When the morning light breaks through the blinds of the window, Willow is the first to stir. Her movements are slow at first, stretching and unfurling from where she had been tightly curled into Eddie's side.

For once, there's no wild confusion as to how they ended up here. She remembers, well and clearly, how they ended up in her bed.

After their slow dancing in the kitchen, the night had carried on fairly boring. Willow had insisted they both take a shower to get the flour out of their hair, and Eddie had been in no mood to argue with her. Besides, he had joked he had flour in unsavory places , which had clearly been a lie and just a coy joke to get a laugh out of her. It had worked - she'd laughed unnecessarily hard at his suggestive tone when he'd said it. During Eddie's shower, Willow had taken to pulling the cookie dough from the fridge and arranging it neatly in small balls on a baking tray. The moment she'd placed them in the oven, Eddie had emerged from her bathroom, hair wet and a pair of borrowed sweatpants hung low on his hips.

Willow jumped when a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, only relaxing when she glanced down to see the familiar glint of Eddie's rings.

His chin rested comfortably on her shoulder as he peered at the oven she'd just closed, "Smells good."

"Give it ten minutes. And then it's really going to smell heavenly," she sighed, trying to control her reaction to his touch. Those arms, strong and tight as they clung to her, enveloping her in unbelievable warmth. Holding her together as the puzzle pieces of her mind put themselves back together effortlessly.

"You know what smells heavenly? Your goddamn shampoo," his voice was deadly serious as he says this, pulling a laugh from Willow, "I'm serious. Where did you get that shit?"

"Bradley's. You know, the store in town where you buy things. You should visit it sometime, get some of your own shampoo," she teased easily. She caved into her body's reaction in the slightest as she let her hands settle over his resting on the top of her stomach. Her head tilted and pressed into Eddie's, careful in its weight.

He gasped. "Sweetheart, are you insinuating I don't shower?"

"I'm surprised you know the word 'shower'."

"I can't believe you're so mean to me. Sam Cooke would not approve."

"I'm pretty sure Sam Cooke is dead," she snorted, finally turning in his arms and pressing her hands into his shoulders to create enough space between them that she could look up clearly into his eyes.

He let her. He was putty in her hands, completely pliable as he let the loop of his arms fall to her hips and smiled brightly down at her. "Wanna bet on it?"

"No," she immediately responded, and it made him laugh softly.

"What? Scared you'll lose to me?"

"Absolutely not," she lied, "Just... that's a bit morbid, isn't it? Betting on someone's likelihood of being alive?"

"I've gambled on more morbid ordeals."

She smacked his chest gently, right in the center. She finally took in the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt, bare skin still a bit damp from his shower. Her fingers fall limp from the smack, working on their own accord as she finds them dancing across the tattoo of a black widow on his left pec.

He stared at her, watching the way her eyes traced the linework carefully, seemingly mesmerized.

"You know, I'm glad I came over. Earlier was almost perfect," he spoke suddenly, placing clear emphasis on 'almost'.

She paused her traces, looking up and meeting his doe eyes, " Almost ? Let me guess, the only thing that would have made it better is if we had danced to Metallica instead of Sam Cooke."

He chuckled, shaking his head, "No, although that's a great idea for next time-"

"There's going to be a next time?" She interrupted, trying to keep her voice from rising in pitch, becoming embarrassingly hopeful.

His eyes softened on her, "All I want are next times with you, Red."

She could have melted under his gaze, turned to an absolute puddle right there in the middle of her kitchen. She has never had anyone look at her the way that Eddie does - overflowing with clandestine affection and unwavering veneration. Each glance is still akin to the first. The veil of benevolence that had been in his eyes that night at the Hideout, the first time they'd had a proper conversation, still remains even after the months that have passed them by.

"I wasn't talking about the choice of music, though," he continued on when she hadn't responded, too caught up in the look he was giving her, "I said almost because... well, there was something I forgot to do."

