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Monday- Your Perspective 

The crackle of the school tanoy slices through the classroom chatter. Every head lifts as the voice comes through, saying your name.

“Please report to Mrs. O’Donnell’s classroom at the end of fourth period.”

Whispers ripple through the room like static. 

Jason Carver smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Damn, Harrington! What did you do? Forget to dot an I or cross a T?”

You roll your eyes, forcing a smile. Whatever this is, it’s probably nothing.

Probably.

But the whispers still follow you out of the classroom when the bell rings. You barely make it three steps down the hall before Scott steps into your path. He’s already scowling.

Great.

Scott Wesley: the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, golden boy. Hawkins High royalty. And, for better or worse, your boyfriend… or at least, that’s what everyone thinks.

The truth is messier.

Scott’s family owns half the town, including real estate, businesses, and investments. Power and the money to back it. The kind of power your dad had been chasing your whole life.

Your dad is the younger of two brothers, the one who never quite measured up to  The Harrington, aka Steve’s dad. The one with the house, the car, and the son. The one who built an empire while your dad struggled to keep up.

When your dad’s company got in with the Wesleys, it was like finally stepping into the winner’s circle. Scott became the son your dad never had, polished, promising, the picture-perfect golden boy.

And you? You were part of the package deal. The polished, perfect girlfriend to match.

Your dad’s been sanding down your “rough edges” since you were a kid, your quirks, your books, your music and the way you see the world. Scott is just the latest tool in the box. A way to keep you in line. Keep you quiet. Keep you  normal .

Scott doesn’t love you. Hell, he barely likes you. You’re too opinionated, too weird, too much. He’s made that clear more than once.

But you look good on his arm, and you keep your mouth shut when it counts. That’s all that matters.

You get the grades, turn in the papers, and smile for the photos. He sneaks around, does what he wants, and you look the other way. In return, he keeps your dad off your back and your image squeaky clean.

Because without Scott and Steve’s lingering reputation, you’d be a nobody. Just a girl in the back of the cafeteria with her nose in a book, a quiet little loser in the shadows.

Scott's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, “What the hell was that about?”

You blink, caught off guard. “I… I don’t know. Probably something about my last paper.”

He steps in closer, voice tightening. “You don’t know?” His jaw works; that barely-restrained frustration radiates off him. “ People are talking. ”

People need to get a life , you think, but you swallow it, like always.

Your mouth opens to reply, but his eyes flick past you, and his hand, fingers tight on your arm, suddenly loosens.

He realises people are watching.

The shift is instant. His whole body relaxes, like flipping a switch.

He flashes that slow, easy grin, the one that makes girls in the hallway giggle and bat their eyelashes. He leans in, pressing a light, practised kiss to your lips.

“Don’t keep O’Donnell waiting, babe,” he says, voice warm as honey, sweet enough to rot your teeth.

Just like that, the storm’s gone. At least on the surface.

You force a smile, thin, bright, brittle, and turn to go, feeling his eyes follow you the whole way.

When you reach Mrs. O’Donnell’s room, you push the door open and freeze.

She’s at her desk, speaking quietly to someone you didn’t expect. Eddie Munson.

He’s slouched in his seat like the whole room belongs to him, one arm draped over the backrest, his pencil tapping out a lazy rhythm on his thigh. His hair is a wild tangle, his Hellfire Club tee rumpled, leather jacket slipping off his shoulders. Rings catch the light as he shifts.

You know  of Eddie. Everyone does. The freak. The burnout. The Satan-worshipping, D&D-playing ringleader of the so-called Hellfire cult. The guy Scott and his friends can’t stand.

You’ve heard the stories: that he’s repeating senior year  again , that he plays in some metal band called Corroded Coffin, that he’s bad news, dangerous, a loser.

But the boys  adore him: Mike, Dustin, Lucas. They think he’s the coolest guy in the world, like some kind of rebellious hero.

You never really bought into the Satanic Panic crap. It always sounded ridiculous. But still… there’s something about Eddie that feels unpredictable, a little dangerous.

And right now, those dangerous eyes flick up from whatever Mrs. O’Donnell’s saying and lock on you.

His gaze is sharp, direct, almost like a dare; like he’s waiting for the punchline he’s sure is coming. Like he knows exactly who you are and has already written you off.

Scott’s girlfriend. Part of the system. Part of the problem.

Your cheeks burn under the weight of it.

Mrs. O’Donnell’s voice snaps you out of it.

“Ah, there you are. Come in. Close the door.”

You do, fumbling with the strap of your bag, hyper-aware of every awkward movement. Your pulse is too loud in your ears.

You slide into the seat beside Eddie, careful to keep a polite distance, your heart hammering. His stare feels like a spotlight, hot and heavy on your skin.

You risk a glance, trying for a smile, something small and unsure. It feels like an apology for things you don’t even know how to say.

Eddie doesn’t smile back.

“Eddie’s been struggling in English,” Mrs. O’Donnell says. “If he doesn’t pass, he won’t graduate.” She turns to you. “That’s where you come in.”

Your stomach sinks. “You want me to tutor him?”

She nods like it’s obvious.

You glance at Eddie. His arms are crossed, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the desk. And you get it. You know exactly how Scott talks about him, loud, cruel, dismissive. You’ve never joined in, but you’ve never stopped it either. It doesn’t matter. Eddie probably lumps you in with the rest.

And you don’t blame him.

Your throat feels tight. You look down at your hands, fingers twisting in your lap. You want to say something, I’m not like them. I’m not like him, but the words stick.

Still, the extra credit would look good on your transcript. And… maybe there’s a part of you that  wants to do this. That wants to prove something. To Eddie. To yourself.

Your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to, almost small.

“Yeah… sure. I’ll help.”

Mrs. O’Donnell’s face lights up like you’ve just solved world hunger. “Thank you, Miss Harrington.”

She turns to Eddie, all brisk professionalism again. “Eddie, this is your best chance at graduation. Please, please make the effort.”

Eddie doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t nod. He just flicks his eyes toward you, sharp and unreadable, like he’s waiting for the punchline to drop.

Mrs. O’Donnell gathers her things, offers one last encouraging smile, and heads for the door.

“I’ll leave you two to work out the details.”

And just like that, you’re alone.

You clutch the strap of your bag, your palms a little clammy, feeling like you’ve been dropped into the middle of a storm you didn’t see coming.

Eddie leans back in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest, studying you with a look that’s equal parts amused and guarded.

“Well,” he says, voice low and dry, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth, “this should be fun.”

You swallow hard, your pulse thudding so loud you swear he can hear it. 

Eddie sighs, tipping his head back like he’s already over it. “Look, if you don’t want to do this, just say so. No hard feelings.”

For a moment, you think maybe he doesn’t want to give this a go. But then you realise Eddie’s confident enough to just come out and say it if he wasn’t up for it.

You take a deep breath, forcing calm over the knot in your chest. You give him a small, steady smile. “I could really use the extra credit, and I’d like to help,” 

The words feel too big in the air, and your voice dips quieter. “If you’ll let me.”

His eyes narrow, sharp and suspicious, like he’s searching for a trap. “What’s your angle, Harrington? You got some bet going with your friends? First one to make the freak do homework wins?” He says it like a joke, but his voice is quieter than usual.

You shift, fidgeting with the strap of your bag, trying to hold his gaze even though it feels like it might swallow you whole.

“No,” you say, voice low, steady. “I just… I know what it’s like to feel like the whole world’s waiting for you to screw up. Like they’ve already made up their minds about you.”

Your eyes flick away for a second, then back to his. “I don’t think it’s fair.”

For a second, just a heartbeat, you think you see something shift in Eddie’s expression. His smirk falters, just barely.

He lets out a sigh, loud and dramatic, “Alright, princess,” he says, voice teasing, but not unkind. “If you’re so determined to suffer through tutoring me, who am I to stop you?”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, a small, uncertain laugh bubbling up. The tension loosens, just a little.

“I’ll meet you at the library after school,” you say, trying to make a plan. “We’ll figure this out.”

Eddie gives a short nod back, his eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. “Yeah. Sure.”

That definitely could have gone worse. 

As you step out of Mrs. O’Donnell’s classroom, you spot Scott leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, waiting.

The second you’re within reach, his voice cuts low.

“So, what the hell was that about?”

You keep your tone even, steady, like this isn’t a big deal.

“Tutoring. I’m helping Eddie with English.”

Scott’s expression twists like you just told him you signed up for a cult. “Munson?  The freak? ”

You inhale through your nose, already feeling that familiar pressure building behind your eyes. “It’s just tutoring, Scott. It’s not a big deal.”

He snorts, full of disdain, like the idea’s so ridiculous he can barely stomach it. “ Not a big deal? Are you kidding me? You’re seriously wasting your time on that Satan-worshipping burnout?”

“It’s not about  him ,” you shoot back, sharper now, but still careful. “It’s about me. My college applications, my grades, my future. You want me to get into a good school, right? Or would you rather I blow that off because you have a problem with the person I tutor?”

His jaw tightens, like he’s about to argue, but the words don’t come. He knows he can’t, at least, not directly. Instead, he exhales sharply through his nose, the sound sharp and dismissive.

“Just don’t let people start talking, okay? I don’t need that, and neither do you.”

You swallow, the bitterness thick in your throat.

“I won’t,” you say, because it’s the only thing you  can say right now. 

Scott studies you for a long beat, his gaze cool and calculating. Then, finally, his expression softens, barely. Just enough to pretend this conversation didn’t happen.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll meet you at 3:30.”

You nod, already turning to leave, but his disapproval lingers like smoke in the back of your throat.

After school, you spot Eddie at a table near the back of the library, drumming his fingers on a closed notebook, gaze half-lidded like he’s a million miles away. When you finally reach him, you drop your books onto the table and slide into the chair across from him. He looks up, and a smirk immediately pulls at his lips. “Huh. Guess I owe Dustin five bucks. Thought for sure you’d bail.”

You blink, caught off guard. Should you be offended by that? You can’t tell.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to sound more confident than you feel. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Don’t be,” he shoots back, leaning forward like he’s settling in for a show. “I like a girl with questionable judgment.”

That makes your stomach flip, and not in the way you  want it to. Your cheeks warm, but you cover it with a quiet, almost breathless laugh, shaking your head, “Yeah, well… don’t make me regret it, Munson.”

He presses a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

Despite the nerves still simmering in your stomach, there’s something disarming about his confidence, something that eases the tension in the air. It’s easy to forget about the awkwardness, just for a moment.

Still, Eddie is… intimidating.

Not in the way Scott is, all cold stares and sharp words designed to make you feel small. Eddie is the opposite: loud, expressive, unpredictable. He doesn’t seem to care what people think, and that’s what unsettles you. You’ve spent your whole life caring.

You try to shake the nerves and flip open your planner, scanning your schedule.

“So,” you begin, tapping your pen against the page, “You’ve got a paper due in three weeks, it’s worth a big chunk of your final grade, so we’ll need to get moving on that. Not a lot of time, so the more sessions we can squeeze in, the better.”

You flip through your planner, scanning your own commitments. “I’ve got yearbook meetings, and I usually help Nancy with the school paper, but I can shift things around if...”

Eddie leans back, tilting his chair onto two legs, twirling a guitar pick between his fingers like he’s not listening. But then he cuts in, voice low and teasing: “Look at you, so organised.”

Your lips press into a thin line, a flicker of heat sparking in your chest. The word  organised, you’ve heard that one before. Too many times, usually from Scott.  Boring. Predictable. Loser.

“It’s called being  responsible ,” you bite, sharper than you mean to, and you hate how your voice tightens just a little at the end.

He smirks but doesn’t argue. 

You clear your throat, trying to shake it off. “What about you? When are you free?”

Eddie tilts his chair again onto its back legs, still spinning the pick. “Hellfire’s on Fridays. Band practice runs late, so no worries there. We play at The Hideout on Tuesdays, but not ‘til after dark. Other than that?” He shrugs. “My schedule’s wide open, y’know, when I’m not summoning demons or whatever your boyfriend thinks I do.”

You huff out a laugh before you can stop yourself, shaking your head. “Good to know. I’ll make sure our study sessions don’t interfere with your dark rituals.”

Eddie grins, tapping his guitar pick against the table. “Appreciate it, princess.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted at best. Then, almost at the same time, you look at each other and both crack a soft, genuine smile.

Just a small moment, but it lingers longer than you expect.

And then-

“Hey! What the hell are you still doing here?”

The voice cuts through the moment like a blade.

Your smile drops instantly, heart jerking in your chest.

Scott.

You freeze, the weight of his words sinking in fast. His tone is sharp, impatient,  and angry, and it’s only 3:15?

“Did you not hear me?” Scott’s voice lowers, rough and insistent. “I said, let’s go.”

The heat floods your face, a tight flush of embarrassment crawling up your neck. He’s never spoken to you like this in front of someone else before. Not where anyone could  hear .

But Eddie’s reaction makes it worse. He doesn’t jump in or crack a joke. He just watches, dark eyes flicking from Scott to you and back again, his expression unreadable. 

You force yourself to swallow the embarrassment rising in your chest and fumble with your books. “I’m really sorry, I have to go,” you say, voice pitched too high, too bright, like you’re  fine . Like you’re not humiliated. You glance at Eddie, forcing a tight, apologetic smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie’s expression softens, but only slightly. “Yeah, sure, see you tomorrow, princess,” he echoes.

Scott doesn’t wait for another word, already turning on his heel. You hesitate for half a second before you scramble to follow, heart thudding.

You barely manage to sling your bag over your shoulder before jogging after Scott, nearly tripping as the strap slides down your arm.

“Scott, slow down,” you call, your voice strained but steady as you catch up.

He doesn’t slow. His strides are long and sharp, cutting through the mostly empty hallway like a blade. The distant clatter of lockers and fading voices echoes behind you, the school already emptying out.

When you finally reach the parking lot, Scott spins around so fast you nearly stumble into him.

“I told you to keep it quick.” His voice is low, tight, teeth clenched. “What part of that was unclear?”

You swallow hard, glancing around, but the lot’s nearly deserted. No audience. No reason for him to hold back. And no point in pretending you’re not both already on the edge.

“I was  trying to,” you say, your voice catching before you steady it, keeping calm even as frustration simmers in your chest. “We were just figuring out a schedule. It’s not even 3:20 yet. I told you...”

“I don’t care what you told me.”

He cuts you off, yanking open the passenger door with one hand while the other clamps around your arm, firm, a little too tight.

“Scott...”

“Get in the car,” he mutters, his voice dropping to a low, icy rumble.

You hesitate for half a breath, long enough to feel your pulse spike, your throat tighten, before sliding inside, your books clutched tightly in your lap. The door slams shut, the sound sharp in the empty lot.

Scott moves around to the driver’s side but doesn’t get in right away. For a second, he just stands there, hands braced on the roof of the car, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle twitching in his cheek.

When he eventually gets in, he doesn’t pull out right away. He just sits there, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Finally, he exhales sharply. “I don’t like this.” His voice is quieter now, but no less sharp. “You hanging around that freak.”

You keep your tone careful, measured. “I’m not hanging around him. I’m tutoring him.”

Scott exhales, like this whole conversation is exhausting for  him . Like you’re the one making it hard.

“Look,” he says, his voice smoothing out, the edge softening, but the warning’s still there, simmering beneath. “I’m not  mad . I just don’t want you wasting your time on some loser who’s gonna flunk out of high school  again .”

You stay silent, fingers twisting in your lap.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Scott continues. “Just get him through whatever 

O’Donnell’s worried about and be done with it.”

His words don’t sit right with you. Like helping someone is stupid. Like kindness has limits.

You nod, because it’s easier than arguing. “Okay, I’m sorry,” you say quietly. 

“Good.” His tone shifts so fast it makes your head spin, softening like nothing happened. Like none of this ever happened. “You’ve been stressed out lately, babe. Let’s grab some food, yeah? Benny’s?”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden flip in mood. It’s been  months since he’s suggested something so normal, so easy.

“Yeah. That sounds great.” The words feel thin, like they’re not quite yours, but you say them anyway.

Scott grins, starting the car and pulling out of the lot like the last ten minutes never happened.

“You’ve been working too hard lately,” he says, like it’s a compliment. Like he’s looking out for you. “You deserve a break.”

The words sound sweet. Maybe even sincere. And for a few moments, as the town rolls by outside the window, you let yourself  pretend .

But that knot in your stomach doesn’t loosen. Not really.

Monday- Eddie's Perspective

Another boring-ass English class finally coughs its last breath. Eddie drags his feet packing up, shoving papers into his bag without looking.

“Mr. Munson, could you stay behind for a moment?”

Mrs. O’Donnell’s voice halts him mid-step.

Great. What now?

Probably the mess of his last paper. Or the comment he made yesterday that apparently wasn’t “productive to the learning environment.” Either way, hardly a shock.

He slouches back into his chair, eyes flicking to the door like maybe he can make a run for it. But whatever’s coming, he can’t exactly outrun it.

When the last student leaves, Mrs. O’Donnell turns to him with a look that’s soft, but edged.

“I’ve been thinking about a way to help you turn things around.”

Oh, here we go.

“You know you’ve been struggling, right?”

Eddie leans back, arms crossed. “Yeah. Kinda hard to miss.”

She gives him that  we’re all rooting for you smile that makes his skin itch.

“There’s not much time left before graduation, so I want you to work with Miss Harrington. She’s been offering tutoring, and I think you’d be the perfect candidate.”

Eddie’s stomach drops.

Harrington?  Her?

Of course, he knows who you are. Everyone does.

Golden girl of Hawkins High. Pretty, polished, practically perfect. The kind of girl who probably thinks Iron Maiden’s a brand of hairspray and couldn’t name a Dio song if her life depended on it.

And  Scott Wesley’s girlfriend on top of it? Jesus Christ. 

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Why her?”

Mrs. O’Donnell nods. “She’s the best English student in the school. If anyone can help you, it’s her. She’s on her way, actually.“

He’s ready to argue, already lining up something smartass and dismissive, but she cuts him off.

“This is your best shot, Eddie. I could have paired her with someone else, but I think this will benefit you the most. Think about it.”

