The name sounds familiar to her, but she's having a hard time getting her brain to cooperate with her right now and the little wisp of recognition are impossible to hang on to. She'll remember why she should know him later, probably after he's left and she'll never see him again.
Thinking of him as papi is easier. ]
Hey, hi. I'm Eddie. [ Wow. Real smooth, Munson. The Stevie in her head is judging her, hard, but Eddie resolutely ignores her and tries to focus on something other than the fact that the guy she'd been idly flirting with over text this afternoon actually turned out to be hot. And, apparently, made of fucking rock or something. She's pretty sure she's going to get a bruise on her sternum from where he collided with her. Which is great, because she's definitely going to get a bruise all down her back to go along with the lump on the back of her head from where she impacted into the stage. ] No, you don't—
[ She takes a deep breath, visibly trying to center herself before she tries again. ] Don't apologize, please. I think you saved my life.
[ Maybe that's a little hyperbolic, but those lights are fucking huge, and the shrapnel radius is impressively wide. It hit the deck hard. She'd have a lot worse than a little bump if he hadn't tackled her.
His hand reaches in for her, going for her waist, and for a second she doesn't realize what's happening, her own hand lifting, and then she realizes what he's doing and an embarrassed flush stains her face. The scars on her waist are a sort of well-known secret among the fans, something that's impossible to hide thanks to how much Eddie jumps around and contorts herself as she plays, but she refuses to talk about them in interviews and the girls have backed her up on that stance. Stevie has them too, but she doesn't even bother trying to hide them, wearing cropped shirts in the summer when they play like she doesn't even notice the marks on her skin. Tommy Miller reaches in like he's about to touch them, and she almost flinches, but then his fingers are plucking at her wet shirt instead, and her hand settles on his forearm. ]
I'm fine. Because of you. [ Her hand tightens, fingertips pressing into firm muscle beneath warm skin. ] Thank you.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2025-05-23 04:42 pm (UTC)The name sounds familiar to her, but she's having a hard time getting her brain to cooperate with her right now and the little wisp of recognition are impossible to hang on to. She'll remember why she should know him later, probably after he's left and she'll never see him again.
Thinking of him as papi is easier. ]
Hey, hi. I'm Eddie. [ Wow. Real smooth, Munson. The Stevie in her head is judging her, hard, but Eddie resolutely ignores her and tries to focus on something other than the fact that the guy she'd been idly flirting with over text this afternoon actually turned out to be hot. And, apparently, made of fucking rock or something. She's pretty sure she's going to get a bruise on her sternum from where he collided with her. Which is great, because she's definitely going to get a bruise all down her back to go along with the lump on the back of her head from where she impacted into the stage. ] No, you don't—
[ She takes a deep breath, visibly trying to center herself before she tries again. ] Don't apologize, please. I think you saved my life.
[ Maybe that's a little hyperbolic, but those lights are fucking huge, and the shrapnel radius is impressively wide. It hit the deck hard. She'd have a lot worse than a little bump if he hadn't tackled her.
His hand reaches in for her, going for her waist, and for a second she doesn't realize what's happening, her own hand lifting, and then she realizes what he's doing and an embarrassed flush stains her face. The scars on her waist are a sort of well-known secret among the fans, something that's impossible to hide thanks to how much Eddie jumps around and contorts herself as she plays, but she refuses to talk about them in interviews and the girls have backed her up on that stance. Stevie has them too, but she doesn't even bother trying to hide them, wearing cropped shirts in the summer when they play like she doesn't even notice the marks on her skin. Tommy Miller reaches in like he's about to touch them, and she almost flinches, but then his fingers are plucking at her wet shirt instead, and her hand settles on his forearm. ]
I'm fine. Because of you. [ Her hand tightens, fingertips pressing into firm muscle beneath warm skin. ] Thank you.