December twenty third. A Monday, the first day of winter break, the day before Christmas eve, and most importantly, the day of the Metallica show.

Willow had thought that it was odd to have a concert on a Monday night, specifically a metal concert, but she didn't voice the concern as she sat in Eddie's passenger seat during the drive to Indianapolis. Maybe it wasn't that odd considering Corroded Coffin performed every Tuesday. Maybe it was a thing for the community, to have their loud and rowdy shows on the weekdays as a way to 'stick it to the man'. Whoever the man was.

She looks down at the map in her lap, tracing her fingertip over the spot she'd circled in crimson red, "It should be up here on the right."

"The venue or the hotel?" Eddie asks her as he glances at her briefly, only a second before he returns his gaze back to the road in front of them. Indianapolis traffic was truly no joke compared to the quiet roads of Hawkins.

"The hotel," she explains, looking up at the passing shops, "The venue's a couple blocks over from it. That's okay, right?"

Eddie grins for her, still watching the roads as one of his hands leave the wheel and lands on her knee, giving a loving squeeze, "More than okay, sweetheart. You're running this show, I'm just along for the ride. Anything you say goes."

She scoffs immediately, enjoying the warmth of his palm and slipping her own hand over his. He retracts it quickly, hissing at the contrast of her cold fingers.

"Fuck, why is your hand so cold?"

"Because it's December and your van's heater is shit," she complains lightheartedly, leaning forward to fiddle with the air knobs once more. The vents continue to only offer mildly warm air, nothing against the sharp bite of outside air, "If anything I say goes, then I'm saying you need to get it fixed before Christmas."

He reaches back out and takes her hand in his, pulling it to his lap, sharing the radiating heat coming from his body with her. "That's expensive. I'll just look at it when we get back."

"Eddie the mechanic," she laughs under her breath, "I can see it now - your hands all covered in grease, crying to me because you cut your finger on some hot metal I could have told you not to touch."

"I would not cry about some cut on my finger."

"You definitely would. You'd probably make me kiss it better."

"And would you?" he grins in her direction as they roll to a stop at a redlight, "Would you kiss it better?"

She can't even feign annoyance when he looks at her like this, lighting fire to her chest as she lets the beautiful flames illuminate her from the inside out, "I might. It would probably take some convincing, though."

"How much convincing are we talking? Cause the papercut I got a few days ago still kind of hurts."

She laughs, but he persists as the light turns green, glancing wildly between her and the road as he lifts his hand towards her mouth, being a pest on purpose as she tries to swat his fingers away. He eventually wears her down, though, and she looks over them until she finds the thin, pink line over the pad of his pinky and presses her lips to it gently.

"Wow. You should be a doctor. Instant cure," he mocks, bringing the pinky to his face and squinting at it, "Actually, I think it might need another kiss. Just to be sure."

She rolls her eyes and quickly snatches up his knuckles, placing a second kiss before scolding him, "Keep your eyes on the road, Munson. I want to make it to the hotel in one piece."

"Yes, ma'am."

They do, in fact, get to the hotel in one piece. But only after Eddie nearly misses the turn, and Willow catches his mistake with a second to spare. He turns the van so sharply that she's nervous they'll flip, Eddie throwing out an arm across her chest to press her back into her seat on instinct.

She's still complaining about it as they check in and get their room key, as they enter the small, quaint room they'll call home for the night.

"You could have killed us!" she sighs loudly, exasperated as she tosses her overnight bag onto the center of the king bed.

He closes the door behind them, but continues to lean against the doorway, his own bag still slung over his shoulder as he crosses his arms and fights back a simple smile at her overexcited state. She was terribly, endearingly adorable to him when she got like this, "You were supposed to be my navigator. I can't help that you forgot to mention the turn until we were right at it."

"It wouldn't have killed us to miss the turn and have to turn around to make it safely. The way you took that turn, though? That could have killed us."

She's stubborn in her opinion and forced annoyance, glaring at him from the foot of the bed. She folds her arms over her own chest and mirrors his position. Her lips pout slightly as the crease between her brows deepend, and his heart soars for her.

They've argued plenty in the month they've been together as a real couple. It was normal. And it was over small, trivial things. Eddie refused to study the way Willow insisted for their upcoming finals, only arguing to get under her nerves which in turn got her distracted from all the homework. They'd bickered over Christmas gifts for everyone, ranging from what they would actually get their friends and family to how stressful, how overwhelming the stores easily became during the holiday season. None of the small arguments ever became something bigger. They were petty and easily forgotten, and they both knew at the end of the day, they didn't matter.

He sighs dramatically before dropping his bag loudly by the door, taking long strides before he stops in front of her and brings his palms up to her cheeks. He cradles her face as if it's something precious, something of the highest value to him. Diamonds, gold, money - none of them held up against her.

"I'm sorry, baby," he coos, not condescendingly but instead surprisingly genuine, letting a smile break across his face in the form of an apology. He leans down and begins to press kisses across her cheeks, hands holding her face a bit tighter as he murmurs against her skin, "I promise to be on my best chauffeur behavior for the rest of the trip."