He leaned in ever so slightly, occupying more of her space. She had no protests on her tongue, content with the closeness as she whispered, "Please tell me it doesn't involve more flour."

She waited for his snarky comeback, but it never came. He continued to stare with grave significance, a hint of nerves dancing across his features.

"Can I kiss you?"

She lies on her back, fingertips dancing over her lips as she recalls the kiss that had followed. She remembers the feeling of warm palms against her lower back, pressing her closely and securely as his lips had met hers. The way that the spark was still there - it had been since the first kiss, and never faltered no matter how many times she had tasted him. Just as he looked at her each time as if it were the first time, Eddie Munson also kissed Willow each time as if it were their first.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost doesn't feel Eddie stir slightly in his slumber beside her. But when his foot twitches and kicks out, brushing against her shin, she notices.

She shuffles around a bit before settling onto her stomach, eyes tracing the lines of Eddie's peaceful face carefully. He's beautiful like this - his curls are flared out around his face, the frizz of them tickling his cheeks. His pink lips are parted ever so slightly, and she wishes she could freeze the feeling she gets in the pit of her stomach as she watches his chest rise and fall with each breath (technically snores, but beautiful all the same to her). Contentedness. All she feels is contentness, and fondness, and infatuation. A swirling storm of emotions for this boy, all laid out in front of her in an ever present shadow, just like the night before.

"Can I kiss you?"

She had to bite back a laugh. Even after making it abundantly clear to Eddie that she always wanted to kiss him, just as he always wanted to kiss her, he still had to ask.

His lips are already brushing over hers, awaiting an answer before pressing any further, when she mustered a pitiful, " Please ."

No further words had been needed as he surged forward and properly kissed her, taking her breath away so casually. It wasn't a heated kiss, it wasn't a desperate kiss - it was a content kiss. A kiss that said they had all the time in the world.

"There," he whispered as he leaned back from her. She fought down the urge to chase after his lips, to bask in the feeling, "Now the night's perfect."

"Perfect's a big word," she replied, nimble fingers lifting to his jawline, scratching at his stubble. It wasn't much, just a subtle sign that he hadn't shaved in a few days. Probably because he had been so busy spending all his time with her.

"It is," he agreed, already leaning back in for another kiss. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him, and she was a fool for not seeing that, even now, "But I mean it. Perfect ."

She couldn't tell if he was still describing the night or if he was now describing her. He had that look in his eyes again.

Eddie groans in the present, one of his arms slinging upward to cover his eyes with his forearm as more sunlight brightens through her curtains.

Neither had needed convincing to get him into her bed and spend the night. By the time the cookies had finished baking, it'd been an unspoken agreement that Eddie would be staying. She hadn't even had to give him more than one stern look before he collapsed on her bed, letting them avoid the argument of whether he would be sleeping on the floor or not altogether.

Boundaries . She wants to laugh, whole-heartedly and outloud, at her ridiculous notion. She was an idiot - what about their situation had ever screamed having 'boundaries'? Certainly not all the private kisses. Certainly not the dances shared in storms and alone in her kitchen. No, boundaries between her and Eddie had long been foregone. And if their actions hadn't been enough to convince her, then her thoughts had to be.

Soulmate. She'd referred and accepted Eddie Munson as her soulmate. And she'd told herself that it'd be fine if it wasn't meant to be romantic, if he was only meant to take up space platonically in her life, but nothing about their friendship had ever been platonic. Friends don't kiss each other the way they do. Friends don't share a bed the way they do.

Friends don't look at each other like Willow currently was, first thing in the morning, drinking in each other's beauty.

"Take a photo," his rough voice suddenly says, arm still slung over his eyes, "It'll last longer."

She smiles despite the fact that he can't see her face yet, "Already tried that. Your ugly mug ruined it," she playfully teases.

Her good mood is clearly infectious as he drops his arm from his face, forcing a glare at her that quickly breaks from his grin. With squinty eyes and cheeks still upturned, he whines, "How are you still so mean to me, this early in the morning? Seriously?"