He tips his head back, staring at the ceiling like maybe divine intervention will strike him dead. Another year here isn’t an option, and he knows it.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll bite.”

“Perfect. She’ll be here in a minute.”

Fantastic.

Mrs. O’Donnell’s still rambling, something about responsibility, potential, blah, blah, blah, but Eddie’s already tuning her out. He’s too busy picturing the smug, condescending look you’ll be wearing when you waltz in here like you’re doing your good deed for the week.

He’s so caught up in his own irritation that he almost misses the shift in Mrs. O’Donnell’s tone.

“Ah, there she is,” she chirps. “Come in, please. Close the door behind you.”

Eddie snaps back to attention just as the door opens. You step inside, and for a second, he just… looks at you.

And you’re  not what he expected.

You’re not all bright and smug and dripping with self-importance. Your fingers are gripping the strap of your bag like you’re hanging onto it for dear life, and you hover in the doorway like you’re waiting for someone to permit you to step inside.

You walk in, careful, like you don’t want to make too much noise, and slide into the seat beside him.

Your eyes flick to his, quick, cautious. And there’s no sneer. No eye-roll. No  god, get me out of here . Just this small, polite smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

You’re supposed to be the whole package: rich parents, good grades, perfect boyfriend, pretty face. And yet you’re standing there looking like you’d rather  not be the centre of attention. 

It throws him.

Mrs. O’Donnell’s voice pulls Eddie out of his thoughts, and he sits up straighter, trying to focus. 

“If he doesn’t pass, he won’t graduate… again. That’s where you come in,” Mrs. O’Donnell continues.

Eddie leans back in his chair, arms crossed tight, doing his best to keep his expression neutral, but inside, he’s groaning. Thanks for the glowing endorsement, Mrs. D. Real subtle.

Your gaze flicks to him again, and he swears there’s a flicker of uncertainty there. Or maybe he’s imagining it, because people like you don’t get nervous around people like him.

Still, you’re not sneering at him. Not looking at him like he’s a bug under a microscope.

And that makes  no sense .

Scott Wesley’s girlfriend should be a total bitch. That’s how the universe works. Pretty, rich, popular, but nice? Fuck no, that flies in the face of every law in the universe. 

So Eddie stares at you, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Waiting for you to sneer, or make some excuse, or look down your nose at him.

But you don’t.

You just fidget with the strap of your bag and say, quietly, “Sure. I’ll help.”

And that’s the part that really pisses him off, because now he’s  curious .

Mrs. O’Donnell’s all smiles as she leaves the room, giving Eddie one last look like  Don’t screw this up .

The door clicks shut, and the air in the room shifts.

The silence hangs thick in the air, sharp enough to slice through. Eddie leans back, arms folded, watching you with that lazy, bored look he’s perfected over the years. “If you don’t wanna do this, just say the word. No hard feelings.”

You hesitate. Just enough for him to notice. But then you straighten your shoulders and meet his gaze head-on.

“I could use the extra credit,” you say evenly. “And I’d like to help. If you’ll let me.”

For a heartbeat, his smirk slips.

“What’s your angle, Harrington?” he asks, voice low. “You got some bet with your friends? First one to make the freak do homework wins?”

The words are sharper than he intends, but he lets them hang there.

You don’t snap back. You just say, quieter now, “No. I just know what it’s like when everyone’s already decided who you are. When they’re just waiting for you to mess up.”

Your gaze drops to the desk like you didn’t mean to say that out loud. “I don’t think that’s fair.”

It hits him harder than it should. And for one strange second, Eddie has no comeback.

Then he exhales slowly, grinning just enough to cover the slip. “Alright, princess. If you’re that desperate to suffer through tutoring me, who am I to stop you?”

You give a small, breathy laugh, and something about it tugs at him.

“I’ll meet you in the library after school,” you say, like you’re trying to make this normal.

Eddie shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Yeah. Sure.”

But as you head for the door, glancing back with that shy, uncertain look, he feels it again. That itch in his brain that says maybe he’s got you pegged all wrong.

And that pisses him off more than anything.

Because people like you don’t help people like him.

…Do they?

Once he’s out of Mrs. O’Donnell’s classroom, Eddie heads straight for the cafeteria, spotting his friends at their usual table. They’re already deep in some debate, but as soon as he drops into his seat, their attention shifts like a switch flipping.

“Dude, where the hell were you?” Jeff asks, frowning. 

Eddie sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Relax. Not in trouble, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He leans back, tossing a pencil from hand to hand. “Just… got myself a tutor.”

Gareth snorts into his soda. “A tutor? For what?”

“English, actually,” Eddie smirks, a little self-deprecating. “Turns out if I want to graduate, I have to, y’know… pass the class.”

Dustin perks up, eyebrows shooting up under his cap. “Wait...who’s tutoring you?”

Eddie scratches at his jaw, like it’s no big deal. “Harrington.”

Jeff shakes his head. “Seriously? You know she’s with Wesley, right? That guy’s a grade-A asshole. If she’s anything like him…”

“She’s not,” Mike cuts in, shaking his head. “She’s actually kind of cool.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Cool?”

Lucas nods in agreement, a small smile tugging at his mouth.  “Yeah. She used to babysit us when Nancy and Steve were dating. Let us stay up late, made popcorn… You know, actually fun.”

Dustin grins widely. “And remember that time she helped me build that science fair volcano? It totally worked until Will knocked it over; she didn’t even get mad.”

Eddie tilts his head, tapping his pencil on the table, like he’s turning this over in his mind. It doesn’t quite fit the picture he had

Still, he glances at Gareth. “C’mon, there’s gotta be a catch.”

Gareth shrugs. “I don’t know, man. We did a chem project together last semester. She was… nice.” The word hangs there, weighted, a faint pink creeping up his ears.

Eddie clocks it but lets it slide.

Grant grins. “Well, at least she’s hot.”

Eddie groans, shoving him. “Thanks, Grant. Real insight.”

Jeff leans back. “Just… be careful. People like her don’t mix with people like us.”

Eddie drums his fingers on the table, not answering. The conversation drifts back to whatever they were arguing about before, but his mind doesn’t follow.

After school, Eddie’s in the back corner of the library, notebook closed, drumming a beat on the table. His foot bounces under the chair, eyes flicking between the clock and the door. He’s half-convinced you’re not coming. Wouldn’t be the first time someone decided Eddie Munson wasn’t worth their time.

Still, a tiny part of him thinks, if you do show, maybe he won’t be a complete dick. Not right away, at least.

Then you’re there, slipping between the shelves with an armful of books, looking polished in a way that doesn’t belong in this dusty corner of Hawkins High.

Eddie smirks despite himself. “Huh. Guess I owe Dustin five bucks. Thought for sure you’d bail.”

The second it’s out, he wonders if it landed wrong, too sharp, too much. He shifts in his seat, like maybe he should have led with something else.

But you just drop your books onto the table with a soft  thud . “Sorry to disappoint,” you mutter, your voice a touch clipped, like you’re not entirely sure how to do this.

That flicker of surprise sharpens into something closer to  interest . You’ve got a little bite. Didn’t expect that either.

“Don’t be,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on the table, voice lower now. “I like a girl with questionable judgment.”

Your laugh slips out before you can stop it, small and nervous. You look down, pretending to focus on your planner.

“Yeah, well… don’t make me regret this, Munson.”

He grins, pressing a hand to his chest. “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

You roll your eyes, flipping your planner open like a shield.

“So,” you begin, tapping your pen against the page to keep your hands busy, “You’ve got a paper due in three weeks, it’s worth a big chunk of your final grade, so we’ll need to get moving on that. Not a lot of time, so the more sessions we can squeeze in, the better. I’ve got yearbook meetings, and I usually help Nancy with the school paper, but I can shift things around if...”

“Look at you,” Eddie cuts in, tipping his chair back. “So organised.”

You glance up, brow raised, but there’s a faint flush creeping up your neck. “It’s called being responsible,” you snap back, quick, like you’ve been teased before and learned how to deflect.

Yeah, he walked right into that one. He grins but doesn’t argue. 

“What about you? When are you free?” you ask, pen poised over your planner.

Eddie tilts his chair onto its back legs, still spinning the pick. “Hellfire’s on Fridays. Band practice runs late, so no worries there. We play at The Hideout on Tuesdays, but not ‘til after dark. Other than that?” He shrugs. “My schedule’s wide open, y’know, when I’m not summoning demons or whatever your boyfriend thinks I do.”

He waits for the eye roll, the sharp little retort, but it doesn’t come. 

You laugh. Like, actually laugh. And damn if that isn’t the most satisfying thing that’s happened all day.

“Good to know,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ll make sure our study sessions don’t interfere with your dark rituals.”

Eddie grins, drumming his fingers against the table. “Appreciate it, princess.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and he catches that quiet smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Your eyes meet and then, almost at the same time, you both let out a soft, genuine laugh.

Just as Eddie’s starting to settle into the easy rhythm of this, of  you , of the way you bite back but not too hard, of the way you lean forward like maybe this isn’t the worst part of your day, a sharp voice cuts through the quiet like a slap.

“Hey! What the hell are you still doing here?”

Scott.

Eddie doesn’t need to turn to know who it is. That anger, that entitled bite of someone who expects to be listened to without question, makes it obvious.

But it’s not Scott that makes Eddie’s gut go cold.

It’s  you .

The way you freeze mid-sentence, pen slipping from your fingers like the sound alone yanked it out of your grip. The way your shoulders tense, jaw tight, like you’ve been caught sneaking out of the house past curfew.

“Did you not hear me?” Scott’s voice drops lower, something darker slipping into the edge of it. “Let’s go.”

Eddie has seen the guy talk down to half the school. That part doesn’t surprise him. What  does surprise him is you. The girl who just shot back at  him without hesitation, not even 5 minutes ago, doesn’t say a damn word.

You just gather your books in a quick, practised motion, slipping into something small, something Eddie doesn’t like.

“I’m really sorry, I have to go,” you say, voice light,  too light, too breezy, like you’re trying to brush it all away. You flash Eddie a small, apologetic smile, tight, almost like it hurts. Like  you’re the one who’s done something wrong.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Sorry, Eddie.”

For once, he doesn’t have a joke lined up. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by something quieter.

“Yeah,” he says, softer than before. “See you tomorrow, princess.”

You turn too quickly, falling into step behind Scott without another word.

Eddie watches you go, your apologetic smile lingering in his head longer than it probably should.

What the fuck just happened?

Chapter Text

Your Perspective

Your mind was still reeling from yesterday when you heard Nancy’s voice.

“Okay, spill. What was that about yesterday? You getting called to Mrs. O’Donnell’s, had the whole school whispering.”

You sigh, swapping out your books. “Nothing scandalous, I promise. She just offered me extra credit to tutor Eddie.”

Nancy’s brows shoot up. “ Eddie Munson ? Seriously?”

You shrug. “Yeah. He’s struggling in English, and she thought I could help. Honestly, he’s not as bad as everyone says.”

Nancy tilts her head, considering. “I mean, I believe it. He’s just got that whole ‘freak’ reputation that people love to run with.”

You shut your locker with a sigh. “Tell me about it. Scott’s not exactly thrilled, but he knows it looks good for college, so he’s not making a huge deal out of it.  Yet. ”

Nancy makes a face. “Well, that’s something.” Her voice softens a little, her gaze flicking over you like she’s checking for cracks. “But seriously… are you sure you’re okay with this?”

There’s a weight in her question that you don’t quite want to unpack right now. You plaster on a small smile. “Yeah. No big deal.”

Nancy studies you for another second before nodding. “Alright. Just making sure.”

You shift your bag higher on your shoulder, feeling like you can breathe a little easier with her support. “Hey… speaking of making sure. Is it cool if I step back from the paper a bit? Just while I juggle yearbook and tutoring Eddie. I don’t want to leave you hanging.”

Nancy waves you off without missing a beat. “Please. You already do enough. I can handle it, besides, it’s not like I’m writing Watergate exposés over here.”

You grin, teasing, “Not yet.”

She laughs, nudging your arm. “Seriously, don’t worry. We’ll survive.”

You feel a little lighter at that, relieved she’s so understanding. “Thanks, Nance.”

“Anytime. Need a ride home later?”

You shake your head. “Nah, I brought my car today.”

You  could have gotten a ride with Scott. That’s how it usually goes. But the last thing you needed was a repeat of yesterday. So, this morning, you made sure to grab your own keys, relishing in the small bit of freedom it gave you.

“Alright.” She gives you one last look, her concern giving way to affection. “Just be careful, okay?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I always am.”

Nancy snorts. “Sure you are.” She gives you one last nudge before heading off, leaving you standing there feeling a little more at ease.

After school, you find Eddie in the library, flicking a guitar pick between his fingers, his chair tilted back just enough to look effortless. As soon as he spots you, he lets it drop forward with a quiet thud, straightening in his seat. His smile is small, but it’s there, warm, if a little cautious.

“Hey, princess,” he greets, voice easy, like nothing happened yesterday.

You return the smile, though it’s a little forced. You don’t know why this feels awkward, but it does. Maybe because of Scott. Because of how he acted. Because Eddie saw.

You shift your books in your arms and slide into the seat across from him, glancing down as you try to figure out what to say. “Hey, Eddie.”

The silence stretches, a little awkward, until you finally blurt, “About yesterday… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things…”

Your words fizzle out, and you let out a weak laugh, pushing your hair behind your ear. “I don’t know. Weird, I guess.”

Eddie exhales through his nose, and when you glance up, he’s watching you, brow slightly furrowed. “You didn’t make it weird,” he says, drumming his fingers lightly against the table. “That was all him.”

Oh.

You’d expected some sarcasm, maybe a snide remark. Instead, Eddie doesn’t look amused, just… sure, like this is obvious.

Still, the instinct to smooth things over kicks in. “Yeah, but I should’ve…”

Eddie tilts his head. “What? Trained him better?”

You pause, caught off guard. “What?”

He smirks. “Y’know, sit, stay, don’t be an ass in public.” He taps his fingers on the table like he’s considering it. “Might be too late, though. I think he’s past the treat-reward stage.”

A laugh slips out before you can stop it, surprising even yourself. It’s light, unforced, breaking through the weird tension you’ve been carrying all day.

You shake your head, still smiling. “You’re terrible.”

Eddie grins, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You shake your head, but your smile lingers, warm and a little shaky. It’s weird how easy he is to be around, how he makes the tension feel a little less heavy.

Trying to focus, you glance at his book. “So… how’s Romeo and Juliet treating you so far?”

Eddie groans, tipping his chair back again. “Honestly? Not great. The whole thing’s just… weird.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t really been able to get into it. The words are a mess, and all the  ‘thy this’ and  ‘thou that’ just scrambles my brain.”

“Yeah, Shakespeare’s a pain at first. But once you get the language down, it actually gets  really interesting .” Your gaze flicks to his book, the pages barely touched. “Alright, aside from the old-timey words, what else don’t you like about it?”

Eddie scrunches his face like he’s actually giving it serious thought. “The drama’s ridiculous. Romeo meets Juliet, and  boom, suddenly he’s ready to  die for her after what? Five minutes?” He leans forward, exasperated. “And the whole family feud? They don’t even  remember why they’re fighting. It’s stupid.”

You smile, not disagreeing. “Yeah, it  is a little dramatic. But that’s kind of the point. It’s all about how passion, whether it’s love or hate, makes people do crazy things.” You pause, tapping the cover of his book. “But I get why it’s frustrating. We can break it down together. I’ll help with the language and themes, make it  suck less ”

Eddie grins, eyes warm with something almost like relief. “I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”

You nudge his book toward him, smiling. “Lucky for you, I’m very patient.”

His smirk tips crooked, teasing. “Good thing. Don’t know if you heard, but I’m kind of a terrible student.”

You giggle before reaching into your bag, fingers curling around the container of pasta as a flicker of hesitation grips you.  Is this weird? You tell yourself it’s just food, no big deal, but still, your stomach twists as you slide it across the table toward him.

“Here,” you say, keeping your tone casual even as your heart picks up speed. “I, uh, remembered you had a show tonight and figured you might not have time to eat. So… pasta.”

Eddie blinks, clearly caught off guard. He glances down at the container, then back at you, an unreadable look flickering across his face before his lips curve into a small, almost hesitant smile.

“Wow,” he says, voice low, a little teasing but not biting. “You really do think of everything, huh?”

You shift in your seat, suddenly hyperaware of how  stupid this might have been. “Yeah, well… I know you don’t exactly want to be here, so I didn’t want you to go hungry before your show when you made the effort to come.”

Eddie pops the lid, forks a bite into his mouth, and freezes like he just tasted something illegal. His eyes go wide. “Okay, hold on, this is actually  good . Like,  good -good. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

You let out a nervous laugh, ducking your head. “I dunno. It’s just pasta.”

He looks at you, and for a second, it feels like the air shifts, like the teasing fades, just a little, and there’s something real in the way he says, “Thanks, princess. Seriously. I definitely owe you for this one.”

You raise an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “How about passing English?”

With that, you slide your textbook over to him, and the mood shifts back to studying. Eddie leans in, eyeing the book with a look of resignation, but there’s a new calmness between you as you both get to work.

Eddie's Perspective

Eddie slouches low in his chair, absently picking at the frayed cuff of his sleeve while Gareth and Jeff argue over the new Metallica album. He barely registers what they’re saying, mind drifting back to yesterday. Not that he’d admit that to anyone.

He’s still trying to figure out why it didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would.

“So,” Grant cuts in, his grin sharp as he leans forward. “How’d it go?”

Eddie blinks, snapping back to the present. “What?”

“The tutoring,” Jeff clarifies, smirking like he already knows the answer. “Did Hawkins High’s resident princess teach you how to read yet?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and snatches the fry out of Jeff’s hand before he can eat it. “Hilarious... It was fine.”

Dustin frowns like he’s just been handed the world’s most boring answer. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”

Eddie flicks a crumb off the table, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “What do you want me to say? We went over a study schedule, talked about Shakespeare. Riveting stuff.”

Grant raises a brow, clearly not buying it. “And…?”

Eddie sighs. “And  what ?”

