Author's Note: I think this was my favorite one to have written so far <33 It's very much giving 10 Things I Hate About You. Also pretty long compared to usual!
CW: mild profanity, probable second-hand embarrassment [sorry in advance (no i'm not)]
That Friday evening, you sat at your desk with your face propped on a hand, dreamily scribbling unpleasant remarks on a notepad.
Digs about his hair, his "funky little outfits," as you put it, the whole nine yards.
You filled about a page of the small yellow legal pad, full of playground retorts.
It was at that point, with the evening light dimming, and the moon beginning to shine through your curtains, that you flipped the page with a changed tune.
It's infuriating how much I want to wear your stupid clothes.
The pencil he'd placed in your hands hours before was almost scrawling faster than you could think. It was as if you were operating purely on instinct, the words having remained unwritten for too long.
I hate the way you make me nervous, and the way you throw me off my guard.
I hate how easily I seem to smile around you, and how I can never predict you.
You thought of his spontaneous air guitar on show in the cafeteria, how confident he seemed; how much he clearly loved it.
The notion didn't fail to pull envy from your chest as you glanced over at your own acoustic guitar, untouched in the corner of your bedroom.
I hate that you're braver than me. I hate the calluses on your fingertips, and how much I wish I had my own.
Your pulse was racing, nerves wracking through your fingertips as the pencil hit the page.
Most of all, I hate that little look in your eye, the one that makes me feel like I might not hate you as much as I think I do.
You sighed, frustrated and clear.
The feeling hadn't fully revealed itself until that point, sitting at your desk, head in your hands and breathing laced with clarity.
You really didn't hate him as much as you thought you did– as much as you wanted to.
You thought of his taunting grin, his obnoxious chants and that infuriating look in his eye.
You remembered the afternoon at your locker, when he'd startled you so easily– so quick to get under your skin.
And the day in the woods, where his presence seemed to be the most calming thing you'd ever known.
The rightness of it all. It was terrifying.
Eddie Munson was everything you'd always avoided.
Attention– and negative, at that– plus, a swaggering sense of gravitas you'd never really possessed.
Rumors, anger, unwelcomed stares... all facets of a not-so-simple adolescence which you'd majorly avoided up until this point.
Nonetheless, something pulled you to him. The same something that fluttered in your chest when he spoke, the same something now lingering in your sigh as you dropped the notepad by your backpack.
Even though you were going to rip out the first page to hand him, with the silly insults and crude little drawings in the margins, you couldn't bring yourself to do it yet.
Monday.
The weekend passed in a hazy blur, mostly spent lying in bed or meandering around your bedroom.
At night, your dreams were filled with the sounds of heavy metal, peppered by the scent of smoke.
That Monday morning, you sat in Trigonometry, listening to Clarke drone on about cotangent functions.
"It's the reciprocal of the function tangent, people! They are connected intrinsically. So I will be taking points from those of you who do not define both values on the final!"
Clarke's lecturing faded out as your mind wandered, snapping back as he placed a returned quiz on your desk.
"Nice work, (y/n), I'd like you to see me after class."
Shit.
As the first bell rang and your classmates began shuffling out of the room, you stood and forced yourself over to the front of the room, biting back a grimace at the anticipated plea.
"Listen, (y/n)," Mr. Clarke began. "I know you've turned us away before, but I really do think you could excel with some academic extracurriculars on your college applications."
He had a point there.
"I'm just not sure if I have... the time. I've got," you peered around the room, gesturing vaguely. "Stuff, y'know?"
"Stuff. Yes, I'm familiar."
You stood, waiting for the end of that clause.
"One meeting. Come to one meeting, and I promise, if it ends up getting in the way of your stuff, you don't have to come back."
You glanced to the door, peering out to the hallway to find it empty.
"Alright," you nodded, a conceding smile on your face. "One meeting."
That seemed to satiate him, and he informed you of the meeting taking place this afternoon after school. Mathlete Monday. Fine.
The conversation ate up a bit more time than you thought it would, and it dawned on you that you were about to be late for History for the second time in a calendar week.
Shit.
You picked up your pace, almost bolting down the near-empty hall to avoid another lecture on tardiness, and possibly detention.
You were almost to the end of the corridor when you smacked directly into a familiar set of arms.
"Shit, (y/l/n), where you off to?" Eddie laughed at your encounter, his smile faltering when he noticed the worried look on your face. "Everything alright?"
"I'm late! Again! I really gotta go, I'm sorry!" You were already heel-and-toeing backwards toward History as you spoke, holding up your hands apologetically.
"Wait," he called, still facing you. "My office? This afternoon?"
Shit. Today was Monday. The table. The woods.
"I can't!" The worry on your face grew as you remembered Clarke's meeting this afternoon. "Here!"
You fumbled through your bag and tossed the list to him, watching him catch it in one solid movement before bolting down the hall once more to beat the bell.
It wasn't until two minutes into History, at your desk, staring at your open textbook, that you realized:
You forgot to tear out the first page. You threw the entire notepad.
YOU ARE READING
the guitarist | eddie munson x reader
Fanfiction"weird is a strong word, (y/l/n)" the older boy rolled his eyes flamboyantly, making a mockery of the rumors about him. you were starting to think they might be true. even so, you kept pace by his side as the two of you stumbled through the woods. "...
