October break. A week off from school and the stress of scholarly duties. A week to recuperate and recover.

A week to spend all hours of the day with Eddie Munson.

That shouldn't have been the way Willow's October break goes, but it was. And frankly, she had no complaints.

On Monday, she didn't see him at first. Which was fine. She ate breakfast with her mom, she took the time to clean her room and bathroom, she visited Robin and Steve during their midday shift. The day went by, Willow didn't see Eddie, and it was fine . That was, until night fell, and she found herself stationed by the phone, twirling the cord as she answered the phone, not expecting anything of it.

"Jenkin's Holiday Inn, this is Willow speaking," Willow had joked, ignoring the scowl from her mother at the joke. There weren't many people who would call their house, and she knew it was likely one of her friends. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The moment she'd heard Eddie's voice respond, all theatrics were dropped and the puppy dog-like excitement took its place.

Two hours. Willow and Eddie spent two hours on the phone Monday night, much to both Anne and Wayne's annoyance, talking about their day apart. Eddie informed Willow of all the songs Corroded Coffin had rehearsed during their band practice that day in preparation for their show the next night, making sure to invite her to the gig. Wayne Munson had never seen his boy giggle or blush as much as he did during that conversation. He'd also noticed the hickey on Eddie's neck. Wayne stayed quiet about both counts of lovesick signs his nephew was displaying.

On Tuesday, they went through with the plans they'd discussed the night before over the phone. Willow spent the entire day pacing her room, subjecting Robin to her breakdown over what she would wear to the show. And Robin Buckley loved Willow, she really did, but she was glad to escape when Willow dismissed her an hour before Eddie would be arriving to pick her up to take her to dinner before the show. She didn't comment on the obvious, that Willow was down terribly bad and no longer in the realm of pretending, and Willow kept her mouth shut on the topic of Robin's possible crush on Nancy Wheeler. It worked. That night, Willow found herself behind the wheel of Eddie's van, driving them back to his trailer when he had one too many drinks. Her hands don't shake for once, and she tells herself it has nothing to do with the way drunk Eddie shamelessly places a hand on her thigh, rubbing soothing circles and singing to her dramatically the entire drive.

On Wednesday, Willow got breakfast with a hungover Eddie, singing her praises for the show the night before. Any other time, he'd be annoyed at the enthusiasm as he sipped on black coffee and willed away his headache from celebrating a little too much with the band after a successful show. But it was Willow. He didn't have a single bone in his body capable of feeling disdain in her smile as she asked for the name of the final song they'd covered for their set for a third time ( Fade to Black by Metallica. It had been Fade to Black by Metallica). After breakfast, Eddie hadn't been able to resist inviting Willow back to the trailer, desperate for more time with her but also desperate for the comfort of home. She hadn't minded wasting their time away in his room, him casually strung out across the unmade bed as she flipped through one of his previous year's campaign notebooks. In between pages of history notes and song ideas, she'd teased him for ideas even he had deemed awful. But there were a few that left in her awe, a few he had expected her to guffaw at; instead she'd widened her eyes as she spoke so highly of his mind, of his creativity. It left him a blushing mess.

It felt like domestic bliss - her sitting crossed-legged on the center of his bed, knee bumping his thigh as she deciphered his messy scrawl and he watched her with wonder. It felt like something real.

When Wayne returned home that day from work, he hadn't blinked an eye at Willow's presence. Instead, he'd even offered her the smallest of smiles in greeting. It wasn't much, but to Willow, it felt like monumental progress with the man of such few words.

"I am thoroughly convinced he hates me," Willow had confessed to Eddie when they returned to his room after the encounter.

"Not possible. He just takes a while to warm up to new people. Give him time," he'd soothed her worries as he dug out a few of his D&D manuals, "Now, if I recall, I was supposed to teach you how to play the mystical game of fantasy that we know as Dungeons and Dragons."

Wednesday night was spent with the tables turned for the first time in their entire relationship as Eddie forced Willow to read pages upon pages of material, explaining to her in great detail things she didn't know as she was the one biting back 'stupid' questions.