“And how’s it feel being tutored by her?” Jeff presses, waggling his eyebrows. “You know, Hawkins High royalty?”

Eddie leans back, trying for casual, but there’s no heat behind the roll of his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Totally blinded by the sparkle of her tiara. Could barely concentrate.”

Jeff snickers, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Right. So, you’re saying she’s just another stuck-up rich girl?”

Eddie hesitates. His mind flashes to how you’d apologised to him about Scott’s asshole behaviour, like you were the one who should be sorry. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected  you to be like that at all.

He blinks a few times, then mutters, almost against his will, “No, man. She’s actually alright.”

Dustin grins so wide it’s a wonder his face doesn’t crack. He slams his hand on the table, practically vibrating. “Told you!”

Eddie chucks a pretzel at him with a scowl. “Shut up, Henderson.” But the corner of his mouth betrays him, tugging up in the faintest smirk.

After school, Eddie settled in the library. He tilted his chair back, halfheartedly flipping through his English textbook, not really reading the words. His guitar pick spun between his fingers, an old nervous habit, but his mind was anywhere but Romeo and Juliet.

He was thinking about the gig tonight at The Hideout, about how they hadn’t practised as much as they should have, how Gareth kept missing cues, how their setlist still felt a little shaky. Not that the usual crowd at The Hideout would care. It wasn’t like they were playing to some big-time producer. Just a handful of half-drunk regulars who either liked their sound or were too wasted to care. Still, Eddie wanted it to be  good. He wanted to get lost in it, the way he always did when he was up there with his guitar, the amps cranked too high, the bass shaking through his chest.

And then, underneath all of that, like some sneaky little thought that had wormed its way into the back of his mind, was  you.

Eddie didn’t know what to make of that yet.

At the sound of your footsteps, he lets the chair drop forward with a quiet thud, straightening slightly.

He catches your eye, offering a small, easy smile. “Hey, princess.”

You smile back, but something about it is off. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Eddie notices the way you shift your books in your arms, like you need something to hold onto, the way your gaze flickers downward before you finally sit across from him.

“Hey, Eddie.” There’s a pause, hesitation thick in the air. “About yesterday… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things…” You trail off, shaking your head, forcing out a weak laugh. “I don’t know. Weird, I guess.”

Eddie drums his fingers against the table, watching you carefully. You look uncomfortable, maybe even embarrassed. And that doesn’t sit right with him. Not when you’re acting like you did something wrong.

“You didn’t make it weird,” he says simply. “That was all him.”

Your eyes snap up, a flicker of surprise flashing across your face.

“Yeah, but I should’ve…”

“What?” Eddie cuts in, tilting his head. “Trained him better?”

You blink, thrown. “What?”

A smirk tugs at his lips as he taps his fingers against the table. Probably not the best idea to insult the boyfriend of the girl who’s supposed to be helping him pass, but fuck it. Guy’s an asshole.

“Y’know. Sit, stay, don’t be an ass in public.” He shrugs. “Might be too late, though. Think he’s past the treat-reward stage.”

For a second, he’s not sure how you’re gonna take it. But then you laugh. And  fuck, if that isn’t the best thing he’s heard all day.

It’s real, too, not that fake, polite shit most people do when they don’t actually think he’s funny. No, you’re actually laughing.

You shake your head, still smiling as you set your books down. “You’re terrible.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” His smirk lingers, but he’s watching you, noticing how the tension in your shoulders finally eases.

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest, trying not to think about how weirdly easy this feels—how easy  you are to be around.

Hadn’t expected that.

“So…” you ask, nudging the moment along, “how’s  Romeo and Juliet going for you so far?”

Eddie groans, slumping back in his chair. “Honestly? Not great. The whole thing’s just… weird.” He runs a hand through his hair, voice turning exasperated. “The language is a mess. All the  thy this and  thou that scrambles my brain.”

“Yeah, Shakespeare’s a pain at first. But once you get the language down, it actually gets  really interesting .” Your gaze flicks to his book, the pages barely touched. “Alright, aside from the old-timey words, what else don’t you like about it?”

He scrunches his face like he’s been asked to solve calculus. “The drama’s  insane . Romeo meets Juliet, and  boom , suddenly he’s ready to die for her after what, five minutes?” He leans forward, incredulous. “And the whole family feud thing? They don’t even remember why they’re fighting. It’s stupid.”

You smile, patient, like you  actually like talking about this. “Yeah, it  is a little dramatic. But that’s kind of the point. It’s about how passion, whether it’s love or hate, makes people do crazy things.” You pause, tapping the cover of his book. “But I get why it’s frustrating. We’ll break it down together. I’ll help with the language, the themes, make it suck less.”

Eddie looks at you for a second, at the way you say  we like you’re in this with him, like you actually  want to help. He doesn’t know why that makes something inside him unwind a little, but it does.

“I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”

You nudge the book toward him, smiling like it’s no big deal. “Lucky for you, I’m very patient.”

His smirk tilts, half-leaning into something softer. “Good thing. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a terrible student.”

Eddie’s still watching you, eyebrows pulling together in curiosity, when you reach into your bag.

You slide a container across the table toward him.

He blinks, caught completely off guard.

“Here,” you say, voice almost shy, like you’re not sure if this is a good idea. “I, uh, remembered you had a show tonight. Figured you might not have time to eat. So… pasta.”

For a second, Eddie just  stares . He wasn’t expecting this.

At all.

His eyes flick down to the container, then back up to you, surprise softening into something else. A slow grin starts to spread across his face.

“Wow. You really do think of everything, don’t you?” His tone’s teasing, but there’s something else there, something more real, almost like  appreciation .

You shift, brushing it off like it’s nothing. “Yeah, well… I know you don’t exactly  want to be here. I didn’t want you to go hungry before your show, when you’re making the effort to come.”

Eddie pops the lid, stabs a bite of pasta into his mouth, and freezes.

Holy shit.

His eyebrows shoot up, genuinely impressed. “Hold up, this is actually good. Like,  good -good. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

You laugh, ducking your head, suddenly shy. “I dunno. It’s just pasta.”

But it’s  not just pasta , not to Eddie. There’s something tight in his chest now, a weightless kind of feeling he doesn’t really know what to do with.

People don’t usually do this kind of stuff for him. Not without expecting something in return. Not… just because.

He taps the empty container against the table, thoughtful. Then he looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second, the air feels different.

The teasing fades, just a little, as he says, “Thanks, princess. Seriously. I owe you for this one.”

You raise an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “How about passing English?”

The way you brush it off like it’s no big deal, like  you’re no big deal, hits Eddie harder than he’d like to admit.

It’s… different.

And it’s  nice .

You slide your textbook toward him, nudging the conversation back to studying, and Eddie lets himself follow. But as he flips through the pages, that thought sneaks back in, quiet, but stubborn.

You.

Yeah. He definitely hadn’t expected you.

Later at The Hideout, Eddie feels the familiar buzz of pre-show energy creeping into his bones. It’s not a big gig, just another night playing to a handful of regulars, some drunk, some actually into the music, but it’s his favourite part of the week. The amps are too loud, the lights are too dim, and for a little while, he gets to be something more than what people say he is at school. 

But tonight, his head’s a little off.

It’s not like he’s distracted in the usual sense. He knows the setlist front to back. He knows where Gareth always messes up, and how Jeff gets so into it, he forgets to follow the damn cues. He’s already in the zone, all the right moves on autopilot. But underneath all that, there’s you.

All he can think about is you sliding that container of food across the table. It’s like it keeps replaying in his head. He doesn’t get it.

People don’t do shit like that for him. Not unless they want something. But you hadn’t asked for anything. Didn’t make a scene. Didn’t go all ‘let me take care of you’ like some overbearing charity case. You just… slid it across the table and said,  “Here, I didn’t want you to go hungry before your show.”

And then that laugh. The way you laughed when he made fun of Scott. He’d expected you to get all defensive, maybe even shut him down. Instead, you laughed. It felt… easy. Too easy, almost. Like you didn’t care about all the crap everyone else does.

“Dude.” Gareth nudges his shoulder, pulling Eddie out of his thoughts. “You good?”

Eddie blinks, shakes his head like he’s trying to shake off the weird fog. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and stands up. Whatever’s going on in his head? Doesn’t matter. Not right now. Right now, he’s got a show to play, and that’s the only thing that’s gonna shut the noise in his brain down.

Chapter Text

Your Perspective

You’re changing your books at your locker when you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Hey, princess.” 

You turn to see Eddie leaning casually against the lockers, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Hey,” you say, closing your locker. “What’s up?”

He tilts his head slightly. “Just letting you know I’ll be late to tutoring today.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? How come?”

Eddie shrugs, playing it cool. “Got some business to take care of.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Business?”

He gives you a pointed look, like he’s waiting for you to put the pieces together. When you don’t say anything, he sighs, clearly amused at your cluelessness. “I’ve got a deal to make. You know, strictly extracurricular activities.”

Realisation clicks into place.

“Oh,” you murmur, glancing around on instinct, making sure no one’s eavesdropping. Then, a little quieter, “You mean you’re dealing?”

Eddie’s grin spreads, wide and unapologetic. “Ding, ding, ding. Knew you were smart.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

Everyone knows what Eddie does to make extra cash. Well, everyone who pays attention, anyway. And honestly? You don’t judge him for it.

Hawkins isn’t exactly bursting with opportunities, especially for someone like Eddie. So he does what he has to.

He watches you carefully , like he’s waiting for a reaction. When you don’t give one, he grins. “What, no lecture?”

You shake your head. “Not my business. Just don’t get caught.”

His grin widens. “Not planning on it.”

He gives you a quick, two-fingered salute before pushing off the lockers and heading down the hall.

You watch him go, your mind lingering on the way he carries himself, like he’s got nothing to prove, nothing to lose. People talk about Eddie like he’s dangerous, but standing here now, all you can think is that he’s just trying to survive in a town that doesn’t make it easy.

After school, you settle into the library, knowing you might be waiting a while. Instead of just sitting around, you pull out your yearbook notes, flipping through pages, making small edits, and jotting down reminders in the margins.

It’s calming, in a way, having something to focus on, something that makes sense.

You’re so caught up in it that you don’t notice Eddie until he drops into the chair across from you with a dramatic sigh.

“Jesus, do you ever stop working?” he drawls, eyeing the mess of papers in front of you like they personally offend him.

“Not if I can help it,” you smile, not looking up.

Eddie huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t waste a second.”

His eyes flick to the papers in front of you. “What’s all this?”

“Yearbook stuff,” you reply, still focused on the page as you underline a note.

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Right. That thing.”

You glance up, surprised by the edge in his voice. “You don’t sound too excited.”

He shrugs, leaning back. “It’s just… I don’t really get the appeal. It’s like a shrine to the popular kids.”

Your lips twitch in a faint, dry smile. “Yeah. That’s kind of what everyone expects. But I’m doing it differently this year.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Different how?”

You flip through the pages, voice quieter now. “I’m making sure everyone’s in it. At least twice. Doesn’t matter if they’re on the football team or barely show up to class. High school’s rough enough without feeling invisible.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “That’s a lot.”

You sigh, glancing down at the papers. “Yeah. My team’s not exactly on board with it. They think it’s too much work. Scott wasn’t too happy about it either.” You hesitate, then admit, “He thinks it’s… well, dorky.”

You brace yourself for Eddie to laugh, to roll his eyes, to say something sharp and teasing,  thinking he’ll just react like everyone else. But instead, he just sits there, watching you like you’re saying something important. Like he’s actually listening.

“So you’re doing all this extra work yourself?” he asks, voice softer now.

You nod, not really wanting to explain more but knowing he’ll probably ask. “Yeah. I know it’s dumb…”

Eddie leans back, looking at the yearbook in a way that feels more thoughtful than you expected. “I don’t think it’s dumb,” he says, voice quieter this time. “It’s actually kinda cool.”

You blink. Of all the things you expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

A slow warmth creeps into your chest, unexpected but not unwelcome. You’ve defended the yearbook so many times, against your team, against Scott, against that nagging little voice in your own head telling you maybe it doesn’t really matter. But Eddie doesn’t make you defend it. He just…gets it.

And maybe he doesn’t care about the yearbook itself. Maybe he still thinks the whole thing is pointless. But he sees what you’re trying to do.

That matters more than you thought it would.

You drop your gaze, suddenly feeling shy, but you can’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks,” you murmur.

Eddie leans against the table, tilting his head. “So, what exactly goes into making the yearbook, anyway?”

You glance up, surprised he’s even asking. Most people don’t.  “Well, there’s a lot. You have to plan out the pages, decide what goes where, and make sure all the sections flow together. You also need to keep track of photos, lots of them.” You pause, then add, “And there’s writing, too, like captions and little blurbs about events.”

Eddie nods slowly, clearly trying to picture it. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

You shrug, a small, wry smile tugging at your lips. “It can be. But I’ve got a team. They’re … decent. Even if they’re not exactly thrilled about the direction I’m taking it.”

Before you can dwell too much, you add, “Jonathan used to be the photographer, but he moved to California, so I had to find someone else.”

“New photographer, huh? Who’d you get?”

You smile, a little proud. “Sarah. She’s still new at it, but she’s really good . I helped her when she first started, even though I didn’t know anything about photography. She’s got a good eye, but she didn’t really know what kind of shots to take for the yearbook.”

Eddie raises a brow, curious. “And what  do you want her to look for?”

You lean back a little, thinking. “A mix of formal and candid stuff. Not just the posed, fake-smile pictures, but real moments, y’know? People just … being themselves. I want it to feel like we lived here, not like it’s some highlight reel of the popular kids.”

You slide a few more pages of your yearbook notes to the side and pull out a stack of photos Sarah has printed out. You start flipping through them slowly, pausing at one that makes you smile.

“This one’s of Hellfire Club,” you say, sliding the photo over to Eddie. It’s a group shot of him and his friends from the club. Eddie’s off to the side between Dustin and Jeff, giving his best metal pose.

Eddie looks up at you, squinting at the picture, and then his face cracks into a small grin.

“Oh shit, I forgot about that one.” He laughs, shaking his head. 

You smile, knowing how much it must mean to him. “It’s a good one, everyone’s in it.”

Eddie looks at it for a moment longer before you pull another photo from the stack and show it to him. It’s a shot of him at the cafeteria, surrounded by his friends, Gareth on his right, Dustin on his left. Eddie’s grinning, mid-laugh, and the rest of the group looks equally entertained. Gareth’s about to spit out his drink, and Mike’s holding his stomach, tears of laughter in his eyes.

Eddie’s smirk deepens as he studies the photo. “Oh man, this was a good day.”

You tilt your head, curious. “Yeah? What happened?”

Eddie leans in, eyes glinting with mischief. “Picture this: Jason Carver, king of the assholes, strutting around like he owns the place. And me, just a humble servant of chaos doing my civic duty.”

You bite back a smile. “Go on.”

Eddie gestures broadly, like he’s spinning a grand tale. “So, Jason’s mouthing off, acting like he’s untouchable. I figured he could use a little … adjustment.”

You narrow your eyes. “What kind of adjustment?”

He leans in, smirk deepening. “Let’s just say… I may have  allegedly swapped his soda with a  generous serving of hot sauce.”

You blink. “You did what?”

“Hot sauce,” he repeats, with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Wanted to spice up his day.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “You’re  insane. ”

“Hey, I was doing the world a favour. The guy’s a menace. He tried to act cool, but it was too much. Dustin snorted, Gareth spilt his drink, and everyone lost it.”

You’re cracking up. “I can’t believe you did that! That’s pure evil.” 

Eddie shakes his head, still laughing. “Guess this is what happens when you’re a  devil worshipper ,” he says sarcastically, grinning as he mimics the way Scott talks about him.

You laugh, shaking your head. “See? When you look back on it, you’ll remember  this. Not the bullshit everyone says matters.”

Eddie looks down at the photo again, then back at you, his grin still there, but softer now, almost thoughtful. “Alright, alright… maybe the yearbook’s not  completely stupid. And for what it’s worth?” He tilts his head, voice dropping slightly. “You’re doing a good job with it.”

You glance at him, still chuckling at the memory of Jason’s suffering, and catch him watching you. His grin is still there, but it’s shifted, smaller, quieter.

The air between you changes, just a little.

“Well, I suppose we should get to the tutoring,” you say, glancing at the clock. 

The tutoring session with Eddie goes surprisingly smoothly, better than either of you expected. He actually listens, asks questions that show he’s  thinking about it, and here and there, you catch flashes of understanding that surprise you. He’s not as checked out as he pretends to be.

By the time you pull into your driveway that evening, you feel lighter than usual, until you spot Steve’s car parked out front. Not surprising, really. His parents are out of town again, and your mom has this habit of cooking for him like he’s her second son. She frets that he’ll waste away on takeout and frozen dinners, even though Steve insists he can survive on his own.

But the car next to Steve’s? That one makes your stomach twist.

Scott’s.

You weren’t expecting  him .

As you walk into the dining room, you see Steve and Scott already seated at the table, plates in front of them.

Scott looks up as you enter, that easy, practised grin slipping onto his face. “There she is,” he says smoothly, standing and leaning in to kiss you. His hand lingers on your waist, the pressure just a little too firm,  a quiet reminder.

“You barely muster a smile. “What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice coming out sharper than you mean it to.

Scott smirks, sliding back into his seat like he owns the place. “Just catching up with Steve.”

Steve glances at you, eyebrows raised, expression barely concealing disbelief.  Yeah, right. It’s so quick, so perfectly timed, that you almost laugh.

As dinner goes on, Scott leans back in his chair, smirking. “Man, you should’ve seen the game last week. The team’s never looked better. Best season we’ve had in years.”

Steve doesn’t even look up from his plate. “Yeah? Guess they finally got their act together.”

Scott chuckles. “Yeah, funny how that happened after you graduated.”

Steve pauses for half a second before forcing a polite smile. “Right. Must be it.”

Before you can say anything, your dad jumps in, nodding approvingly at Scott. “Scott’s being modest. It’s about discipline, knowing how to keep people in line.”

Steve’s expression doesn’t change, but you can tell he hears exactly what your dad is saying.