"You better," she mumbles, face smashed between his palms and making her words come out warbled. It only encourages for more kisses to be littered across the bridge of her nose, "God, we're fighting like an old married couple."

"Good," he pauses, pulling back to meet her lovesick gaze with his own, "Is it bad I think I like this better than, like, some stupidly gushy honeymoon phase?"

"Oh, no – we're still in that, too," she corrects, smiling as she turns and presses a quick succession of kisses to the center of one of his warm palms.

"No," he groans, leaning his head back with his eyes pinched shut, "You already said we're an old married couple. No take-backs."

She shakes her head, still giggling as she finally swats away his hands from her cheeks. He stays in place as she moves from between him and the bed. Her hands quickly yank her bag from the center of the bed to the side she stands beside, and she's fast in unzipping it and beginning to carefully pull out some of the clothes she'd brought with her for the concert, "We still have a while to go before we get there. Like, what? Fifty years, at least."

"Yeah?" he asks her as he throws himself down on the bed, bouncing slightly with the mattress as he grins insufferably, making himself comfortable in the space she'd freed up. He prps himself on an elbow and rests the side of his face in a hand, cupping his own cheek just as he had cupped hers moments before, "Think you'll still love me when I'm all gross and old?"

Gross and old. Those are the last words Willow would use as she looks down at her boy and tries to picture it. The peppery streaks of silver that would one day litter his curls, the way the creases besides his eyes would only deepen with each smile over his lifetime. She can practically see the way all of his sharp exterior would soften over the years. The way he would, without a doubt, age so gracefully and still maintain the vibrancy of his youth. He'd surely complain about his bad back and aching knees, and he'd definitely have a favorite rocking chair on his porch to sit in as he smoked his afternoon cigarettes.

The only gross thing about the entire scenario was the way that Willow wanted to witness it with her own two eyes so ardently.

"Well, now that you mention it," she teases, lying straight through her teeth as she puts on a playful tone. The immediate yes still rests on the tip of her tongue, "Maybe not. I guess it just depends on if you're going to go bald or not."

"Bald?" he squeaks, his free hand flying to his curls defensively, "I'm hurt that you think my genetics are so flimsy. I'm taking these luscious curls to the grave, Red."

"In that case, I guess my answer is yes," she says as if she didn't just picture him old and grey, and at her side.

Getting ready for the concert is a blur. Willow retreats to the bathroom of their hotel room with her outfit in one hand, and her small bag of makeup in the other. Eddie attempts to convince her to just get ready out here with him, so he won't be lonely, but the girl refuses. She tells him it's a surprise.

And a surprise it is, when an hour later, she emerges to find Eddie dramatically pretending to be dead from boredom, whistling to get his attention.

"I know you're not really dead," she pokes at his side as she passes him, laughing at the way he dramatically sticks his tongue out.

"You don't know that," he mumbles, careful to not move his face too much, "I've been alone for hours. A lot can happen in several hours."

"It's only been an hour, singular," she points out as she tucks her outfit from their drive into her bag, standing up straight quickly but not facing Eddie, "Besides, I think it was worth it."

Eddie's eyes snap open at that. She isn't facing him at first, but just the view of her back has him taking in a sharp breath.

When she turns to face him, he's throwing his head back, groaning loudly.

Robin had nearly killed her during all her debating about what her outfit should be leading up to the trip. It had been a dreadful bout of back and forth, Willow concerned with looking too out of place as herself versus fearing looking as if she were trying too hard. And then there had been an entire fit of her choosing underwear for the trip, which Robin had finally drawn the line.

"My God, you could probably wear a fuckin' garbage bag and the man would pop a boner then and there, 'Low," Robin had teased as Willow had shown another option, "Just go naked at this point."

For obvious reasons, Willow didn't take Robin's advice. But her friend had the right idea about Eddie adoring anything that Willow wore - that much was clear in his eyes.

"Holy shit," he whines with his head still tilted back, eyes pinched shut.

"You like it?" she nervously questions, tugging at the edge of her skirt, "It's not too much?"

She'd tried to meet herself halfway. The makeup look was darker - smokey eyeliner framing her eyes and hair messy in a very intentional way. She'd almost added the red lipstick, but decided against it when she considered how sweaty the night might become. The outfit was an impractical attempt at something comfortable and on the warmer side, but still fitting in with the crowd she'd expected to be faced with: a stolen Metallica shirt from Eddie's closet, tucked into a soft, brown faux-leather skirt that ended at her midthigh, tights beneath blacking out her legs and shielding her from the chill of the night.

She'd already made plans to steal Eddie's leather jacket. She really hoped he'd packed himself a second jacket.

"Too much?" Eddie laughs, not only lifting his head but his entire body off the bed, swinging his legs to the floor before he stands and makes his way to where she continues to toy with the edge of the skirt, "Too much?" he repeats himself, hands grabbing at her wrists and pulling them away, bringing his hands up to his chest as he stares down at her, "You look fucking beautiful, Willow. You always do, but this is just... wow."

He can still make her blush, even after all this time. She doesn't think there will ever come a day where the wildfire that inhibits her cheeks from his compliment doesn't burn inside her.