"I'm not mean, I'm just honest ," she rebuttals, as if she hadn't just spent an embarrassing amount of time watching him sleep, completely taken back by his beauty.

"Well, be less honest," he deadpans, stretching his arms up above his head until his knuckles collide softly with her wall. She hears his shoulders pop quietly and he groans out of relief, "Just lie to me, baby. Save this poor ego of mine the heartache."

Baby .

The word rings through her head, colliding with every wall of her skull. She doesn't know how to respond, caught off guard by the sickly sweet nickname so early in the morning. It's the way he says it that gets to her, that makes her lower stomach clench and her face flush brilliant red.

"I think your ego can handle a little heartache. Gotta keep you humble, Munson," she snarkily replies once her composure has returned, although her voice still cracks ever so slightly. She tells herself they can blame it on the morning still coating her throat.

"Humble, she says," he mutters, more to himself than her. She maneuvers in the bed, placing her folded hands atop his naked chest and carefully resting her chin on them. It causes the upper half of her body to be draped across his, but neither of them complain. In fact, it makes Eddie smile wider. "So, what's the plan for today?"

She shrugs to the best of her abilities in their current state, "I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"Well, we've got several hours to kill before Hellfire," he muses, glancing at her alarm clock on her bedside table, "We could always practice some more if you're down."

She freezes up slightly at his words, remembering her entire breakdown that was the reason he was even in her bed, that he had even come over to keep her company to begin with. "Uh, I mean, we- Y-yeah, we can."

He squints his eyes questioningly at her, "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"Why'd you react that way?"

She won't meet his gaze, "What way? I reacted normally. I don't know what you're talking about."

"You very much did not react normally. Why are you bugging out over the mention of practicing? Do you not want to play anymore? Because if not, that's okay-"

The minuscule shift in his mood contradicts his words. She can already see the disappointment seeping from his pores, even if he refuses to let her know.

"No!" she cuts him off, far too much excitement in her tone, "God, no, Eddie. It's not that I've changed my mind. If you think I need more practice, then we can. It's no big deal."

His expression softens, not out of disappointment, but out of the slightest bit of confusion now, "It's not that I'm not confident in your skills. But I want you to be confident in them when we're playing with the guys. I don't doubt you for a second, but they can be brutal."

"I figured," she squeaks, "There's no chance that being the Dungeon Master's girlfriend will give me immunity from them, is there?"

"'Fraid not, sweetheart," he murmurs, finger on auto-pilot as it begins to trace lines up and down her spine as it usually does when they're in this position, "Is that why you couldn't sleep last night? You're worried about the campaign?"

"Sort of," she finally admits. She considers her options: lying to Eddie and putting on a brave show while she tears herself apart with anxiety about playing D&D tonight, or admitting and confiding in the boy who she knows will be there to comfort her with at least minimal judgment, if any. She chooses the latter, "I just... What if I suck at playing?"

He laughs at that, " Everyone sucks at playing their first game, Red."

"Yeah, but what if that annoys the guys? What if Gareth decides I'm a pest, or Mike yells at me? What if I make a complete fool of myself?" As she voices the concerns outloud, the heavy reality of them weighs on her shoulders. All her anxieties from last night are no longer forgotten in a corner of her mind. They're back in the forefront of her thoughts, terrible and impossible to ignore.

His finger pauses its tracing, "First of all, if anyone yells at you tonight, I'll kick their ass. No hesitation," he reassures her, and she can tell by the look on his face that he truly means it, "They have no room to talk. We've all been beginners. No one is just born a master at this stupid game."

"D&D isn't stupid," she whispers softly, tilting her head to rest her cheek against the top of her hands, "You care about it too much. It can't possibly be stupid."

He looks down at her, almost in disbelief, "I- I'm glad you think that way," he pauses, almost at a loss for words, "But it's still just a game at the end of the day. So if they're mean to you about it, then they're dead. I'll make sure of it."

"My hero," she teases.

