The door creaked open, and Ursula stepped inside, her figure briefly silhouetted against the moonlight before it disappeared into the warm glow of the cabin. Eddie lingered for a moment, staring up at the stars before following her in.
The night settled over the cabin, thick with the smell of pine and the faint crackle of embers dying out in the hearth.
Eddie sat on the couch, staring at the battered coffee table. His mind raced, replaying fragments of their earlier conversation: the stories she carried, the ballad she'd handed him, the unbearable weight of everything she bore so silently. He could still see her faint smirk, her turquoise hair catching the light as she flicked ash from the joint like it was second nature.
He exhaled shakily and sank back into the cushions, his fingers tapping an erratic rhythm on his thigh. A part of him wanted to follow her, to knock on the bathroom door and ask her more questions about the future she was trying to rewrite, but he didn't. The sound of running water stopped him—intimate and mundane, like a barrier he didn't dare cross.
The shower hissed behind the bathroom door. He leaned back, throwing an arm over his eyes to shut out the flickering shadows cast by the dim lamp. His thoughts whirled: Who even was this girl? How could someone so strange, so out of place, feel so magnetic?
The door creaked open a few minutes later, steam curling into the hallway. Eddie's arm shot down instinctively as Ursula emerged, the sight of her rendering him absolutely, irreversibly still.
Her turquoise hair was a damp, tangled mess, clinging to her neck and shoulders. She shuffled into the room barefoot, wearing loose sleep shorts and a tank top that left her arms bare, her skin gleaming faintly from the steam.
Gone was the heavy eyeliner, the punk armor of studded leather and chains. She looked younger, softer somehow, without the mask she wore during the day. Vulnerable wasn't the right word—she still carried herself like a girl who'd seen war—but stripped of her embellishments, she was almost unbearably beautiful.
And the tattoos.
They covered her like a living canvas, intricate designs etched into her skin. Gothic patterns wrapped around her arms, winding from her knuckles to her shoulders in an unbroken flow of artistry. Skulls, roses, delicate script in languages he didn't recognize—all of it woven together with a symmetry that felt both deliberate and chaotic. The macabre beauty of the designs spilled onto her legs, her thighs and calves adorned with dark motifs that somehow enhanced the natural elegance of her movements. Every line seemed to tell a story, the ink whispering secrets he was desperate to understand.
Jesus Christ, her body…
The soft sheen of water clung to her skin, catching the light in a way that made her look ethereal. The curves of her shoulders and collarbone peeked through the loose tank top, the fabric clinging in places before falling away, revealing smooth, inked skin. Her shorts barely grazed her thighs, leaving long, toned legs on full display, covered in an intricate tapestry of dark art that only heightened her raw beauty.
Her lips were slightly parted, pink and natural, and her damp hair framed her face like she'd just stepped out of a dream-wild, untamed, and perfect. The line of her neck drew his eyes downward, past the hollow of her throat, to the curve of her waist, where her tank top rode up just enough to tease a sliver of skin that shouldn't have made him feel this unhinged.
A hot, insistent ache burned low in his stomach. He gripped the edge of the couch for a moment, fingers curling into the fabric as he fought to control the rising tide of want. She wasn't trying, wasn't even aware of the storm she'd unleashed in him just by existing in this moment, and that made it all the worse.
Eddie swallowed thickly, a flush creeping up his neck. He scrambled for a pillow, yanking it onto his lap with a subtle, panicked motion. Robin, sitting cross-legged on the floor, caught the movement and arched an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a barely-contained grin. Steve, seated in the armchair, froze like he'd been struck dumb, his jaw tightening. Even Dustin, perched by the fireplace, let out a low whistle before nudging Eddie sharply in the ribs.
"Dude, get a grip," Dustin hissed, his voice laced with mock outrage. "That's my child!"
"I wasn't—shut up, Henderson," Eddie muttered, his ears burning. He glared at Dustin, but it lacked heat, his eyes flicking helplessly back to Ursula as she padded toward the makeshift nest of blankets Nancy and Robin had arranged on the floor.
Ursula seemed oblivious to their gawking. She combed through her damp hair with a battered brush, her movements sluggish with exhaustion. Her dog, Bahamutt, wagged his tail once and stretched, watching her with adoration as she lowered herself into the blanket pile.
"C'mere, puppers," she murmured, patting the space beside her. Bahamutt wasted no time crawling under the blankets, his head settling against her chest like a spoiled child. She tucked the fabric around them both, her fingers scratching gently behind his ears. The dog gave a soft huff of contentment and nuzzled her chin.
The room felt suffocatingly quiet.
Steve cleared his throat, shooting Eddie a pointed look.
"Man, you look like you're jealous of the dog."
Eddie, already too far gone to lie, sighed heavily.
"Yeah," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "Yeah, I am."
Robin snorted, covering her mouth as Steve let out a startled laugh. Ursula didn't seem to notice, her eyes already fluttering shut as she murmured, "Night, weirdos," into the blanket.
Eddie stared at her, his chest tightening as he tried to process the cascade of emotions she seemed to summon without effort. She was unreal—like something conjured, something otherworldly. And it wasn't just her tattoos, or her sharp tongue, or the weight she carried so effortlessly. It was her presence, the way she filled a room without trying, the way she held onto her secrets like shields, offering glimpses only when she chose.
God, he thought, his eyes tracing the curve of her cheek as she shifted in her sleep. I'm so screwed