Your dad relies on Scott and his father more than he’ll ever admit. Their influence, their connections, it’s the kind of power your dad needs to stay afloat. Keeping Scott happy means keeping his father happy , which means keeping everything in balance.

Scott grins, eating up the praise. “Just trying to do my part.”

Your dad claps a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “And doing a damn good job. Hawkins needs young men with ambition.”

Scott leans back in his chair, swirling his drink lazily. “So, Steve… what are you up to these days?”

You know, he knows. Everyone knows.

Steve doesn’t look up. “Still at Family Video, man.”

Scott nods, dragging it out like he’s thinking real hard about it. “Right, right. That’ s…w hat? Full-time now?”

Steve’s jaw tenses. “Yeah.”

Scott hums like he’s being polite, but you know him too well. You tense, but before you can say anything, Scott claps his hands together. “You know, I could probably sort you out with something. I’m interning at the mayor’s office now. Good experience. Good money.”

Your dad perks up at that. “Now there’s an opportunity, Steven. You should listen to Scott, he’s always thinking ahead.”

Steve’s knuckles go white around his fork, but he just forces a tight smile. “Yeah, appreciate the offer.”

You meet his eyes across the table, reading the irritation beneath his calm exterior. Luckily, Scott doesn’t catch it.

Your mom glances around the table, clearly sensing the tension between Scott and Steve. She clears her throat and shifts the conversation. “So, why were you late getting home, sweetie?”

Before you can respond, Scott jumps in, his voice casual. “Hasn’t she told you? She’s been tutoring.”

You quickly add, “For extra credit,” hoping to make it sound less like a big deal.

Steve raises an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. “Who are you tutoring?”

Scott, too casual, too  ready , replies, “Eddie Munson.”

Steve scoffs, his tone laced with disbelief. “Not Eddie, “the freak” Munson?”

You shoot Steve a glare, feeling the heat rise in your chest. He’s just being protective, but it’s not helpful. 

Scott leans back, a grin creeping across his face. Like he’s been  waiting for this moment. “Yeah. Eddie Munson. The guy who’s always skipping class, dealing, hanging out with that little club of weirdos. Hellfire, right?”

Your stomach tightens. You’ve heard Scott talk about Eddie like this before, but it stings more now. He’s saying it in front of your parents, throwing around his opinion like fact, and you can feel the shift as your dad’s expression hardens.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for her to spend time with someone like that,” your dad says, directing the comment to  Scott instead of you . Like it’s  his decision.

You look over at Scott, playing it cool. “Well, I mean, it’s just like you and Heather, right? You must be tutoring her, too, huh?” you say, knowing full well she’s just one of the girls he’s been sleeping with. 

Scott’s eyes narrow at the subtle jab, but he knows exactly what you’re implying. 

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, then gives a stiff nod before turning to your dad. “She’s got her head on straight,” he says, gesturing at you. “Just trying to help the guy out. I’ll keep an eye on it.”

Your dad looks like he’s about to protest, but Scott’s response is enough to close the conversation for now. You breathe a little easier, but you know the tension won’t just disappear. You can feel Scott’s eyes on you, but you don’t let yourself show how satisfied you are with how you handled it.

After Scott leaves, you and Steve head up to your room. For a moment, the house feels quieter without the tension hanging in the air.

“God, I hate that guy. Seriously, why don’t you just dump his ass?” He says it like it should be the easiest thing in the world, but you know it’s not.

You pause, staring at the table for a moment, the weight of your words settling in. You’ve thought about it a lot, probably more than you should have. But the reality always hits harder than you want to admit.

You look at him, biting your lip for a moment before speaking. “You know why, Steve.” You don’t want to say it out loud, but it’s the truth. “I can’t let everyone down. My dad’s counting on this. I can’t risk getting kicked out, and I can’ t… I can’t lose everything.” You pause, eyes downcast. “I don’t really have anything else.”

Steve frowns, like he’s trying to understand, but you can tell he’s not fully getting it. To him, it should be simple: leave Scott and find your way. But you know it’s not that easy. There’s so much more on the line for you.

You sigh, your voice softer now. “I don’t even think I could make it on my own. I’d just be … invisible. Everyone would forget about me.” The words sound ridiculous, even to you, but they’re true. You feel stuck, cornered by expectations you didn’t choose.

Steve doesn’t say anything for a long moment. When he does, it’s quiet but firm. “You wouldn’t ever be invisible; you matter. You know that, right?”

You swallow, a lump forming in your throat. 

Steve leans back in the chair, crossing his arms as he watches you, his expression tense. The quiet stretches on for a moment before he finally speaks, his words hitting you like a gut punch.

“I’ve gotta tell you something,” he says, his voice low but urgent. “Robin saw Scott the other day… she saw him making out with Michelle Robinson at school.”

You let out a small, bitter laugh. Steve is the only person you’ve told about the arrangement between you and Scott.

“Steve… you  know I know. And you know I don’t care.” The words feel hollow even as you say them. “He does whatever and whoever he wants. I don’t give a shit.”

Steve’s face falls, disappointment flickering across his expression. His voice is softer now, almost pleading. “I know, but this? It’s different. It’s like he’s not even trying to hide it. If this gets out… It’s not just  your reputation, you know that, right? It’s  his , too.”

Your stomach tightens at the thought. You’re used to being a part of Scott’s web of lies, but this is different. If he gets caught, it would be worse for him than it would be for you. His image, the one he’s worked so hard to maintain for his political future, would be shattered. People would talk, and in this small town, gossip spreads faster than wildfire.

“Yeah,” you murmur, feeling sick. “It’ll ruin him .”

Steve’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge how much more you’re hiding from him. He stands up and moves over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You deserve so much better than this. You know that, right?”

His voice is so steady, so sure, and for a second, you almost believe him. You almost   want to believe there’s a way out. But the thought fades as quickly as it came.

The tension breaks when Steve lets out a breath, tilting his head slightly.

“So… what’s the deal with  the freak ?”

You glare at him, the words slipping out without thought. “Don’t start.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What? You know he’s got that cult going right. Got Mike, Lucas and Dustin involved.” 

You lean back in your chair, eyes glinting mischievously. “It’s not a cult, it’s a club. You’re just jealous that Dustin’s hanging around with another older guy.”

Steve’s eyes widen, then he scoffs. “That makes me sound like a creep.”

You burst out laughing, knowing full well Steve’s protective streak. “Well, you  are a little creepy hanging around with kids,” you tease.

Steve laughs too, shoving you, then shaking his head. “Shut up, butthead” 

“You started it,” you grin back, feeling the familiar warmth of your cousin’s humour.

Steve shifts in his chair, his expression softening a bit. “How’s Nancy doing?”

You shoot him a pointed look, eyebrows raised. “Steve…”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “What? I’m just asking. Is she handling long distance with Jonathan okay?” 

You smirk, teasing him a little. “ She’s fine. She’s just struggling to keep everything together with the school paper, so I was trying to help her out until it started tutoring Eddie.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Helping her out, huh?”

You grin. “Yeah, someone has to make sure she doesn’t burn herself out.”

Steve chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, someone should probably be making sure  you don’t burn out either, huh? You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

You shrug, a little embarrassed by his concern. “I’m fine. I can handle it.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“Uh-huh.” He gives you a look.

You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I’ll manage.”

He just watches you for a long moment, the corners of his mouth softening, like he wants to say more but doesn’t. Then, without a word, he leans over and presses a quick, affectionate kiss to the top of your head.

“Just… don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?”

You laugh, the tension easing a little more, the warmth lingering in your chest.

“I won’t. Thanks, Steve.”

Eddie's Perspective

The morning rush is in full swing, and Eddie’s brain is already buzzing. He’s got a deal to make after school, some party kid hit him up for a dime bag, same old story . Quick exchange, easy cash.

But the more he thinks about it, the more he realises there’s no way in hell he’s making it to tutoring on time today.

Shit.

Not like you’ll  care , well, maybe you will, he’s not sure. But it still feels like a hassle. He’s been trying to keep his shit together around you, and this? Not exactly helping.

He figures he should at least give you a heads-up, so you’re not just sitting around waiting on his ass.

Spotting you at your locker, he weaves through the crowd, cutting in before the bell.

“Hey, princess,” he says, throwing out the words like it’s no big deal.

You look up, eyes narrowing slightly as you close your locker. “Hey. What’s up?”

He hesitates for a second, considering how to word it. “Just letting you know I’ll be late to tutoring today.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? How come?”

He thinks about lying to you, telling you he’s got something else going on, but that doesn’t sit right. He knows it’ll sound lame, and he’s not sure why, but he doesn’t want to lie to you.

“Got some business to take care of,” he says, keeping it vague. He watches you closely, his fingers tapping against the metal locker, waiting for you to judge him or get all weird about it.

You give him a look. “Business?”

He smirks, almost amused by how you’re clearly not picking up on it. It’s cute. You really don’t get involved with this kind of thing, do you? He takes a step closer, his grin widening as he prepares to explain.

“I’ve got a deal to make. You know … extracurriculars. Supply and demand.”

Your brow furrows, and for a second, he thinks you’re  really not getting it, which is … honestly kind of hilarious. And then you pause, your eyes narrowing just a bit, a flicker of realisation sparking.

You glance around, checking to make sure no one’s listening, and then lean in a little closer.

“Oh,” you murmur, your voice quiet. “You mean you’re dealing?”

Eddie can’t help but laugh, relieved you finally caught on. “Ding, ding, ding. Knew you were smart.”

It’s kind of endearing, actually. You’re not someone who immediately jumps to conclusions about people, and it makes him feel like maybe he’s not just the “freak” everyone expects him to be.

You giggle and shake your head, clearly amused by the whole situation. Eddie watches you carefully, but instead of giving him that look he’s used to, disgust or judgment, you just seem … calm.

“What, no lecture?” he asks, a little surprised.

You shrug, not even batting an eye. “Not my business. Just don’t get caught.”

He can’t help but grin wider at that. It’s not what he was expecting, but it’s definitely what he needed to hear. “Not planning on it,” he says, giving you a two-fingered salute before pushing off the lockers.

After school, Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets as he makes his way toward the library, the weight of the deal already fading from his mind. It had gone smoothly, cash exchanged, product handed off, no drama. Easy. But now, as he walks the quiet halls, he feels that familiar buzz in his chest . Not from the deal, not from the money tucked away in his pocket, but from the fact that he’s about to see you.

He’s not sure when that started happening, when his brain started lighting up at the idea of tutoring with you. Maybe it’s the way you don’t look at him like he’s some lost cause. Maybe it’s how you take this whole thing seriously, like his education actually matters. Or maybe it’s just you.

He spots you before you notice him, completely locked into whatever you’re working on. Of course, even now, with school over and nothing but silence around you, you’re still working.

Eddie grins to himself before dropping into the chair across from you with a dramatic sigh.

“Jesus, do you ever stop working?” he drawls, eyeing the stack of papers in front of you.

You barely glance up, only mildly startled, before rolling your eyes. “Not if I can help it.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t waste a second.”

His eyes flick to the papers in front of you. “What’s all this?”

“Yearbook stuff,” you say, barely looking up as you jot something down.

Eddie almost rolls his eyes. Of course. The yearbook. The ultimate shrine to everything he hates about this place, polished, posed, and packaged into some glossy little book that people will flip through for a week before shoving onto a shelf to collect dust.

It’s always the same: the jocks, the cheerleaders, the honour roll kids. The ones the school actually cares about. Meanwhile, people like him , people who don’t fit the mold , who don’t play by the rules , get left out, unless it’s a punchline or a mistake. He’s seen it before. Hell, last year, they spelt his name wrong.  Twice. Not that he cared. It wasn’t like he wanted to be remembered by this place anyway.

Eddie makes a face. “Right. That thing.”

You finally glance at him. “You don’t sound too excited.”

Eddie hesitates. He doesn’t want to outright insult something you clearly care about, but it’s the  yearbook , the same book that barely acknowledges people like him exist. The same book that’s filled with perfect, smiling faces of the people who make his life hell. The same book that probably has  Scott Wesley plastered all over it.

“It’s just… I don’t really get the appeal. It’s like a shrine to the popular kids.”

You shake your head. “Yeah. That’s kind of what everyone expects. But I’m doing it differently this year.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Different how?”

You flip through the pages, voice quieter now. “I’m making sure everyone’s in it. At least twice. Doesn’t matter if they’re on the football team or barely show up to class. High school’s rough enough without feeling invisible.”

That hits him harder than he expects.

Invisible.

He knows what that feels like, being overlooked, being treated like a joke, like a nobody. Like he’s not worth remembering.

And here you are, making sure that doesn’t happen to other people.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, caught off guard .  That’s a lot. More than he expected, honestly. He figured you just oversaw things, made sure the pictures looked nice, picked out the quotes that’d go under all the perfect, smiling faces. But this?

He watches the way your shoulders drop, the way you sigh like you’re carrying the weight of it all alone.

“My team’s not exactly on board with it,” you admit, glancing down at the papers. “They think it’s too much work. Scott wasn’t too happy about it either. He thinks it’s … well, dorky.”

Eddie almost snorts at that.  Of course he does.  

Eddie leans forward, voice dropping just a little. “So you’re doing all the extra yourself?”

You nod, almost sheepishly. “Yeah. I know it’s kinda dumb…”

“It’s not dumb,” Eddie cuts in, surprising himself with how quickly the words come out. He taps his fingers against the table, rings clinking softly. “It’s… actually kinda cool. What you’re doing.”

You smile, and it’s small, but it’s real.

And that buzz in Eddie’s chest? It flares up again.

Eddie leans against the table, arms crossed, watching you fuss over your notes. He never thought he’d care about the yearbook beyond dodging any chance of his face showing up in it, but now he’s curious.

“So, what exactly goes into making the yearbook, anyway?” The question slips out before he can think better of it.

You glance up, clearly not expecting him to ask. “Well, there’s a lot,” you start, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You have to plan out the pages, decide what goes where, and make sure all the sections flow together. You also need to keep track of photos, lots of them.” You pause, then add, “And there’s writing, too, like captions and little blurbs about events.”

Eddie nods slowly, trying to picture it. He’d assumed it was just a bunch of kids slapping together pictures of prom and pep rallies, but the way you talk about it makes it sound … meticulous. Thoughtful. Like you actually care.

“Sounds like a lot of work,” he says, more to himself than to you.

You shrug, “It can be. But I’ve got a team. They’re … decent. Even if they’re not exactly thrilled about the direction I’m taking it.”

Eddie watches you for a second, tapping his rings against the table. He wonders what that’s like, putting in so much effort, only for the people around you to brush it off.

He was just about to ask another question when you kept going.

“Jonathan used to be the photographer, but he moved to California, so I had to find someone else.”

“New photographer, huh?” Eddie tilts his head. “Who’d you get?”

You smile, looking kind of proud. “Sarah. She’s still new at it, but she’s really good . I helped her when she first started, even though I didn’t know anything about photography. She’s got a good eye, but she didn’t really know what kind of shots to take for the yearbook.”

Eddie raises a brow, curious. “And what  do you want her to look for?”

You lean back a little, thinking. “A mix of formal and candid stuff. Not just the posed, fake-smile pictures, but real moments, y’know? People just … being themselves. I want it to feel like we actually lived here, not like it’s some highlight reel of the popular kids.”

Eddie watches you flip through a stack of photos, pushing your yearbook notes aside. You’re careful as you sort through them, pausing on one that makes you smile. Then, you slide it across the table.

“This one’s of Hellfire Club.”

Eddie glances down. It’s a group shot, him, Dustin, Jeff, Gareth, the whole crew. He’s off to the side between Dustin and Jeff, grinning like an idiot.

His first instinct is to scoff, maybe brush it off with a joke about how the school will probably slap  Satanic cult under the caption. But then he looks up at you, and you’re still watching him, waiting for a reaction.

He squints at the picture again, then huffs a quiet laugh.

“Oh shit, I forgot about that one.” He shakes his head, a small grin tugging at his lips.

You’re still smiling. “It’s a good one. Everyone’s in it.”

Eddie drums his fingers against the table, looking at the photo again.

He hadn’t really thought about Hellfire being in the yearbook, hadn’t thought anyone would bother. People like Jason Carver and his crew? They get pages dedicated to them. But him? Gareth? Freaks like them don’t make the cut.

Except … you put them in.

And not just because you had to. You smiled when you found it. You  wanted it in there.

He swallows, something warm settling in his chest.

Before he can say anything else, you pull another photo from the stack. 

Eddie’s eyes linger on the photo, his smirk widening as the memory comes rushing back. He looks frozen in time, mid-laugh, Gareth on one side, choking on his drink, Dustin looking like he’s about to fall out of his seat. Mike’s practically in tears, doubled over from laughing too hard.

“Oh man, this was a good day.”

You tilt your head, curious. “Yeah? What happened?”

Eddie leans in slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. “Picture this: Jason Carver, king of the assholes, strutting around like he owns the place. And me, just a humble servant of chaos doing my civic duty.”

You bite your lip. “Go on.”

“So, Jason’s mouthing off, acting like he’s untouchable. I figured he could use a little … adjustment.”

You narrow your eyes, playing along. “What kind of adjustment?”

There’s a small part of him that wonders if you’ll take this the wrong way. If you’ll scold him for messing with Jason. If you remind him that Scott and the rest of the jocks are your  friends. But looking at you right now, he decides it’s worth the risk. “ I may have  allegedly swapped his soda with a  generous serving of hot sauce.”

You blink. “You did what?”

“Hot sauce,” he repeats, eyes dancing with amusement. “Wanted to spice up his day.”.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “You’re  insane. ”

Eddie’s already grinning, feeling like he might as well go all in. 

“Hey, I was doing the world a favour. The guy’s a menace. He tried to act cool, but it was too much. Dustin snorted, Gareth spilt his drink, and everyone lost it.”

You shake your head, still giggling. “I can’t believe you did that! That’s pure evil.”

Eddie shrugs, feeling the grin spread across his face. “Guess this is what happens when you’re a devil worshipper,” he jokes, imitating Scott’s voice , but it doesn’t feel as ridiculous when you laugh along.