One hand continues to clutch her wrists as the second immediately finds the ring resting against her chest. She hadn't taken off the necklace since he gifted it to her.

"I just didn't want to stand out in the crowd," she attempts to explain herself for some unknown reason, "I asked Gareth about how people usually dress at these shows-"

"You asked Gareth for fashion advice?" he interrupts with a smirk, but she ignores him.

"-and he told me that normally it's just a lot like what you wear daily, y'know? Lots of leather, and chains, and-"

"Red," he interrupts more sternly this time, "While this look on you drives me crazy, you don't have to change the way you dress for the show. I promise. If anyone gives you Hell, I'll knock their teeth out."

"No, you won't," she argues, freeing one of her wrists from his hold and reaching out to play with a stray curl of his, "You'd get kicked out."

"So? What's more metal than getting kicked out of a Metallica show for punching someone to defend your girl's honor?"

She shrugs, "I think actually getting to watch the show with your girl is more metal."

"You might be right," he muses, "But, seriously – are you comfortable? If not, you can change. I promise I'll still drool over you with or without the skirt."

"I'm comfortable," she assures him, "I mean... I could always use a leather jacket to finish the look..." she looks pointedly at his jacket draped at the edge of the bed. His eyes follow her line of sight.

He tries to fight his smile, but it's a losing battle as he releases her necklace and grabs the jacket, thrusting it into her hold, "You're so lucky I packed a flannel to wear."

She grips onto the worn leather, comfortable and familiar beneath her fingertips, soaked in the scent of tobacco and spice. She clings to it the way a child would cling to their favorite blanket, wrapping herself up in the comfort it provides without fail.

"I am," she agrees, "Absolutely the luckiest."

She's not talking about the jacket anymore.

—

As it turns out, a Metallica show is nothing like a Corroded Coffin show. It was crowded, as she had expected - a band like Metallica, without a doubt, gathers a larger crowd than five drunks.

But it's more than just a large crowd.

There's a certain energy in the air, electric and bouncing off of the dozens of warm bodies surrounding Willow and Eddie. Once the opener has finished their set, the rowdiness only increases. Eddie has his arms tightly wound around her from behind, keeping his chest firmly pressed to her back as he stands his ground to keep them from swaying with the crowd.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Eddie's voice is in her ear, his tone still loud as it battles to be heard over the music that plays over the speakers as the roadies chase each other across the stage in an attempt to reset for the main event. It's entertaining and exhausting to watch all at once; she can only imagine how heavy all the equipment is as they carry it, a few of them making it seem easy as others show clear displays of struggle.

"I'm positive," she tries to put Eddie's mind to ease as the crowd surges slightly. She reaches a hand up and wraps her fingers around his forearm in an attempt to comfort both herself and Eddie.

With each passing minute, she's noticed the way everyone attempts to press as closely into each other as possible, hoping to get closer to the stage. They don't manage to accomplish it, however. All it results in is everyone being closer to each other, almost too close for comfort. She's brushed elbows with more strangers in the last thirty minutes than she had her entire life.

"We don't have to be so deep in the crowd, you know," he continues to say directly over her shoulder. She can feel his lips passing over the shell of her ear with each syllable.

She shifts, turning her head to face him slightly as someone roughly pushes up beside them, "I know, but like I said, I'm fine."

She puts on her brightest smile for him, meaning it. Her anxiety was definitely heightened, and the entire situation was certainly overwhelming, but she was okay for now. Any time it did get to be too much, she focused on the warmth of Eddie wrapped around her, and it soothed her worries.

Besides, they had a decent view. She'd feel like a fool to abandon it now. They'd managed to weasel their way into a perfect view of the stage, far away enough they could see the entirety of it from the center of the crowd.

"I know you said that-" he pauses, and it's clear someone has roughly bumped up against his back by the way he snaps his head behind him with a glare, the ends of his hair briefly brushing her cheeks before he turns to look at her again and continue, "But please tell me if it gets to be too much, yeah? These crowds can get a little... rough."

His eyebrows pull together, an adorable sight, and she swipes her thumb beneath the edge of his jacket to graze the top of his wrist. "I will. Have a little faith in me, Munson."

Rough is a kind way to describe the crowd. Eventually, the stage has been set, and the unfamiliar music that was playing over the speakers cuts off in time with the lights. It's clear the band is about to take their place before the crowd. If Eddie wasn't gripping her, Willow is sure she would have stumbled to the ground by the sudden movement of the crowd. It's like a wave - everyone rushes forward before they sway to left and right, many having started to lose their balance already. As choppy as the actual ocean, as energetic as a lightning storm. Willow had witnessed firsthand just how passionate Eddie could get when he got lost in his rambles about the band and their music, especially when debating with the boys of Hellfire, and she watched as the strangers of the crowd clearly shared this sentiment, this passion.

Willow's ears strain as she attempts to hone in on the music that begins playing over the crowd's eruption, eyes flitting across the stage for any sign of the actual band's shadows between instruments.

Whatever is playing, doesn't sound like any of the music Eddie has played for her in the car. It's soft and low, receiving a couple of louder cheers from the crowd at the first sound of what Willow believes is a bell.