"Always," The moment is joking, but he isn't. He'd spend a lifetime trying to be her hero, she can hear it in his voice, "Anyways, as for making a fool of yourself? That's sort of the point of the game. To let loose, have fun, get lost in the make-believe. I promise, both as your boyfriend and DM, I won't just toss you to sea. I specifically rewrote the campaign to be more beginner friendly. Well... more Willow friendly. I still have to give you guys a hard time. Call me a sadist or whatever."

"I'd expect nothing less," she nods gently, letting her eyes flutter shut when his finger returns to soothe her. She could fall back asleep like this, easily, "I'm sure it won't be that bad, and I'm stressing over nothing. But that's why I called you last night, you know? I was freaking out over it. Completely losing my goddamn mind. So I guess I just needed to hear your voice. I just know it's important to you, and I don't want to ruin it or anything. Or make it not fun for you guys, I don't know," she doesn't know why she's being so terribly honest, but maybe it's the circumstances of the moment that makes her so vulnerable. The quiet of the day is still beginning, the sunlight still gentle and warm on their cheeks.

If she listens carefully, she would hear his heartbeat pick up at her words. His visceral reaction to the realization that someone cares about him so deeply. She may not have any grand gestures like dancing in the kitchen to Sam Cooke to prove to him her feelings, but she has this; she has the things he's passionate about, the things she can support him in.

It has to be enough , she thinks. He has to know how much I care for him.

"That's not possible," he still remains quick in his reassurance. She knows he won't let them end this conversation without her believing him, and she's finding it harder to shrug off his words, "I don't think you could ever possibly ruin anything for me. And the guys love you, Red. Genuinely. Even if we called off the deal now, if we went back to strangers and ignored each other when it's all said and done, I think they'd still find a way to annoy you. I mean, Hell, those freshmen sheeps went behind my back to include you in a plan of betrayal. Did they ever really need help with tests?"

She giggles, "No. They really didn't. But to be fair, there's an obvious advantage behind including me - I know all your secrets, Eds."

"You so do not . I have plenty of secrets you don't know," he pauses, and she doesn't even have the chance to overthink his words or try to imagine the secrets he still keeps (he's lying. She doesn't know that, but he's lying straight through his teeth), "Besides, it would have been just as easy for them to scheme with Jeff, or Gareth-"

"Or Craig," she chimes in, interrupting him briefly.

He carries on, nodding, "Yes, or Craig. My point is, they could have schemed with anyone else in Hellfire, but they chose you instead. And they wanted you to play with us. Whether you believe it or not, those kids aren't idiots. They know you're a novice with it all - they still want you there. When I told them I'd agreed, they nearly lost their shit. Swear it."

His words are working their intended magic. She can feel herself calming down, her anxieties withering away.

"I guess you have a point," she mumbles reluctantly, leaning her forehead to press into his chest.

"Yes. I do. It's okay to admit it, sweetheart."

She only huffs against her hands in response.

He pokes her side suddenly, making her squirm. "Go ahead, admit it."

"Admit what ?" she questions in an exaggerated tone, lifting her head to finally look him in his eyes.

"That I'm right."

"Not a chance."

He pokes her again, this time in a different unsuspecting spot, and she squirms even harder away from his touch. "Stop, that tickles."

"Say I'm right, and I'll stop," he's true to his words, continuing to poke and trace his fingertip over her sides, leading her to succumb to breathless giggles. She tries to tickle him back, but he's unflinching, "Oh, Red. I'm not ticklish. Nice try, though. Now say it ."

His tone is so commanding, she almost forgets to be ticklish, gasping and looking up at him with wide eyes.

Fuck, that's kind of hot.

It's the worst timing, but she doesn't care as his fingers dig into her sides more aggressively, and she finally snaps.

"Fine! Fine," she laughs, thrashing a bit but never out of his reach, head still on his chest, "Oh my god, you're right! There, okay? You're right, Eddie Munson."

His hands finally stop, a triumphant smirk on his face.