“See? When you look back on it, you’ll remember  this. Not the bullshit everyone says matters.”

Eddie scoffs, shaking his head, but he looks down at the photo again. The laughter was frozen in time . The genuine joy on all their faces.

It  was a good day.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s worth remembering.

He glances up at you, a smirk still playing at his lips, though something warmer sits behind it now. “Alright, alright. Maybe the yearbook’s not so dumb after all. For what it’s worth, you’re doing a good job with it.”

You set the photo down, still chuckling, but Eddie keeps looking at you, his grin softening slightly.

For the first time, he wonders how many other moments he’s brushed off, how many memories he’s ignored because he figured high school had nothing to offer him.

But you? You see something worth holding onto.

And for some reason, he kind of likes that.

Eddie watches you set the photo down, still smiling at your laughter, but there’s something different now. The easy, jokey vibe has shifted; he’s not sure why, but it feels like the space between you has softened. 

When you finally mention tutoring, Eddie nods, pulling his attention back to the task at hand. But there’s something different about it now. The stuff you’re explaining doesn’t sound like background noise anymore. He’s actually  listening . Asking questions that don’t feel like a joke.

And maybe, just maybe, he’s trying a little harder. 

After tutoring, Eddie pulls into the gravel driveway, the familiar hum of the van’s engine coming to an end as he switches it off. Stepping out, he’s a little surprised to see the trailer light on. Wayne’s usually off at work, leaving the place quiet and empty.

He opens the door and steps inside, immediately greeted by the smell of something cooking and the low hum of the TV in the background. Wayne’s sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in front of him, his boots kicked up onto a nearby chair.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” Wayne says, the usual gruffness in his voice, but there’s no real anger behind it . More like mild amusement, maybe concern.

Eddie grins, taking off his jacket and hanging it by the door. “Didn’t know you’d be home,” he says, surprised to see his uncle actually there for once instead of working late.

Wayne shrugs, taking a sip from his mug. “Got the day off. Figured I’d take a break for once.”

He takes a swig of his beer and leans back in his chair. “You’re late anyway. Where’ve you been, son?”

Eddie kicks a boot against the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t realise I was on a schedule, old man.”

Wayne’s gaze sharpens, cutting through the casual tone with ease. “You don’t usually come home this late unless you’re up to something.”

Eddie sighs, dropping his shoulders and giving in. “Alright, fine,” he mutters. “I was with a tutor.” He says it quickly, hoping to end the conversation there, but Wayne doesn’t let it go.

Wayne’s eyebrows twitch up, surprise flickering across his face. “Tutoring?” He sets his mug down, voice slow, sceptical. “Didn’t think you gave a damn about school.”

Eddie shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s been dreading this conversation—he knows how it sounds. “Yeah, well… I didn’t. But I’m trying, alright? Trying to get through this year. Pass. Not keep dragging my ass through the same shit over and over.” His voice softens on the last part, almost like he’s admitting it more to himself than to Wayne.

There’s a beat of silence, heavy and expectant. Wayne’s not the kind to let things slide.

Finally, he asks, “Who’s the tutor?”

Eddie hesitates, then says your name. Quiet, almost too quick. “She’s… uh… Scott Wesley’s girlfriend.”

Wayne’s face hardens instantly, the shift so sharp Eddie feels it in his chest. The name lands like a hammer. Wayne sets the mug down with a little more force than necessary, voice low, gravelly. “Wesley. That rich kid.” His eyes narrow. “You know how that family is, money up to their ears and not a shred of decency between ‘em. They don’t give a damn about kids like you.”

Eddie bristles, feeling his defences rise even though he knows Wayne’s not entirely wrong. “Yeah, Scott’s a dick. I thought she’d be the same, stuck up, full of herself, whatever. But she’s not. She’s … different.”

Wayne raises an eyebrow, not letting him off the hook. “Different how?”

Eddie exhales, frustrated but also a little desperate to make him understand. “She doesn’t look at me like I’m trash. Doesn’t act like she’s too good for it. She actually helps. Like, really helps. And she doesn’t make me feel like I’m some idiot for needing it.”

Wayne watches him, eyes sharp and unreadable. Eddie shifts under the weight of it, feeling like Wayne’s looking through him, not at him, like he’s measuring something he’s not saying out loud.

Then Wayne leans back, taking a long sip of coffee. “You’re sure quick to defend her.”

Eddie blinks, thrown off. “What?”

Wayne’s tone is measured, almost too calm. “You’re just real sure about her, that’s all.”

Eddie’s mouth opens, then closes, caught between wanting to argue and not knowing exactly what to say. “I’m just saying, she’s not what I thought. She cares about this, you know? She cares about helping me. It’s not some charity project; she actually gives a damn.”

Wayne studies him for a moment longer, the silence stretching. Then, quietly, almost to himself, he mutters, “She must be something, then.”

Eddie’s breath catches. He looks away, rubbing at the back of his neck again, feeling a little too seen.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “ She is.”

Wayne doesn’t press, just nods once, like he’s filing that away for later. Then he leans back, his boots thunking back down onto the floor.

“Well,” he grunts, “if she’s helping you pass, I guess I can’t argue with that. Just watch yourself, kid.”

Eddie lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He nods, trying to play it cool, but there’s something warm and strange blooming in his chest. Something like relief … or maybe something else entirely.

Chapter Text

Your Perspective

The next day, you spot Eddie and Gareth by the lockers, caught up in some joke. Eddie’s laughter rings down the hallway, loud and carefree, the kind of sound that makes people glance over without even meaning to. You hesitate for half a second before walking up to them, not because you’re nervous, exactly, just …  aware .

You shake it off and smile, bright and easy. “Hey, guys.”

Eddie grins instantly, elbowing Gareth in the ribs like he’s in on some private joke. “Hey, princess. What’s up?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips anyway. “Just a heads-up,” you say, hitching your bag higher on your shoulder, “I might be a little late today. Nancy needs help with the paper, so I’m stopping by after school.”

Eddie leans in, grin wide and teasing. “Getting your own back for yesterday, huh?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Guess we need to work on  our punctuality, Munson. But I promise I won’t be too long.”

“No worries.” Eddie’s smirk softens into something warmer, a glint in his eyes as he adds with a wink, “I’ll be waiting.”

You feel a flicker of heat rise in your cheeks at the way he says it, but you’re careful not to let it show.

Gareth, thoug h… Gareth’s still staring. His face tight, like he’s trying to figure something out but doesn’t like the answer. The tension in his jaw makes your chest ache a little. You don’t get it. Maybe he doesn’t like you hanging around. Maybe he thinks you’re slumming it, playing nice with the outcasts before running back to the “real” world.

You swallow the thought and turn away, giving them a small wave as you head off to class.

When you find Eddie after school, he’s hunched over a table in the library, completely surrounded by papers. For a second, you actually think he might be studying; he looks so focused, eyes narrowed, pen tapping rhythmically against the edge of the table. The sight almost makes you smile. It’s strange, almost surreal, seeing Eddie Munson, the guy who rolls his eyes at homework and doodles in the margins of tests, looking like he  cares . It’s a weirdly endearing moment, and you catch yourself feeling … proud?

You step closer and drop your bag onto the table with a little more force than you mean to. “Wow. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

Eddie glances up from his papers, his grin almost immediately breaking through the concentration. “You like what you see, Princess?”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “What’s all this? You actually doing schoolwork?”

He snorts. “Hell no. Just finishing my campaign for tomorrow’s Hellfire session.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Of course. And here I was thinking you finally took our tutoring sessions to heart.”

Eddie leans back, his grin lazy, tapping the pen against the table. “Oh, I take them to heart, sweetheart. Just … not right now.”

Your heart does a little jump at the word,  sweetheart , and for a second, you feel your breath catch, warmth creeping up your neck before you can stop it. But you shove the feeling down, bury it deep where it can’t get out, and roll your eyes like it’s no big deal. 

Your gaze drifts over the mess of papers, curiosity tugging at you. Maps, notes, character sheets, a whole world sprawled out across the table.  His world. You almost feel like you’re intruding.

“If you’re busy, we can skip today,” you say, trying to sound casual, even though the idea of him blowing you off stings more than you’d like to admit. You don’t want to get in the way of something he loves.

But before you even have a chance to finish the thought, Eddie immediately shakes his head, looking slightly offended. “No way. Just finishing up.” His words come with a tone that says there’s no way he’s backing out now, even if the last thing he feels like doing is studying.

Something about that response hits you, like he’s trying to make sure you stick to the plan, even when he’s buried in his own stuff. You don’t know if it’s the reassurance you needed or just him being stubborn, but you find yourself smiling anyway. 

As Eddie scribbles something down, you glance at one of the pages he’s working on, scanning over the words. And, shit. It’s  good . The descriptions are vivid, the dialogue sharp and real, as if the story is  alive in his head. You get caught in it for a second, the world unfolding in your mind before you even realise you’re holding the paper in your hands.

Eddie’s eyes flicker to you, and you catch the moment he realises you’re actually looking at what he’s written. He immediately reaches for it. “Hey!” 

You pull it just out of his grasp, still scanning the words. “Relax, I’m just looking.”

You half expect him to brush it off or make a joke, but when he watches you, it feels like he’s waiting for something. Maybe he expects teasing or sarcasm, but you’re not offering that. Instead, you just look up at him and say, “Eddie… this is  really good.”

He blinks, clearly thrown off. “Wait… what?”

You tap the page again, pointing to a few lines that caught your eye. “The way you describe things, the way the dialogue flows, it’s kind of amazing.”

For a second, he just stares at you, completely still. His eyes search yours for a second, like he’s unsure if you’re messing with him. But when he doesn’t find any hint of sarcasm, he laughs softly, shaking his head like he’s embarrassed. “Yeah, well… it’s just D&D.”

You shake your head, a little more serious than you mean to sound. “No, it’s storytelling. And you’re  really good at it.”

Eddie’s gaze lingers on you, something cautious in the way he looks at you now, like he’s not sure whether to believe you or not. Then, his grin flickers back into place, crooked and deflecting. “Didn’t peg you for a D&D fan.”

“Didn’t peg you for a decent writer,” you fire back without missing a beat.

He clutches his chest in mock offence. “Ouch. Harsh, princess.”

You push the paper back toward him with a half-smile. “I’m serious. It’s better than half the crap we have to read in class.”

Eddie smirks, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes, something a little softer, like he’s not quite sure what to do with the compliment. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you’re cool.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Yeah, wouldn’t want that.” But even as you say it, you feel a strange little flutter, like maybe you  do want him to think you’re cool. Or at least … different from the person you thought you had to be.

Eddie chuckles, tossing his campaign notes aside and grabbing his English notebook instead. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Teach me something, oh wise one.”

You dive into  Romeo and Juliet , guiding him through the next section. He still groans at the language, trips over the phrasing, but there’s a shift; he’s paying attention in a way he didn’t before.

When he sighs dramatically, rubbing his hands over his face like he’s about to combust, you bite back a grin.

“So, let me get this straight, they lock eyes one time at a party and decide, ‘Yep, that’s it, we’re in love, let’s die for each other’?” Eddie says with a tone that borders on disbelief.

You smirk. “Pretty much.”

Eddie leans back in his chair, looking completely exasperated. “God, that’s pathetic.”

You sigh, but you’re amused. It’s so typical of him to look at things in the most cynical way possible. “You’re missing the point.”

“Oh, am I?” Eddie smirks at you, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Because to me, this just sounds like two idiots making really bad life choices.”

“It’s  romantic ,” you argue, sitting up a little straighter, your voice sharper than you intended.

Eddie snorts. “It’s reckless.”

You can feel a flicker of frustration rising inside, but it’s not from anger. It’s more of a quiet feeling that you’re fighting for something that matters to you, and maybe that’s a little more personal than you expected. You shake your head, trying not to let it show. “That’s what makes it beautiful,” you say, leaning into it. “They love each other so much they’d rather die than be apart.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, almost teasing, but there’s something about his expression that makes you want to defend the idea even more. “That’s not love, princess, that’s insanity.”

You shake your head, but you can’t suppress the smile creeping up. It’s a little silly, but you don’t mind. There’s something about the way he challenges you that makes you want to stick up for this. “You have no sense of romance.”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Alright, so is that how you and Scott feel?”

The question lands like a gut punch. Your breath catches, and the air seems to thin around you. The thought of you and Scott being like that, like  them , feels wrong in a way you can’t explain, but you can’t say that out loud, not without unravelling more than you’re willing to.

You hesitate, the words getting stuck before they leave your mouth. “Well… I mean… It’s different.”

“Different how?” he asks, the question sharp but gentle.

You fidget with your pencil. “It’s just not like that.” You reach for your pencil, twisting it between your fingers, suddenly too aware of how tight the air feels. The words feel too heavy, like they might crumble if you say them wrong.

Eddie doesn’t push, and you’re kind of grateful for that. There’s something in the way he watches you now, like he’s waiting for you to say more, but not demanding it. It’s a small comfort, even though the question still hangs in the air, heavy and unresolved.

You clear your throat, forcing the air back into your lungs. Focus. Get through this. You glance up, throwing the question back at him , almost like a shield. “What about you? Ever been in love?”

Eddie lets out a low laugh, the sound a little too quick, a little too practised. “Pfft. Nope.”

You raise an eyebrow, studying him. “Never?”

He shrugs, arms folding behind his head like it’s nothing. “Not really my thing.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to gauge whether he’s being serious or just deflecting. “What, love isn’t your thing?”

He shrugs, but there’s something in the way he holds his posture that feels more guarded than usual. “I mean, the whole ‘laying down my life for someone after one conversation’ thing? Definitely not.”

You laugh softly, but there’s a tinge of something else beneath your amusement.  Is that how he sees love? As something that happens too quickly, too dramatically? You shake your head, but you can’t help the softness that creeps into your voice. “That’s not what love is, you know.”

Eddie watches you, his gaze steady, like he’s searching for something more behind your words. His usual smirk fades just a little, replaced with something more thoughtful, more … open.

“Yeah?” he asks, clearly intrigued, but you can tell there’s a flicker of doubt there, like he’s not sure if he buys into it.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice steady, even though your heart feels a little heavier with every word. “Real love isn’t just the dramatic stuff. It’s … knowing someone. Choosing them. Even when it’s hard.”

Eddie doesn’t fire back with a smartass comment this time. Instead, he just looks at you, and there’s something in his eyes, something that you can’t quite place. It’s not mocking, but it’s not easy to read either. You can’t help but feel the silence stretch a little longer than usual, and it unsettles you more than you’d like to admit.

You break it, needing the tension to shift. “Look, you don’t have to love the idea of love, and you don’t have to love Shakespeare. You just have to understand it.”

Eddie exhales, glancing at you, and for a moment, you swear you see something flicker in his eyes. “You actually do love it, though.”

His words land a little harder than you expect, and you don’t hesitate before answering. “I do. It’s dramatic and messy and over the top, but that’s kind of the point. Shakespeare makes you feel things, even after all these years.”

Eddie watches you for a second, something unreadable in his expression. “Huh.”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

He shrugs, his attention back on his book. “Nothing. Jus t… I think I get why you’re good at this.”

You quickly look down at the book, suddenly feeling a warmth creep into your face that you can’t quite explain.  Is he complimenting me? You try to focus, push the feeling down. “Come on, we still have work to do.”

Eddie smirks, the teasing glint back in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Eddie's Perspective

Gareth groans, shoving his textbook into his bag with more force than necessary. “Come on, man. Can we start practice early today? Please?”

Eddie doesn’t even glance up, lazily twirling his pencil between his fingers, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Nope.”

Gareth glares. “Dude. We barely practised last week.”

Eddie crosses his arms, unimpressed. “And whose fault is that? Maybe if you didn’t spend half of practice arguing with Jeff about Metallica’s  best album, we’d actually get shit done.”

Gareth scoffs. “Okay, first of all, that was an important discussion. Second, I’m just saying, maybe  some of us actually care about the band.”

Eddie smirks. “Oh, right. And  I don’t?”

Gareth snorts. “Right. Because you’re totally  not spending all your time with some hot girl instead of practising.”

The pencil stops spinning.

Eddie’s smirk stays in place, but something twists, just a little, at the way Gareth says it. He opens his mouth to argue, but… what’s there to argue? He has been spending a lot of time with you. And yeah, okay, maybe you are nice to look at. Maybe it’s kind of fun messing with you. Maybe he finds himself actually looking forward to these stupid tutoring sessions when he should be dreading them.

Shit.

He shakes it off and leans back against the lockers. “You’re always saying how hot she is,” he points out, smirking. “Kinda sounds like  you’re the one who wants to be spending all your time with her.”

Gareth frowns. “What?”

“You’re  jealous. ” Eddie points at him, smirking. “That’s why you’re all pissy.”

Gareth snorts. “Oh,  pleas e”

“You totally are!” Eddie gasps, clutching his chest. “You wanna be the one reading sonnets with her,”

“You’re  so fucking annoying”

“writing secret love letters, pining across the classroom”

“I  hate you.”

Eddie’s still laughing, ready to push further, until Gareth suddenly tenses, his face going pale.

Eddie frowns. “What’s your…”

Then he turns.

And there you are, walking straight toward them.

Gareth looks like he’s about to throw himself into his locker. Eddie? He’s just trying not to laugh.

You walk over and greet them, “Hey, guys.”

Eddie grins, bumping Gareth with his elbow, unable to resist the playful jab. “Hey, princess. What’s up?”

Gareth’s still staring at you like a deer in headlights, and Eddie’s enjoying  every second of it.

“Just a heads-up,” you say, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “I might be a little late today. Nancy needs help with the paper, so I’m swinging by after school.”

Eddie smirks. “Getting your own back for yesterday, huh?”

The way you laugh, light and easy, makes something warm curl in his chest. He shoves it down before it can settle.

“Guess we need to work on our punctuality, Munson”, you fire back, grinning.

“No worries. I’ll be waiting,” he says with a wink, unable to resist.

You roll your eyes with a grin and head off down the hallway, leaving the scent of your perfume lingering behind.

