hysterical laughter. Almost immediately, tears prick at the corner of Willow's eyes as she gasps for breath, her arm collapsing and letting her lay face down in the bed as Eddie leans over her slightly in his own all-consuming laughter.

"Oh my God . That one was genuinely awful ," she nearly screams out between giggles, words muffled by her comforter.

"So bad," Eddie is also giggling , not just guffawing, or chuckling, or laughing, but giggling . When she peaks her eyes over at him, he's red across his face and has his own teary eyes, "Fuck. I'm sorry, that was a really bad one. Christ," he sighs out, falling backwards as he clutches a hand to his stomach, still catching his breath.

It's nice. His jokes are awful, but Willow can't recount a time in her life where she's laughed so easily with someone. Laying here in her bed, shoulder brushing up against his slightly as they recover, she thinks she could spend the rest of her life listening to his terrible dirty jokes. She'd spend a lifetime laughing at each one with him if it meant moments like this. She's starting to think that even if you put her in a room with a world-renowned comedian, she wouldn't be nearly as entertained as when she's with him.

It's not just his jokes, but his presence. He brings her guard down in the most mesmerizing ways with his dark brown eyes and unwavering clumsiness. Everytime he catches her staring, there's an unspoken term of endearment in the twinkle in his eyes. Not Red , not sweetheart , not honey , and certainly not dude . Something better. Something that makes her flush far more than any of the afore-mentioned ever could.

"You're staring," he whispers softly. She hadn't even realized she'd fully turned her face, laying one cheek against her folded hands as she thought about the way he made her feel.

"And you're really not that funny," she lies, voice just as gentle.

She's glad he came over. It didn't matter if she had just seen him at school today - she'd missed him. Every time she spent so much as a second away from him, she missed him. Every time she watched him leave the room, she'd immediately wish that he'd turn back around and return to her. Every single time.

"Your taste in books suck," he's still whispering as he bites back, eyes squinting at her in a faux menacing glare, although the corners of his mouth remain upturned.

"Your taste in music sucks," she keeps up the bit, her room mostly silent. There's nothing except them and their whispered exchange in the air. Quiet, serene. Gentle enough to lull even the most colic of children to sleep.

He silently makes a fist before mocking being stabbed in the chest. Predictable. "Your taste in fake boyfriends suck."

It's her turn to dramatically drop her mouth in a silent gasp, "Take that back!" she whisper-yells, "You're just insulting yourself."

" No . I'm insulting both of us. It's fair."

She shakes her head. They finally resume their original position of laying on their sides, and she's staring at him again. She's fiddling with that box in her chest again, trying to swing the lid open, trying to capture this night before it slips from her grasps.

"I think you're wrong," she breathes out, trying to keep casual and steady her heartbeat, "Pretty sure I've got impeccable taste in fake boyfriends."

He looks at her for a second, face blank, "Impeccable? I think that's going a bit far, sweetheart."

"It's not. You've been perfect."

Almost too perfect. Considering you've managed to make me catch very real feelings amongst our very fake situation.

"I definitely have not," he's serious, looking at her with suddenly sad eyes. Her heart clenches, knowing he believes himself; he thinks so little of himself, it hurts her. "A perfect fake boyfriend definitely wouldn't put you through all the trouble I have."

Her face twists, puzzled by what he's referring to, "What you've put me through? Like what, all your bad jokes? Because, newsflash, I like your bad jokes. But that confession definitely can't leave this bed-"

"Jason. All the fights. The way you and Steve had your falling out. Any other fake boyfriend wouldn't come with so many... complications," he blurts out, all these things rolling off his tongue as if he'd thought about them endlessly.

And it hits her that he has thought about them endlessly. It's written across his face plainly.

"Eddie," she starts.

But he shakes his head, continuing on, "I've quite literally tarnished your reputation. Even once this ends, there's no coming back from it. I've basically doomed you to have an awful senior year. And even once it's all said and done, I still haven't helped you get the guy you want. Steve still hasn't had the balls to work out his feelings. I don't know what I'm doing wrong but... But..." he trails off and his eyes glass over, and it's clear to her that his mind is somewhere far from here. It's somewhere she can't reach through these sudden waves of insecurity and brutal honesty, "My point is, in terms of a fake boyfriend, I suck. I don't know why you've kept this all up, Red. Maybe you pity me, maybe you-"

"I do not pity you," she's getting upset now, properly sitting up.