On Thursday, they practiced. All the rules she had learned the previous night were put to action with Eddie's first set of dice. She'd managed to evade getting started right away by pulling the story of how he came to have the set of dice from him. She'd expected it to be harder, like pulling teeth, but he offered it up with ease. He talked about the previous Dungeon Master he'd encountered his own freshman year, Bruce, and how he'd taken Eddie under his wing. Back then, it wasn't Hellfire club - it was just a group of misfits all meeting up to play a game. Not quite a club yet, but an escape nevertheless.

"You're procrastinating," he'd stated plainly when she asked him what happened to Bruce, "I don't mind, but you're definitely procrastinating actually playing."

She had been unable to lie to him, flushing with brutal honesty, "Yeah. Yeah, I am. But I really am curious what happened to Bruce."

"He graduated, but I could always make up some elaborate story about how he ended up in prison for murder if you'd prefer. That'd be less boring."

"There it is."

"What?"

"That brilliant, incredible, creative mind of yours."

"You're too sweet, but flattery won't work on me, Red. Roll the dice."

Once she'd learned her way around a D20, with much frustration on her part and an impeccable amount of patience on Eddie's, they'd filled out a character sheet for her. It had been nearly torture for her, the terms Eddie used being painfully confusing and the pages laid out in front of them not being very helpful. By the end of his repeated explanations, Willow has her character - a chaotic-good, elven magic-user. She isn't entirely sure what it means entirely, even after the hours Eddie dedicates to helping explain to her, but she thinks it sounds good.

At least, when she's leaving his van that evening she thinks it sounds good.

But when she's left to her own devices later in the night, she finds herself overthinking it. It's not the end-all, be-all; Eddie is the most concerned with her having fun over playing perfectly. She's pretty sure the Hellfire club members would keel over if they had witnessed how soft their vicious leader had been with her in her distressed state. But she's laying in her bed, and she's thinking of every single way she could embarrass herself the next day during the campaign, and she's freaking out . There's no poetic way to put it - she is absolutely freaking the fuck out. Suddenly, all the time Eddie spent on her feels wasted. What if the Hellfire boys decide she's just a roadblock? What if she gets on their nerves within the first ten minutes and they immediately regret ever convincing her to play with them? What if she just looks dumb the entire time?

It's how she finds herself laying on her back and staring at her ceiling when the clock strikes midnight. She hasn't gotten a wink of sleep. She laid there, stared at the ceiling, had an entire existential crisis, and then stared some more at the walls instead of the ceiling that time. It's been painful. Her head has been hurting for the last thirty minutes from it all.

"At least we were right to decide my alignment was chaotic ," she mutters to herself in her empty room, finally sitting up and reaching to grab the notebook that they'd written out her stats on. There's something about charisma, strength, and intelligence. All things Willow feels she's lacking, terribly so, especially in this moment.

She doesn't know why she cares so much, why her entire deficit in understanding is making her so miserable.

That's a lie.

Okay, so maybe, just maybe, she does know. And the reason has impossibly big and redundantly caring brown eyes paired with an unruly mess of curls.

She cares so much because Eddie cares so much.

She wasn't blind to his excitement when she sat with him for the afternoon, the way he lit up as he explained the game rules to her. The topic had breathed life into him and she's sure that even if she did understand the game, she would have continued to play dumb just to watch him in his element. His happiness had been so palpable that it ached.

So, yeah. Her not understanding and feeling as if she was going to completely make a fool of herself tomorrow did worry her, but only because she was worried about letting Eddie down.

"Fuck it," she tosses the notebook down and decides to leave the confines of her bedroom, take a walk around the house. Maybe it'll soothe her anxiety. Maybe it'll make it worse. She has nothing to lose at this point.

She finds herself wandering into the kitchen, no real end goal in mind. She could always bake something for the boys to take tomorrow, a preemptive apology for the way she's sure to ruin the campaign. Her pantry was recently restocked after her and her mom had discussed baking some cookies from scratch.