Eddie watches you go, gaze lingering a little too long before he forces himself to snap out of it. He turns to Gareth, who’s still staring after you like a lovesick puppy.

“Dude,” Eddie says, smirking, “you’ve got it  bad .”

Gareth blinks, caught, then fumbles, his face turning red. “What? No, I’m not…”

Eddie leans in, practically grinning ear to ear now. “Man, you’re so obvious. Gonna stand there all day or what?”

Gareth shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t staring, alright? I was just … thinking.”

Eddie snorts. “Thinking about how much you like her?”

Gareth’s face burns even redder. “It’s not like that, okay?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, voice low and teasing. “Sure, it’s not.” He leans in with a mock-serious whisper. “It’s totally like that.”

Gareth’s eyes widen, and after a beat of silence, he finally blurts out, “Fine! Maybe I do, alright? Maybe I like her. Big deal.”

Eddie leans back, folding his arms, satisfied. “Called it.” He grins, a little softer now. “Relax, man. I won’t tell anyone … unless you want me to.”

Gareth glares at him, still flushed but trying to play it off. “Just drop it.”

Eddie just laughs, the sound echoing down the hallway as they walk to class, Gareth grumbling under his breath the whole way.

Eddie heads to the library after school, hands shoved in his pockets, not really thinking about much. He finds your usual spot near the back without a second thought, dropping into the chair with a lazy sprawl.

He pulls out his notebook, flipping past half-finished song lyrics and random doodles until he gets to what he’s actually looking for, his latest D&D campaign.

And then, just like that, he’s gone.

The world around him fades as he starts writing, completely caught up in the story. His pencil moves fast, sketching out new encounters, adjusting enemy stats, and weaving in little twists to keep his players on their toes. He barely notices the time passing, barely registers the quiet hum of the library or the occasional footsteps of someone walking by.

Eddie’s deep in his campaign when he hears the familiar sound of a bag dropping onto the table. He looks up just in time to see you standing there, watching him with an expression he can’t quite read, somewhere between amused and … something else.

“Wow. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day,” you say, your tone light, teasing.

Eddie blinks, caught off guard, but his grin slides into place almost automatically. “You like what you see, princess?”

Shit. Was that too much? Too flirty? He plays it off like it’s nothing, like it’s just another line in the never-ending script of his easy charm.

But you just roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips, and that weird, fleeting moment of panic fades as fast as it came.

“What’s all this?” you ask, nodding toward his scattered papers. “You’re actually doing schoolwork?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Hell no. Just finishing my campaign for tomorrow’s Hellfire session.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head like you should’ve known. And yeah, okay, Eddie’s maybe,  possibly a little too focused on the sound.

“Of course,” you say. “And here I was thinking you finally took our tutoring sessions to heart.”

Eddie smirks, spinning his pen between his fingers.

“Oh, I take them to heart, sweetheart,” he says, tilting his head just slightly. “Just… not right now.”

Eddie watches you hesitate, his fingers idly tapping the edge of his papers, the faint scratch of pencil on paper barely registering in the background. Then you say it, soft, almost uncertain:

“If you’re busy, we can skip tutoring today.”

The words land in his chest like a dull thud.

Skip?

Eddie blinks, caught off guard. You’re the one who’s been pushing this, showing up, dragging him through Shakespeare with that stubborn look in your eyes. You, of all people, offering him an out? He didn’t see that coming.

And the thing is … he doesn’t want to take it.

It’s stupid, really. He’d never admit it, not out loud, not even to himself, not fully, but he   likes these sessions . Not just because he needs them (though he does; graduation’s still a ticking clock he can’t ignore), but because … you’re here. You show up. You make him focus, even when the words on the page feel like they’re in a different language.

He  wants you here.

The thought scrapes against something he’s not ready to name yet, but it’s there, lodged just under his skin.

When you say  skip , there’s this weird, tight flicker of disappointment. It catches him off guard, makes him feel stupid, like he’s been holding onto something without realising it.

He doesn’t want you to bail on him. Not today. Not when he’s finally starting to get it, when the back-and-forth banter has started to feel … good.

So before he can think it through, the words come out, quick, a little defensive, trying to sound casual when his chest feels anything but:

“No way. Just finishing up.”

He glances at you, forcing a half-smirk like it’s no big deal.

He continues scribbling down notes when he notices you glancing at his paper. At first, he doesn’t think much of it. But then you lean in a little closer, eyes scanning the page, and suddenly, his stomach knots up.

This isn’t just some random homework assignment. This is  his thing. His escape, his world, the one place where he feels like he’s actually good at something. And now you’re reading it, really reading it, and he’s not sure if he should be flattered or freaked the hell out.

The panic hits him a beat too late, and he instinctively reaches for the paper, ready to snatch it back. But you’re quicker. You pull it just out of reach, grinning at him like you’re enjoying the game.

“Relax, I’m just looking,” you say, teasing but light, like you don’t realise how much it’s making his chest tighten.

Eddie watches you, heart thudding a little faster. You’re not laughing. You’re not mocking him or rolling your eyes. You’re  focused .

You pause, eyes lifting from the page, and when you speak, it nearly knocks the air out of him.

“Eddie… this is really good.”

He freezes, caught somewhere between disbelief and wanting to melt into the floor. He must look like an idiot, mouth half open, not sure what to say, waiting for the punchline.

But it doesn’t come.

You keep going, pointing at a line, your finger brushing the page in this casual way that feels anything but casual to him. “The way you describe things, the dialogue, the world building, it’s kind of amazing.”

His brain short-circuits.  Amazing ?

He lets out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head, not sure if he should be defensive or just let it happen. “Yeah, well… it’s just D&D.”

But you shake your head, and there’s this look in your eyes—thoughtful, steady, like you  see him in a way that makes his pulse stutter.

“No, it’s storytelling,” you say quietly. “And you’re a really good storyteller.”

Eddie feels his gut flip. His heart beats harder, and he doesn’t know what to do with that, this weird, warm feeling swelling in his chest. He tries to brush it off, laughing a little too quickly.

“Didn’t peg you for a D&D fan,” he mutters, the words more of a deflection than anything else.

You smirk, eyes gleaming. “Didn’t peg you for a decent writer.”

That  gets him, the way you throw it right back, sharp and quick and completely unafraid. He likes it, likes  you , more than he wants to admit. You’re too fast for your own good, and it’s getting under his skin in the best kind of way.

He presses a hand to his chest in mock outrage, but there’s a real heat behind it, something flickering he can’t quite name. “Ouch. Harsh, princess.”

But you don’t let it drop. You push the paper back toward him , voice steady and serious.

“I’m serious. It’s good. Way more creative than half the crap we read in class.”

Eddie can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, wide , almost boyish. “Careful, princess. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you’re cool.”

You shoot back, quick as ever, “Yeah, wouldn’t want that.”

But there’s something in the way you say it, soft around the edges, like maybe you  do want him to think that. Like maybe this back-and-forth means more than just a joke.

He feels it, sharp and electric, and it almost makes him dizzy.

But he shakes it off fast, standing up to grab his English notebook, trying to mask the flutter in his chest with his usual smirk.

“Alright,” he says, tossing the campaign notes aside, though his fingers linger on the paper for a beat too long. He looks at you, smirk in place, but something softer lurking underneath.

“Let’s get this over with. Teach me something, oh wise one.”

Eddie leans back in his chair, rubbing his face like he’s trying to scrub the frustration off his skin. Shakespeare’s words swim in front of him, tangled and nonsensical, and he lets out a breath like he’s about to combust.

He’s  so not used to this. Give him a guitar, a character sheet, and a handful of dice;  that he can handle. But deciphering why Romeo and Juliet think dying for each other is the right move? Yeah, not so much.

Still, even as he struggles, part of him can’t help but notice the way  you handle it. The quiet confidence in your voice, the way you guide him through the chaos like it all  matters . You’ve got this way of making it sound like Shakespeare’s dumb love story is important , and he doesn’t know why, but … he finds himself wanting to understand.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face.“So, let me get this straight, they lock eyes  one time at a party and decide, ‘Yep, that’s it, we’re in love, let’s die for each other’?”

The disbelief drips off every word, and when you smirk, Eddie feels something tighten in his chest, annoyingly warm, but not in a bad way.

“Pretty much,” you say, biting back a grin like you know exactly what you’re doing.

Eddie leans back in his chair, arms folding behind his head, the picture of exasperation. “God, that’s pathetic.”

You sigh, but it’s not an annoyed sound; it’s amused, like you’re used to him being a pain in the ass. He sees it, the way your mouth twitches like you’re trying not to smile, and for some reason, it makes his heart beat a little faster.

“You’re missing the point,” you say, sitting up straighter, a spark in your voice that wasn’t there a second ago.

“Oh, am I?” Eddie smirks, letting the words roll off his tongue slowly, like he’s tasting them. The way you look at him when you’re frustrated, God, it’s  something . He likes pushing that button.

“To me,” he continues, gesturing lazily at the book, “this just sounds like two idiots making really bad life choices.”

“It’s  romantic ,” you retort, your voice sharper than before, and Eddie feels his pulse skip, because you actually  care about this. It’s kind of cute.

“It’s  reckless ,” he fires back without thinking, like it’s second nature, like breathing.

“That’s what makes it beautiful,” you argue, leaning forward like you’re trying to make him  see . “They love each other so much they’d rather die than be apart.”

Eddie snorts, but it feels a little forced now, like maybe the words hit closer than he wanted them to. He raises an eyebrow, teasing, but there’s a weird tightness in his chest, like the idea of  that kind of love, so fast, so  all in , feel s…

Dangerous.

“That’s not love, princess, that’s insanity.”

Eddie watches you, feeling a little thrill at how easily you’re going back and forth, how you’re holding your ground, even when he’s messing with you. He likes it. He likes how you push back against him.

“You have no sense of romance,” you say, exasperated, but not really mad.

Eddie leans in, resting his chin in his hand, eyes locked on you. There’s a little smirk playing at his lips, but inside, something shifts. He’s just about to toss out another comment when it hits him, 

“Alright, so is that how you and Scott feel?”

It’s out before he can stop it, and the second the words hang in the air, Eddie feels something cold crawl down his spine. The look on your face, like he’s hit a nerve, makes his stomach twist.

You freeze . Like a record scratch in the middle of a song.

Your breath catches, just a little, and you fidget with your pencil like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Well… I mean… It’s different,” you say, and your voice is small, uncertain in a way he’s not used to hearing from you.

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together.

“Different how?” His voice softens without him meaning to, less like he’s pushing and more like he … kinda wants to know.

You don’t answer. Just twist the pencil between your fingers, eyes fixed on the table, like you’re holding back something you’re not ready to say. Eddie swallows, throat suddenly dry, and he feels this weird, tight ache in his chest.

He wants to ask again. Wants to know what’s  really going on behind those words.

But he doesn’t.

He lets it hang there, quiet and heavy, while you scramble to shift the focus.

“What about you? Ever been in love?” you ask, your voice light, too light, like you’re trying to patch up a crack in the wall.

Eddie laughs, too quick, too easy, like it’s a reflex. “Pfft. Nope.” 

You raise an eyebrow, not buying it, and Eddie shrugs like it’s no big deal, even though his gut twists a little when he thinks about it.

“Not really my thing,” he says, leaning back, arms crossed behind his head again, armour.

You tilt your head, studying him like you’re trying to see past the deflection. “What, love isn’t your thing?”

He shrugs again, but it feels tight. Guarded. “I mean, the whole ‘laying down my life for someone after one conversation’ thing? Definitely not.”

You laugh, soft and a little breathless, and it  wrecks him. It’s light and easy, but it  hits . Makes his heart stumble in his chest in a way he’s not prepared for.

“That’s not what love is, you know,” you say, voice gentler now, offering, not arguing.

Eddie’s eyes flick to yours, and his smirk falters . Just a little.

“Yeah?” he asks, quieter, like there’s something  underneath the question he’s not ready to admit.

“Yeah.”

Your voice is steady, but your eyes say something else. They look … heavier.

“Real love isn’t just the dramatic stuff. It’s … knowing someone. Choosing them. Even when it’s hard.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say to that. The words sink in, settling like a weight in his chest, and he feels … off-balance.

For once, he doesn’t have a smartass comment ready.

He just … looks at you.

The silence stretches, and Eddie hates how much it makes his skin buzz, how much he’s suddenly  aware of everything, the way your hair catches the light, the curve of your fingers around the pencil, the steady rise and fall of your breath.

He breaks first.

“You actually do love this stuff, huh?” he says, a little gruff, a little deflecting.

Your answer is immediate, sure. “I do. It’s dramatic and messy and over the top, but that’s kind of the point. Shakespeare makes you feel things, even after all these years.”

Eddie swallows, throat tight.

He watches you, trying to figure out what it is about you that feels so … different. Why he’s even still here, letting you pull him into this world he never cared about?

“Huh,” he mutters, like he’s playing it off, but really, it’s the only thing he can think to say.

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

He shrugs, looking down at his book, feeling heat creeping up his neck for reasons he doesn’t want to unpack.

“Nothing. Jus t… I think I get why you’re good at this.”

The way you look down quick, that flash of a shy smile, the way you brush it off like it’s nothing, Eddie feels that in his chest, sharp and warm all at once.

He doesn’t know what the hell this is, but he knows he likes the way your eyes crinkle when you smile.

And that? That might be the scariest part.

Chapter Text

Your Perspective

Friday comes, and for the first time all week, you and Eddie don’t have a tutoring session.

You have Yearbook , and he has Hellfire. 

You should be relieved, one less thing to juggle. But as you gather your things, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s … missing. It’s not like you  need to see him every day. But still, as you pack up your books, you feel a small pang of disappointment.

Which is  stupid , obviously.

It’s not like you  like spending time with Eddie Munson. You’re just getting used to it, that’s all.

Still, you stayed up late last night, scribbling together a study sheet for him. Not that you expect him to actually use it . He’ll probably crumple it up and stuff it in his pocket, or worse, turn it into some makeshift prop for a campaign.

But just in case, you figure it’s worth a try.

You spot Eddie at his locker and make your way over, study sheet in hand. He notices you and leans back against the metal, arms crossed, a lazy smirk tugging at his mouth.

“W ell, well. What’s this? ” he asks as you hand it over.

You shift your weight, feeling a sudden flush of self-consciousness. “ Just… a study sheet. In case you feel like, I don’t know …  studying .”

Eddie flips through it, his grin faltering for a split second, replaced by something more … quiet. Almost unreadable.

“Y ou— ” He stops, clears his throat, then tries again. “ You actually made this? For me ?”

You try to brush it off, “ It’s not a big deal if you don’t get round to it .”

Eddie lets out a low whistle, shaking his head as he glances over your notes. He grins, tucking the paper into his locker with exaggerated care. “ Well, damn. If I do it, do I get a reward? Like, I dunno, a gold star? A trophy? A passionate speech about how proud you are of me ?”

You laugh despite yourself. “ I’ll consider it .”

Eddie smirks. “ Good enough for me .”

You’re still smiling when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye, Scott, standing across the hall, watching. His expression darkens, jaw tight. And worse? He’s heading straight for you.

Scott strides over, that practised smile stretched a little too wide across his face. You see the tension in his shoulders, the forced casualness in his steps.

“H ey, babe, ” he says, eyes flicking between you and Eddie. The words are light, but there’s an edge, sharp and deliberate. “ Looks like you two are having fun. Keeping busy ?”

Eddie, with that mischievous grin of his, leans back against his locker, not missing a beat. “ Oh yeah, just trying to see if I can recruit her to my cult. I mean, I’ve been telling her about the benefits of becoming a Satanist. You know, the usual stuff .”

Scott freezes for a moment, clearly trying to hold back his irritation. He lets out a dry laugh. “ Yeah, funny man. ” He crosses his arms, trying to keep the conversation casual. 

You can feel the subtle edge to his words, but he’s holding it together for the moment, trying not to cause a scene. “ Well, just don’t get too distracted, babe. You’ve got enough to juggle with yearbook and everything else .”

You catch the slight sharpness in his voice, but you don’t react immediately. Instead, you give him a cool smile. “ I’ve got it covered, Scott. Thanks for the reminder .”

There’s a beat of silence, and you almost wonder if he’s going to push the issue further. But instead, he just nods, as if satisfied with his little “ warning, ” before glancing back at Eddie, clearly trying to maintain the upper hand.  

Then, like he  owns the moment, he adds, “ Meet me at the front door after practice. I’ll finish at 4:30 .”

You nod, “ Okay .”

Scott leans in and kisses you, but it’s stiff and awkward, clearly more for show than anything real. You can feel the coldness of it, the way it’s all for the eyes of anyone watching. When he pulls away, he gives you a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Eddie’s watching from a distance, and as soon as Scott walks off, he lets out a low chuckle, his expression somewhere between amused and disapproving. He gives you a raised eyebrow, but there’s a touch of sarcasm in his voice when he says, “ Well, that was… something .”

You give Eddie a small smile, still feeling embarrassed at Scott's behaviour. “ I'd better get to class. Have a good weekend, Eddie .”

Eddie flashes you a sly grin, his eyes narrowing playfully. “ I will now, princess, ” he says, his voice low and casual. 

You feel a small flutter in your chest, and Eddie notices, his eyes glinting with a teasing warmth before he steps back, giving you a wink.

You stand at the front door, glancing down at your watch. It’s gone 5 pm and the rain’s only getting worse. You rushed out of Yearbook early to make sure you’d be on time, and yet, there’s still no sign of Scott.

You glance at the parking lot, hoping to see his car, but it’s empty.

You tap your foot, impatience rising, but you try to stay calm. Maybe he’s parked somewhere else, maybe he’s just running late; he always has an excuse. But a small part of you wonders if this is another way for him to remind you who’s in control.

You hear Eddie’s voice before you even spot him, and you look up, startled.

“H ey, ” Eddie greets, raising an eyebrow. “ What are you still doing here ?”

“W aiting for Scott, ” you say, sounding a little less enthusiastic than you intended.

Eddie pauses mid-step, a hesitant look crossing his face. You can see he’s trying to piece something together. After a moment, he shifts, clearly uncomfortable, before speaking again.

