Chapter Text
“I had all and then most of you. Some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met.”
~”The Night We Met” Lord Huron
June 11th, 2024
Eddie watched the door close, and if anyone had asked, he would’ve sworn he could feel the latch click into place, a sharp, final sound echoing through his chest. It wasn’t just the door closing —it was everything. He could feel it deep in his soul, a heaviness like a nail driven into the very core of him, sealing him off from something he couldn’t quite grasp. What was life after death? He thought he might just find out, because everything in him was screaming that he wouldn’t survive the hollow weight of watching his parents usher his son out of his life. There was no conversation —not a real one, at least, not one that mattered. Chris had wanted to leave, and his parents had been all too eager to help, their quiet plans finally lined up with everything Christopher had dreamed of. They’d wanted him for years, but now it was real, and Eddie was left behind in a house that felt foreign, its walls too cold, the silence too loud.
And Eddie wasn’t sure if it would ever feel like home again.
December 4th, 1997
When Eddie was six, he had to walk himself to the bus stop for the first time. It felt strange, the cool morning air biting at his cheeks as he gripped the top of his brown paper bag, the edges crinkled under his small fingers. He had been in kindergarten for a few months, but his mom had always walked with him up the street. They would chat about the day ahead, and Sophia, still groggy with sleep, would wave a half-hearted goodbye before the bus doors swallowed him up. But that morning, with Sophia sick and his mom distracted, Eddie decided to take matters into his own hands. He packed his peanut butter sandwich and juice box, the sandwich sticking slightly to the wax paper as he stuffed it into his brown paper bag. He grabbed his backpack, which hung awkwardly from his shoulders, the straps digging into his neck and headed out the door. He walked up the street, the sound of his shoes tapping against the concrete echoing in the quiet, until he stood at the edge of old Mister Moran’s driveway, the rough gravel crunching beneath his feet.
“Hi, I’m Andy,” a boy his size grinned at him, his teeth too big for his small mouth, his hand outstretched eagerly. “My mom said I gotta shake hands when I meet people.”
“I’m Eddie,” he said, taking the boy’s hand cautiously, “and my mom said not to talk to strangers.”
But Eddie’s warning didn’t seem to faze Andy. Instead, he launched into a rapid-fire monologue, his words tumbled out in an excited rush. He was in Miss Shreeves’ class, right next to Eddie’s. They both liked peanut butter, but not jelly. Andy was an only child, which made Eddie feel like he needed to share the great wisdom of little sisters —who only cried and pooped. That got a laugh out of Andy, who then proudly declared his favorite color was blue —except on Mondays, when it was red because, according to Andy, Monday was a red kind of day. Andy’s dad wasn’t around the same way Eddie’s dad wasn’t around but Andy said he didn’t remember the last time his dad had visited. As the bus rumbled up, Eddie hadn’t even realized they’d boarded together, let alone made their way to their classrooms. By the time they sat down in front of their desks, Eddie was already getting used to Andy’s voice, constant and comforting, while he, the quieter one, just listened. Somewhere between The Flash and the outstretched arm of friendship, Eddie had found his first real friend.
At home, his mom had a hard time letting go. The independent streak that had sprouted up in Eddie felt like it appeared overnight. He didn’t want to wait for the bus with her anymore —he wanted to be at the stop with Andy, chatting about cartoons, their laughter rising in the air like a shared secret. Eddie began asking for playdates, a concept his mom had never really dealt with before. It was like the little boy she had been raising for six years had suddenly grown up right in front of her. But even though Eddie didn’t need her as much anymore, he didn’t disappear. He carved out a space for himself with Andy, filling it with easy companionship and shared adventures. After a few weeks of feeling like she was losing him, Helena realized she hadn’t lost her son at all. She had gained another —because Andy didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
Soon, the Diaz household was more chaotic than ever. Ramon’s work kept him away, Sophia was toddling around, her small feet padding softly on the hardwood floors, and Eddie’s newfound independence added a new rhythm to the house. But there was something else, too —a new dynamic. Eddie had found his voice, and it often echoed with Andy’s alongside it. It was as if Andy had always been meant to be there.
"Can Andy sleep over?" The question came so often, and with such ease, that it was almost an unspoken agreement. If Eddie had his way, Andy would always be at his house, or Eddie would be at Andy’s. They’d sit together at lunch, side by side, even though the kindergarten classes were supposed to sit apart. They’d play during recess, the world around them blurred into the background, and they never once noticed anyone else who might have wanted to join in. Eddie had gone from being just Eddie to Eddie and Andy, and somewhere along the way, their names had become so intertwined that they were always spoken together — EddieandAndy . One unit. Perfectly in sync, a bond forged in the simplicity of shared childhood joy.