But then her eyes wander, and she finds them landing on the phone on the wall.

I could call him .

The thought passes as quickly as it springs to mind. There's a million and one reasons to not call Eddie. First and foremost, it's midnight . He's probably asleep. And even if he isn't, he probably doesn't want to hear from her. He's probably sick of her at this point. It's a bad idea. A terrible one.

She still finds herself walking quickly back to her room, grabbing her notebook and tearing off the corner of paper where Eddie had scribbled his number earlier that day. He'd written it down for her in case she had any questions before the campaign tomorrow. She hadn't had the heart to tell him she already had the number memorized. To the point that she'd dialed his number drunkenly at the infamous party. No, that was a secret that had to go to the grave with her. So she accepted the notion and promised to call if she had questions.

Which I don't. I don't have any questions, all I've got is anxiety.

Her inner monologue, her sane ego that had been making nothing but good points, is ignored. She rushes back to the phone, takes a deep breath, and dials the number.

She's got nothing to lose.

Although, every time she tells herself that, she realizes she does have something to lose.

The thought makes her slam the phone down after it's only rang once. Her blood runs cold - she does have something to lose. If she calls Eddie at this hour and he doesn't want to talk to her, whether it be due to annoyance or sleep-deprivation, it'll leave her feeling worse than she did before she called. That kind of rejection right now might make her cry, silly as it seems.

I'm being an idiot.

She tries to calm herself down as she picks the phone back up. Three seconds in, hold for three seconds, three seconds out. She repeats the mantra to control her breathing as her numb finger punches in the number she only glances at to find comfort in Eddie's messy penmanship.

It'll be fine. Maybe he won't answer.

It only takes three rings.

"Munson residence," a gruff voice answers over the line. A voice that is definitely not Eddie's.

"Oh, uh, hi," Willow squeaks. She had been mentally preparing herself for Eddie , but it seems she had gotten Wayne . Wrong Munson. Scarier Munson, in her opinion. "Um, I'm so sorry to be calling so late, I was calling for Eddie-"

"Who is this?" Wayne cuts her off, starting to sound irritated. Not a good sign. It only made Willow feel even more guilty for calling at this hour of the night.

She twists the phone cord so tightly around her knuckle, she has to wince from the pain, "Willow. Willow Jenkins."

There's nothing but silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Willow is convinced that Wayne is going to hang up on her when he finally responds again, voice sounding softer than it was before, "Willow? You're the red-head that's been hanging out with my boy, right?"

"Yes, sir," she responds quickly. She loops the cord around her finger again, turning the tip a dark shade of pink from the lack of blood circulation.

"Is everything alright? You're not hurt or anything, are you?"

This is the most that Wayne Munson has ever spoken to Willow Jenkins. And her heart hurts at how genuinely concerned he's sounding, a stark contrast to the hint of hostility that had been in his tone when he first answered the phone.

She laughs softly, "I-I'm fine, Mr. Munson-"

"Call me Wayne."

"I'm fine, Wayne. I was just calling to see if Eddie was still awake. If he isn't, it's completely fine, I just-"

She doesn't have a chance to finish her sentence as she hears Wayne mutter ' hold on ', and she can hear shuffling over the line. It fades and leaves her with nothing but the company of white noise for a few seconds. But then, she hears the low grumble of what she assumes is Wayne's voice, not quite back at the phone but close enough her ear can catch a few mumbles.

And then another voice, just as scratchy. Tired, almost. She knows who it is before he even picks up the phone.

"Red?"

She hates it. She hates the way Eddie's voice floods her with so much relief, deep and exhausted but still carrying so much comfort for her. She almost doesn't notice when her hand completely releases the phone cord, her finger screaming out in its own relief as the blood rushes back to the fingertip.

"Hey," she sighs, leaning herself back against the wall and closing her eyes.