“U h… when I was packing up my D&D stuff in the van… I saw Scott. He, uh … drove off. ” He glances toward the parking lot, then back at you, almost wincing. “ With Heather .”

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

You blink, swallowing hard, the realisation crashing in. Scott’s not even  trying to hide it anymore.

You scramble to patch the moment over, the lie spilling out too fast. “ Oh. Yeah. I’m such an idiot. Scott mentioned the other day that he had a project with Heather. I must’v e … I guess I forgot .”

But Eddie doesn’t buy it. You can see it in his face—the way his jaw sets, the quiet, steady way he looks at you, like he’s trying to hold the pieces of you together even when you’re falling apart. His voice lowers, careful, firm .

“ Y ou’re not an idiot, ” he says, the words deliberate, meant to stick. “ Scott said he’d pick you up. I heard him say it .”

You feel a flush of heat rush to your cheeks as you realise you’ve been caught in your lie. You try to pull it together, but it’s like the dam is breaking inside you, and all that frustration and disappointment you’ve been holding in bubbles to the surface. You can feel the sting of tears in your eyes, but you force yourself not to let them fall, desperately trying to hide how much Scott’s actions are getting to you.

Eddie seems to sense this, and the tension in the air shifts. His voice softens. “ Come on. Let me give you a ride home .“

You hesitate, glancing down at your shoes like they’ll give you an out.

“T hanks, Eddie, but… I’ll just walk, ” you mumble, trying for casual. “ It’s not that far .”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “ Walk? ” he repeats, half-teasing, half incredulous. “ In  this rain? ” He shakes his head, smirking like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “ You’ll catch pneumonia for sure. And if you do, I’m definitely failing English, so, y’know , you’re kinda my problem now .”

The words are light, easy, almost playful, and catch you off guard. You feel your mouth curve into a small, reluctant smile, even though the ache in your chest is still there.

You let out a soft sigh, the kind that sounds a little like surrender.

“O kay, okay, ” you say, voice quiet, almost sheepish. “ I guess I can’t argue with that .”

Eddie grins, his usual mischievous spark still present, but there’s something different in his expression now. 

Before you can even think to protest, he shrugs off his leather jacket and lifts it over your head, shielding you from the rain. It’s warm, smells like him, faint traces of smoke, soap, and something else you can’t quite place.

“C ome on, ” he says, smirking, but his voice is gentle. “ Let’s get you home .”

You blink, taken aback, but the warmth of his gesture is undeniable. A small, nervous laugh escapes you, “ Eddie, you’ll freeze, ” you protest, glancing up at him as the rain splatters against his hair and shoulders. “ And your hair! You’ll ruin it .”

He shrugs, clearly unfazed. “ I’ve had worse, ” he says with a grin that makes your heart race just a little bit faster. “ And besides, you’re more important than my hair .”

The words hit you harder than they should. You look away, trying to hide the flush rising to your cheeks, but it’s too late; you know he saw it.

The rain drums steadily around you as he leads you toward the van, his jacket a makeshift shield between you and the storm. You don’t even realise how close you’re standing until you’re there, at the passenger side door, and Eddie pulls it open for you.

For a beat, you just stand there, surprised.

Scott has never opened a door for you, except when he’s angry, when he’s trying to force you into the car like a show of control. This feels different. There’s something soft about it, something that makes you feel like you actually matter, like your comfort matters.

You glance up at Eddie, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “ Thanks, Eddie, ” you say, your voice a little quieter than usual.

He smiles back at you, looking a little confused, but his eyes warm, before he gives you a quick wink. “ Anytime. Now get in before you actually do catch pneumonia, ” he says with a teasing laugh.

You climb into the passenger seat, feeling a little lighter than before, even if just for the moment. Eddie slides in behind the wheel, shaking rainwater out of his hair like a wet dog, and starts the van with a low rumble that seems to match the energy thrumming through him.

“S o, ” you ask, your voice light, “ how was Hellfire tonight ?”

Eddie’s eyes brighten instantly, like you just flipped a switch. That easy, mischievous grin of his tugs at the corner of his mouth. “ It was…  insane . Like, I thought Gareth was gonna flip the table at one point,  literally . The campaign’s almost done, so everyone’s just going feral at this point .”

You tilt your head, smiling at the way he lights up when he talks about it. “ So… what is Hellfire, exactly? I mean, I know it’s your D&D club, but I don’t really get what it all  is . What do you  do ?”

Eddie laughs, a warm, low sound that fills the space between you. “ Ah, the great mystery of  Dungeons & Dragons , ” he says, with a dramatic flair, like he’s about to reveal a secret. He leans back in his seat, one hand loose on the wheel, the other gesturing animatedly as he talks.

“A lright, so picture this: I’m the Dungeon Master; DM for short. That means I’m the guy behind the curtain, the mastermind. I make the world, the monsters, the traps, the whole damn adventure. I’m like the storyteller, villain and the referee all rolled into one. The guys? They’re the heroes; fighters, wizards, rogues, you name it. They make the choices, roll the dice, and try not to get themselves killed .”

You blink, taking it all in, and a slow smile spreads across your face. “ So… you’re like the narrator. But with  total control over everything ?”

“E xactly! ” Eddie points at you like you’ve just solved the mystery of the universe. “ It’s like… It’s   chaos , but it’s my chaos. I set the stage, they make their choices, and then I throw the consequences at them .”

You laugh, remembering the way you’d seen him hunched over his notebook, scribbling furiously like a man possessed. “ So that’s what you were writing the other day, you’re really good at it, aren’t you ?”

Eddie blinks, caught off guard for a second, like he wasn’t expecting the compliment. A flush creeps up his neck, but he tries to play it cool, shrugging like it’s no big deal, though the tiny, crooked smile that tugs at his lips says otherwise.

“Y ou think so? ” he asks, quieter now. “ I mean… yeah, I put a lot of work into it. I try to make it fun, you know? Keep them on their toes, give them something to care about. Sometimes I think I go overboard, Dustin would probably say I  definitely go overboard , but they keep showing up, so… ” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but the way he says it, there’s a flicker of pride, too.

You smile, the tension from earlier loosening a little in your chest. For a moment, it’s just easy, laughing about D&D and letting the sound of the rain fill the quiet spaces between you. But then, almost as if he’s trying to steer the conversation somewhere else, Eddie’s voice shifts, just slightly.

“S o… you and Scott… you guys okay ?”

The words hang in the air, deceptively casual, but there’s an edge of something in his voice. Like he’s not  just asking.

You freeze for a second, caught off guard. Your stomach tightens, and there’s a sudden lump in your throat that you try to swallow down. You’re not sure why it feels so hard to answer, but the way Eddie’s looking at you, like he actually  sees you, like he’s paying attention, it makes you feel a little exposed.

You rush the reply, a little too quickly. “ Yeah. We’re fine .”

The lie tastes bitter, but you let it hang there anyway, hoping it’ll do.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, and for a second, you think he might call you on it. But he doesn’t . He just looks at you a moment longer than necessary, like he’s still trying to figure you out, and then he nods, slow, quiet, like he knows there’s more you’re not saying, but he’s not going to push.

He turns his attention back to the road, the windshield wipers cutting across the rain, and the van hums along beneath you both.

“N ot sure if you’ve noticed, ” he says low, a sly edge slipping in, “ but Scott and I? We don’t exactly get along. So if he bails on you again, I’m totally down to sacrifice him to a demon. Gotta keep things fair, right ?”

You snort, caught off guard, and a laugh bubbles up before you can stop it. It’s the kind of laugh that feels warm in your chest, like you really needed it.

“I might take you up on that, ” you say, giving him a look, trying to match his weird with your own. “ As long as it’s a real demon, no half-assing it .”

Eddie’s grin spreads like he’s just won something. “ Oh, absolutely. Full horns, smoke, maybe some Latin chanting … gotta make it epic .”

You shake your head, smiling, the weight on your chest a little lighter. 

“B ut seriously… if you ever need to get outta the rain, metaphorically or literally, I’m not hard to find. “

You offer a small, genuine smile. “ Thanks, Eddie .”

He shoots you a grin and tosses a quick wink your way. “ Anytime, princess .”

You brush it off, trying not to let the little flutter in your chest get the better of you.

Eddie reaches for the radio dial, flicking through stations until he lands on something familiar. The opening riffs of Paranoid roar through the speakers, the heavy metal pulse filling the van.

“T his, ” Eddie says with a grin, glancing over at you, “ this is real music. ” There’s a teasing pride in his voice.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to hide the amused smile tugging at your lips. “ It’s … loud, ” you say, leaning back a little as the drums kick in. You’ve never really been into metal, too heavy, too much , but there’s something kind of contagious about the way Eddie’s nodding along, completely in his element.

“L oud? ” Eddie repeats, like you’ve just insulted his entire existence. He leans forward, twisting the knob up a notch until the volume practically shakes the windows. “ C’mon , don’t tell me you’ve never listened to Ozzy .”

“I know  of him, ” you admit, your voice a little wry, a little sheepish. “ But, uh… my parents weren’t exactly blasting Black Sabbath on the weekends .”

Eddie groans dramatically, flopping back in his seat like you’ve physically pained him. “That’s a crime. A crime. What’d they have you listening to instead, Barry Manilow?”

You snort. “ No! Just … normal stuff. Pop. The radio .”

Eddie’s face twists in mock horror. “ The radio? You poor, sheltered soul. ” His eyes glint as he leans closer, voice dropping like he’s letting you in on a secret. “ Don’t worry, I’ll fix you. We’ll start with Ozzy, ease you into Metallica, maybe some Dio—by the end of the month, you’ll be headbanging in the front row at a Corroded Coffin gig. Trust me .”

You scoff, grinning despite yourself. “ Yeah, I don’t think so. I like music, I can actually  hear the next day .”

Eddie smirks, his voice low and a little conspiratorial, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “ That’s the point, sweetheart. It’s   supposed to rattle around in your skull. It’s like … freedom, y’know ? The sound of not giving a damn .”

You tilt your head, watching him for a moment as the rain streaks down the windshield. “ Freedom, huh ?”

He nods, still watching the road, but you can see the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “ Exactly. One day you’ll get it. When you’re ready to stop being so boring .”

You give him a look—half glare, half smile, and shove his shoulder lightly. “ Oh, shut up .”

He laughs, the sound warm and bright, and you find yourself smiling too, more than you expected to.

The rest of the drive settles into a rhythm, the music loud but not too loud, the rain soft against the van’s roof, and his relentless teasing about your “ boring ” taste in music.

But you don’t mind. Not one bit.

Eddie slows the van to a stop outside your house, the rumble of the engine filling the quiet space between you. The rain is still falling, though it’s softened into a steady drizzle , the streetlights casting a hazy glow over the wet pavement.

He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at your house before turning back to you. “ Well,  princess , ” he says, smirking. “ Your castle awaits .”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “ You really won’t let that nickname go, huh ?”

“N ot a chance, ” he says, grinning. 

You hesitate for a moment, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. You don’t   want to go inside, not yet. There’s something about the warmth of Eddie’s van, the way he makes you laugh so easily, that makes it hard to leave. Inside, it’s expectations and rules and Scott. Out here, with Eddie, it’s different. It’s   easy.

“H ey, ” he says, voice quieter now, like he’s trying not to scare it off. “ You okay ?”

You don’t meet his eyes right away . Just that small, tight smile, the kind that looks more like a reflex than something real.

“Y our throat tightens, and you force a small smile. “ Yeah. Just … long day .”

He nods slowly, eyes on you like he’s not sure whether to believe you. He taps the wheel once, twice, like he wants to say more but doesn’t .

You clear your throat, trying to shake it off. “ See you Monday ?”

Eddie leans back, his smirk returning just enough to soften the moment. “ Wouldn’t miss it .”

You open the door, stepping out into the drizzle. The cold air bites at your skin, and you hear the engine rev lightly as you walk toward the porch. You can’t help it, you glance back over your shoulder, just once. Eddie’s still there, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the back of the passenger seat, like he’s waiting for something.

And then, almost too quickly, he lifts his hand in a lazy salute and pulls away, the van’s taillights glowing in the rain.

You watch until they disappear, heart doing something you don’t quite know what to do with, before turning back to the house.

Eddie's Perspective

Friday comes, and for the first time all week, Eddie doesn’t have a tutoring session with you after school.

He should feel relieved , right? A break from the Shakespeare lectures, the relentless studying, the back-and-forth banter. But as the day drags on, there’s this hollow, nagging feeling in his chest, like something’s off. Like something’s missing.

He’s gotten used to seeing you every day, tucked away in the library or that little spot you’ve claimed for yourselves. Your voice in his ear, your pencil tapping against your notebook, your laugh, too bright, too warm. It’s crept under his skin in the best way, and now that it’s gone, the quiet feels too loud.

It’s stupid. It’s just … he’s getting used to it, getting used to you.

And then there you are, walking toward him, a paper in hand, looking a little awkward, like you’re not sure if you should even be doing this.

Eddie leans against his locker, arms crossed, a smirk curling across his lips. “What’s this?”

You hold the paper out, a little self-conscious. “Just… a study sheet. In case you feel like, I don’t know … studying.”

He takes it, flipping through the pages. It’s not just a couple of half-assed notes; you actually  made him something. Neat, detaile d… t houghtful .

He clears his throat, caught off guard by the quiet care behind it. “You…” he starts, stopping himself because, honestly, what the hell is he supposed to say? “You actually made this? For me?”

You try to play it off. “It’s not a big deal if you don’t get round to it.”

But it is a big deal. You’ve spent your time on this, and for some reason, it’s got him feeling something he’s not used to. He shakes his head, whistling low. He tucks the paper into his locker with exaggerated care, like it’s fragile, important.

“Well, damn,” he says, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “If I actually use it, do I get a reward? Like, I dunno, a gold star? A trophy? A passionate speech about how proud you are of me?”

He teases, trying to deflect whatever weirdness he’s feeling. His usual cockiness is back, but there’s something different about it now. He’s not just messing with you; he’s grateful. He knows it, even if he doesn’t know how to say it.

You laugh. “I’ll consider it.”

“Good enough for me,” Eddie smirks, feeling a little lighter. A little warmer.

As you laugh, Eddie spots Scott, and he can feel the shift in the air. Eddie can see it, the way Scott’s jaw tightens, the forced smile that doesn’t fool anyone.

Scott looks at you first, that sugary tone creeping into his voice, but Eddie doesn’t miss the flicker of irritation behind it. 

“Hey, babe,” he says, turning to you first. Then, he glances at Eddie, still with that smile. “Looks like you two are having fun. Keeping busy?”

For a moment, Eddie actually feels a flash of guilt. He’s not stupid; it’s obvious Scott doesn’t like the idea of his girlfriend, his “perfect” girlfriend, enjoying herself with the freak.

He notices the way Scott’s eyes shift between him and you, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s in control of the situation. Eddie’s not about to let him have that satisfaction. He steps in with a grin, leaning even more casually against the locker. “Oh yeah, just trying to recruit her to my cult. Been telling her all about the perks of being a Satanist. You know, the usual stuff.”

He watches Scott’s expression flicker for a second, like the guy’s trying to figure out if Eddie’s joking or if he’s actually serious. The dry laugh that follows is exactly what Eddie expected, but there’s no mistaking the tension in the way Scott holds himself. He’s not buying it, and that’s fine by Eddie. It’s fun to rattle the guy a little.

Scott crosses his arms, and Eddie can see the control slipping. He’s trying to play it cool, but it’s obvious he’s itching for something. “Yeah, funny man,” Scott says, trying to keep it light but failing.

Eddie just shrugs, letting the silence settle. If Scott wants a pissing contest, he can have it, but Eddie’s not about to play by his rules.

Scott turns back to you, voice still sweet, but there’s a razor’s edge to it now. “Just don’t get too distracted, babe. You’ve got enough to juggle with yearbook and everything else.”

Eddie can hear the warning in it, the subtle dig. But you? You handle it better than he expects. Your voice is calm, even.

“I’ve got it covered, Scott. Thanks for checking in.”

It’s smooth. Controlled. Too controlled.

You’re good at hiding it. Good at playing the part, making it look like everything’s fine, even when it’s not. He’s not sure if he should admire it or feel bad for you.

“Meet me at the front door after practice so I can take you home. I finish at 4:30.” The way Scott says it, like he’s giving orders, makes Eddie bristle. 

He watches Scott lean in for a kiss, quick and stiff, like it’s a formality. Like he’s marking his territory. Eddie can’t help but narrow his eyes, his gut churning. It’s awkward. Cold. And you, you stand there and take it, your smile faltering just a little.

Scott walks off, and Eddie can’t stop the low chuckle that slips out.

“Well, that was…  something ,” he mutters, raising an eyebrow at you. 

He looks at you, unsure if he’s being too harsh. But there’s something in the way you carry yourself after that kiss, something Eddie doesn’t like. 

You give him a smile, but there’s that hint of discomfort still lingering in the air. He notices how your smile fades just a little, how your eyes look just a bit … lost.

When you tell him to have a good weekend, he smiles, but it’s not as playful as usual.

“I will now, princess,” he says, his voice low and casual, trying to make you laugh, to take some of the tension away.

When he catches the way your eyes look a little brighter after that, a flicker of something deep inside him shifts, like he’s just made it better, even if just for a second. It’s unexpected, but it feels good. Almost like he’s done something right for once . And that makes him feel … something.

He steps back, gives you a wink, one of his usual teasing ones, but this time, it feels different. When you smile back, it’s like everything stops for a moment. He can’t ignore how it makes him feel, the way it flutters in his chest. But he pushes it down. That’s not for now. It’s not even something he’s supposed to think about.

After school, Eddie’s still buzzing from the Hellfire session as he shoves the last of his things into the back of his van. It was a good one, the kind of night that makes him forget about everything else for a while—the dice rolls, the strategies, the laughs. He feels a buzz, a little high off the game, and it’s the first time in a while he’s felt like this, all energised and ready to take on the world.

He’s about to slam the van door shut when something catches his eye: Scott, across the lot, climbing into his car. And he’s not alone. Heather’s sliding into the passenger seat, leaning close, the two of them laughing like they’ve got their own private joke.