"Hey, is everything okay?" He echoes words similar to his uncle's. She hears Wayne's voice again in the background, and makes out Eddie mumbling a goodbye. It's hard enough to hear she can imagine him leaning away from the phone, holding it out from his ear to send his uncle off. Willow wonders if she'd caught Wayne as he was leaving for work. It was past midnight, and it does cross her mind that he should have already been at work. She wonders if everything is alright with the Munson men , not herself, "You still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here, sorry," she apologizes, opening her eyes. The stovetop clock is angry as it blinks a furious at her, "I'm fine, I just... I couldn't sleep."

As she admits it, she realizes how silly she sounds. She was calling, interrupting his sleep due to her own lack of sleep. Not only was it silly, but a bit selfish, in retrospect.

He doesn't seem to mind though, as he replies, "Can't sleep? Why?" He sounds genuinely curious despite obviously still being tired. But he's sounding more lively with each word. It's suddenly clear to her that her phone call had definitely woken him up, and she starts to feel guilty. Her pity party is cut short when Eddie suddenly takes on a teasing tone over the line, "Wait. Let me guess - you're just too excited about the campaign tomorrow. Just can't wait to see me in action as Dungeon Master again, right?"

He was close. Although, excited was clearly not the word she would use.

Anxious, terrified, stressed, petrified. All better words to describe the nerves choking her currently and keeping her from a good night's rest.

"Sort of," she admits, not wanting to burden him with the full truth, "Actually, I was wondering how you guys would feel if I brought snacks? Like, if I baked some cookies and brought them."

Eddie's silent for a second. She isn't sure if it's from his exhaustion, or if he's genuinely having to contemplate it.

"I think that would seal the deal with them. They'd definitely love you more than me. I mean, they already do, but cookies? Shit, Red, you'd have them wrapped around your pretty little finger."

She forces out a laugh at that. Especially the mention of how Hellfire already loves her. She didn't doubt that they were friendly with her, but she'd always assumed it was for Eddie's sake. Perks of dating a cult-leader-in-training, she'd joke.

"Okay, cool. So operation 'bring cookies to steal your club from you' is a go. Good to know," she jokes back, pushing herself off the wall, "I guess I'll let you get back to your beauty sleep, then, while I get to baking."

"Wait, right now ? Did you only call to ask me if you should bring cookies? And now you're going to bake them right now ? It's the middle of the night, Red."

She shrugs, then remembers he can't see her. "I told you, I can't sleep."

"So you're just going to bake cookies? At one in the morning?"

"That was the plan, yes."

"Have you considered.... Oh, I don't know... trying to sleep ?"

"Been there, done that," she exhales, trying to hide her annoyance with her own anxieties, "Didn't really work, so... well, baking it is."

"You know, great minds think alike," she can imagine his smile over the line.

"Yeah? You also bake when you can't sleep?"

She almost laughs, picturing Eddie in a frilly apron, covered in flour. It's not only a comical vision, but an endearing one. One she'd love to see one day.

"I do. Although, I think it's a slightly different kind of baking than you partake in, if you catch my drift."

She snorts. Of course , he's referring to weed. Eddie isn't a baker, not like Willow. That's not surprising.

"I see. Well, maybe you should go partake in that baking while I get to mine."

"What kind of cookies are you going to make?" He completely ignores her comment, continuing on with the conversation.

She decides to indulge him, "Probably chocolate chip. It's a classic, after all."

"Mm," he hums thoughtfully. She hears a scratching noise, and guesses that he's rubbing at his chin and the scruff that had grown there, "And there's no way I can convince you to hold off until tomorrow? I could always help, you know. I'm quite the sous-chef. Or, sous-baker, I guess."

"I'm pretty sure if I let you help, you'd just try to eat all the dough before I even got it into the oven," she laughs, shaking her head. Another vision that is so terribly endearing, it twists Willow's stomach. She was definitely going to bake with Eddie one day, but today was not the day. Nor was tomorrow. Not when her nerves were so chaotic, not when there were so many boundaries she was still trying to keep intact.