Eddie’s stomach tightens.

Didn’t Scott say he’d take  you home?

He pauses, frowning, watching the car pull away. The engine hums, the taillights blink, and they’re gone, leaving the parking lot a little too quiet behind them.

Eddie shakes his head, trying to brush it off. Maybe there’s an explanation. Probably is, right? Not his business anyway. He turns, slams the door shut, and heads back into the school. Just needs to grab his jacket from his locker, then he’s free for the weekend.

But as he rounds the corner toward the front doors, he sees you.

Standing there. Alone.

You’re hugging your books to your chest like a shield, your posture stiff, your expression tight, like you’re holding yourself together by sheer force of will.

Fuck. 

Eddie slows, his heart giving a weird little thump. His voice is soft when he speaks, almost careful. “Hey… what are you still doing here?”

You glance up, your expression a little too composed, a little too practised. “Just waiting for Scott,” you say, like it’s nothing. But your voice is flat, like you’re already trying to convince yourself it’s fine.

Eddie hesitates, shifting on his feet. His chest feels tight, an ache starting to form behind his ribs. He knows he shouldn’t say it, knows it’s probably not his plac e… 

“Uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, awkwardly. “When I was packing up my stuff, I saw Scott leaving. He, um…” His eyes flick toward the parking lot, then back to you. “He left with Heather.”

Your face falters, just for a second, but Eddie sees it . The mask slips, and you blink like you’re trying to process the words.

Then you snap back, too fast, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Oh. Yeah, I’m such an idiot. He mentioned … something about a project with her. I guess I forgot.”

But Eddie sees right through it. He hesitates, the words catching on his tongue. He doesn’t want to make it worse, doesn’t want to embarrass you, but he can’t let you stand there blaming yourself when you didn’t mess up.

“Hey. You’re not an idiot. He said he’d pick you up. I was there when he said it.”

For a second, he thinks maybe he’s made it worse, but it’s the truth. And you  deserve that.

He watches as you force yourself not to cry, like you’re desperately trying to keep your emotions hidden. It hits him like a punch to the gut, and he feels like an idiot for not realising it sooner. Of course, Scott ditched you. And you’re standing here, trying to make excuses for him, trying to convince yourself that you messed up somehow . Like that’s less embarrassing than your boyfriend leaving you out in the rain.

Eddie swallows, feeling this rush of something sharp and protective and  helpless all at once. He’s not great at this shit, not great at feelings or comforting people. But he can’t just walk away, not when you look like that—like you’re barely holding yourself together.

So he blurts it out, almost before he thinks it through.

“Come on. Let me give you a ride home.”

He watches you hesitate, glancing down at your shoes like maybe they’re gonna give you some kind of answer. Then, you try to brush it off, as if walking in the rain’s no big deal. “Thanks, Eddie, but I’ll just walk home. It’s not that far.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smirk. He doesn’t buy it for a second. “Walk home?” he repeats, his tone half-teasing, half serious. “In this rain?” he says, smirking. “You’ll catch pneumonia for sure. And if you do, I’m  definitely failing English, so … you’re kinda my problem now.”

That pulls a reluctant smile out of you, small and a little wobbly, but it’s  real . He feels a little lighter inside, even if he knows you’re still upset. 

“Okay, okay,” you say, and he can hear the smile creeping into your words. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

He doesn’t really know why; he barely knows you, but the sight of you standing there, books clutched tight to your chest like a shield, hair damp with rain, has him moving before he can stop to think about it.

You shouldn’t be left standing out in the cold like this. Not by Scott. Not by anyone.

Before he can overthink it, Eddie shrugs off his jacket and lifts it over your head. It’s automatic, instinctive. 

“Come on, let’s get you home,” he says, flashing a small , crooked grin. The teasing glint is still there, but there’s something softer in his eyes now, something he can’t quite hide, even if he wanted to.

You blink up at him, caught off guard, a laugh slipping out. “Eddie, you’ll  freeze ,” you say, voice light but worried, your eyes flicking to his soaked hair and damp t-shirt. “And your hair! You’ll ruin it.”

It’s such a small thing, how you’re  worried about him . Even when you’re the one whose boyfriend left you in the rain. And it does something weird to him, that tiny flicker of care in your voice. Warms him up from the inside out, like a flicker of something he doesn’t know how to name.

“I’ve had worse,” he says without thinking, shrugging like it’s nothing. But then, before he can stop himself, the words slip out, soft, almost sheepish:

“Besides… you’re more important than my hair.”

As soon as it’s out, he feels a flush creep up his neck. He didn’t  mean to say it like that. It sounds, well,  soft , and Eddie Munson doesn’t  do soft. He tries to brush it off, but the way you look away, biting your lip to hide the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth … yeah. It does something to him.

The rain keeps beating down, cold and relentless, but Eddie barely feels it. His jacket’s doing its job, keeping  you dry, and that’s all that matters. He walks you to the van, pulling the door open without thinking. It’s automatic, really; he doesn’t even register the way you pause, standing there like you weren’t expecting it.

For a second, he wonders if he did something wrong.

But then you glance up at him, soft and a little uncertain, and say, “Thanks, Eddie.”

And it  throws him.

It’s just a door. It’s just a ride home. It’s just a jacket. It’s not like he’s done anything special. So why are you thanking him like it  means something?

He tries to play it off, hiding the weird flutter in his chest behind a grin and a wink. “Anytime,” he says, voice light, teasing. “Now get in before you actually  do catch pneumonia.”

Eddie watches you climb into the van; he can’t help the small , satisfied tug of a smile that creeps across his face. There’s just something about the way you look in his passenger seat, a little damp, a little tired, but grinning like the rain didn’t completely ruin your night.

He slides behind the wheel, shaking out his hair like a wet dog, sending droplets everywhere, and starts the van with a low growl that thrums under his fingertips.

Then you ask, light, curious, casual:

“So… how was Hellfire tonight?”

Eddie’s grin spreads instantly, like someone flipped a switch. Christ, it’s too easy to talk to you. The fact that you’re even  asking , that you’re interested, sparks something in him that he tries to smother, but it flares up anyway, bright and stubborn.

“It was… insane,” he says, letting the excitement crackle through his voice. “Like, I thought Gareth was gonna flip the table at one point, literally. The campaign’s almost done, so everyone’s just going crazy at this point.”

You tilt your head, smiling like you’re genuinely interested, and Eddie has to look away for a second, as if he stares at you too long, he might say something stupid.

“What is Hellfire, exactly?” you ask, voice a little shy, like you’re not sure if you’re supposed to know. “I mean, I know it’s your D&D club, but I don’t really get it. What do you do?”

Eddie can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, warm, low, and so easy. 

“Ah, the great mystery of Dungeons & Dragons,” he says, throwing in a bit of dramatic flair. He leans back, one hand drumming the wheel, the other moving through the air like he’s sketching out a story.

“Alright, so picture this: I’m the Dungeon Master; DM for short. That means I’m the guy behind the curtain, the mastermind. I make the world, the monsters, the traps, the whole damn adventure. I’m like the storyteller, villain, and the referee all rolled into one. The guys? They’re the heroes; fighters, wizards, rogues, you name it. They make the choices, roll the dice, and try not to get themselves killed.”

He glances over at you and feels a little jolt, like maybe this is the part where you’ll laugh, or say it’s dumb, or look bored. But you’re  smiling . Like , really  listening .

“So… you’re like the narrator . But with total control over everything?” you ask, a curious tilt to your voice that makes the grin spread wider across Eddie’s face.

“Exactly!” Eddie points at you, grinning like an idiot because, shit,  you get it . For once, someone’s not looking at him like he’s just some freak obsessed with dice and dragons.

“It’s like… It’s chaos, but it’s  my chaos. I set the stage, they make their choices, and then I throw the consequences at them.”

You laugh, and it’s so easy,  too easy. You’re looking at him like he’s not some freak, not some burnout in a van talking about dice and dragons like it’s life or death. You’re just … looking. 

“So that’s what you were writing the other day, you’re really good at it, aren’t you?”

Eddie blinks. For a second, the words don’t even register, like he misheard you. But then they do, and it’s like the air gets knocked out of him, just a little.

You think I’m good at it?

His first instinct is to brush it off, shrug, make a joke, play it cool. But your voice, the way you say it like you mean it, makes that harder than usual. A flush creeps up his neck, and he ducks his head slightly, trying to hide the way his cheeks heat up.

“You think so?” he says, the words slipping out quieter than he meant them to. “I mean… yeah. I put a lot of work into it. I try to make it fun, you know? Keep them on their toes, give them something to care about. Sometimes I think I go overboard, Dustin would definitely say I go overboard, but they keep showing up, so…” He shrugs again, trying to play it off , but there’s this  flicker of pride in his voice he can’t quite bury.

It’s like maybe, just  maybe , you’re not looking at him the way everyone else does.

And  shit , he likes it a little too much.

He should leave it there, should just let the moment sit, but something tugs at him, something sharp and restless. It’s not really his business, right? But after everything tonight, seeing you standing out in the rain, waiting for a guy who never showed, he can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

Eddie glances over at you, trying to keep his tone casual. “So… you and Scott okay?”

He tells himself he’s just curious, just making conversation, but there’s a part of him that actually wants to know. 

You freeze for half a second, and Eddie catches it. It’s quick, like you’re trying to cover it up, but it’s there. That little flicker of something in your eyes.

“Yeah. We’re fine,” you say quickly, too quickly, and Eddie’s not buying it. Not for a second.

The words hang there, thin and brittle, like they might snap if he pokes too hard. He considers it for a beat , wonders if he should call you on it, push a little. But you’re already biting the inside of your cheek, eyes flicking away, and there’s something in your posture, tight, like you’re bracing for a hit, that makes him ease off.

He turns back to the road, jaw tight, the wipers slicing through the rain. He wants to ask again, but he knows better. So he does what he always does when shit gets too real. 

“Not sure if you’ve noticed,” he says, voice low and a little sly, “but Scott and I? We don’t exactly get along. So if he bails on you again, I’m totally down to sacrifice him to a demon. Gotta keep things fair, right?”

And there it is, that laugh of yours. Caught off-guard, bubbling up like you couldn’t stop it even if you tried. It’s warm, real , and it hits Eddie like a jolt to the chest. He grins, wide and a little reckless, feeling like he’s just  won something.

Then you fire back, eyes sparkling, voice light. 

“I might take you up on that. As long as it’s a real demon—no half-assing it.”

Eddie’s grin practically splits his face. Oh,  hell yes .

“Oh, absolutely,” he says, leaning into it, feeling that spark fizz in his chest. “Full horns, smoke, maybe some Latin chanting… gotta make it epic.”

For a second, it feels like you’re in on it with him, like you  get him, and Eddie feels a rush of something stupid and dangerous bloom in his chest.

Then, because he’s a fucking idiot, he pushes it a little too far.

“But seriously…” His voice softens without meaning to, words coming out before he can stop them. “If you ever need to get outta the rain, metaphorically or literally, I’m not hard to find.”

Shit . As soon as it’s out, Eddie feels it in his gut. Too much. Too soft. That’s not who he is. He’s supposed to be the loudmouth, the weirdo, the guy who cracks jokes about demons and dragons. It’s just—he doesn’t like seeing you so small in the passenger seat, clutching your bag like a damn life raft. He doesn’t like thinking about you standing in the rain alone while Scott’s off doing God knows what. He doesn’t like it,  and it shows , and that’s a problem.

But the n…Y ou look at him , something a little raw in your eyes, and you say it so quietly it almost knocks the breath out of him .

“Thanks, Eddie.”

It sounds like you  needed to hear that. Like maybe you  needed to hear it. That you’re not alone. That someone’s paying attention.

He grins, crooked, easy, and tosses you a wink. “Anytime, princess.”

He clears his throat and leans forward, fingers flicking over the radio dial. The static hums through the speakers until, yes!  Paranoid . The opening riffs explode into the van, heavy and raw, like a shot of adrenaline straight to his veins.

Eddie grins, glancing over at you,

“This,” he says, practically vibrating in his seat, “this is real music.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, like you’re trying not to give him the satisfaction.

“It’s… loud,” you say, your voice lilting with that almost-teasing tone.

Eddie scoffs, leaning back like you’ve just insulted the very foundation of his being.

“Loud?” he echoes, like you’ve just cursed at him in Latin. His hand cranks the dial up, the volume roaring until it  shakes the van a little, the bass thudding in his chest.

He sneaks a glance at you, half-expecting you to cover your ears, maybe roll your eyes, but instead you just lean back, your smile curling at the edges like you’re  amused .

It makes his pulse jump, just a little.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never listened to Ozzy,” he asks, half-daring, half-pleading.

“I know of him,” you say, voice a little sheepish, like it’s some dark confession. “But… my parents weren’t exactly blasting Black Sabbath on the weekends.”

Eddie groans, flopping back in his seat like you’ve just physically  wounded him.

“That’s a crime. A  crime . What’d they have you listening to instead? Barry freakin’ Manilow?”

Your laugh bursts out—sharp and real—and Eddie’s chest does that stupid  flip thing again.

“No!” you say, grinning now, and god, if that doesn’t make him want to smile right back. “Just… normal stuff. Pop. The radio.”

Eddie shakes his head like he can’t even process the tragedy you’re describing.

“The radio,” he mutters, like it’s a dirty word. Then he leans in a little, voice low, like he’s letting you in on something sacred.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fix you. We’ll start with Ozzy, ease you into Metallica, maybe some Dio—by the end of the month, you’ll be headbanging in the back row at a Corroded Coffin gig. Trust me.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” you say, and your voice is soft, but your eyes are sparkling. “I like music, I can actually hear the next day.”

Eddie grins, wide and a little cocky, and there’s this twist in his gut, because this? This banter, this easy back-and-forth, the way you’re smiling at him like you’re  enjoying this? It’s the kind of thing he doesn’t get to have very often.

He leans back in his seat, watching the road, but he can’t help the smirk tugging at his lips.

“That’s the point, sweetheart. It’s supposed to rattle around in your skull. It’s like … freedom, y’know? The sound of not giving a damn.”

He says it lightly, like a joke, but there’s something real under the words . A truth he doesn’t know how to explain.

And that’s what  you need, he thinks. To stop giving a damn about everyone else.

“Freedom, huh?” you repeat, voice soft.

He nods, keeping his eyes on the road, but the grin’s still there, small and crooked.

“Exactly. One day you’ll get it. When you’re ready to stop being so boring.”

Your laugh punches the air out of him, and when you shove his shoulder, playful and light, it’s like a shot of warmth straight to his chest.

“Shut up,” you say, but you’re smiling,  really smiling, and Eddie can’t help the way it makes him grin too, wide and stupid and so full of something he doesn’t even have a name for yet.

The drive is easy, comfortable, something Eddie isn’t sure he’s ever felt around someone like you. He keeps the mood light, throwing in the occasional jab about your “boring” taste in music, just to see you roll your eyes. You don’t seem to mind, though. If anything, you look … relaxed. And considering the way Scott ditched you, that feels like a win.

He pulls up in front of your house, the engine idling as rain patters softly against the windshield. His fingers drum absently on the steering wheel as he glances at the big, perfect house in front of him, your royal palace.

“Well, princess,” he says, tilting his head toward the mansion in front of him, “your castle awaits.”

You sigh dramatically, unbuckling your seatbelt. “You really won’t let that nickname go, huh?”

Eddie grins. “Not a chance.”

He calls you  princess mostly because it annoys you, and annoying you is quickly becoming his new favourite hobby. But also? Well … you kind of   are one . The hair, the grades, the whole perfect, polished act. You’re Hawkins royalty, beautiful, untouchable, and completely out of place in his shitty old van.

And yet, you don’t feel untouchable. Not really. There’s something else there, something behind the smiles and careful words . A   real person, buried under all that expectation.

Eddie notices it the second you hesitate. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag, your body tenses just a little, like you  don’t want to go inside. Like maybe the thought of stepping through that door is worse than sitting in his beat-up van, listening to him run his mouth about metal bands you don’t even like.

And that? That doesn’t make sense.

“Hey,” he says, voice quieter now, like he’s trying not to scare it off. “You okay?”

You don’t meet his eyes right away . Just that small, tight smile, the kind that looks more like a reflex than something real.

“Yeah. Just … long day.”

He nods slowly, tapping the wheel once, twice, like maybe it’ll ground him, or maybe because he’s not sure what the hell to say next. He  wants to say more. Wants to call you on it, wants to tell you it’s okay if you’re not okay. But the words catch somewhere in his throat , and he ends up just sitting there, drumming his fingers against the vinyl, watching you like he can see the weight you’re carrying even if you’re trying to hide it.

And he  hates that he doesn’t know how to make it better.

You clear your throat, breaking the moment, and your voice is lighter,  too light, like you’re trying to push it all away.

“See you Monday?”

Eddie leans back, his smirk returning just enough to soften the moment. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You step out into the rain, hurrying up the driveway. Eddie doesn’t peel off right away, doesn’t speed down the street like he normally would. He waits, just long enough to see you make it to the door.

And then you glance back, just for a second.

That  thing in his chest, like a fist unclenching, like a breath he didn’t know he was holding, finally slipping out. It’s small, stupid, barely even a  thing , but it’s enough to leave a weird, lingering heat in his gut.

Shit.

He lifts his hand in a lazy little salute, playing it off casual, like it’s no big deal, even though it  feels like a big deal for reasons he doesn’t want to think about. Not right now. Not ever, if he can help it.

He shifts the van into gear, the engine rumbling under him as the wipers smear the rain across the glass. The tail lights glow red in the wet street as he rolls off slowly, not tearing off like usual. He tries to shake it off, tells himself it’s just a vibe, just the weather, just a long day.

But as the road stretches out in front of him, that heat in his chest lingers, stubborn and insistent.

No. Nope.  Absolutely not .

He  does not have a crush on you. That’s insane . You’r e…

Well, you’re you. And you’ve got a boyfriend, for one thing. Not that that’s the point. It’s jus t…

Nope.

He grips the wheel a little tighter, the metal rings on his fingers cold against his skin. The music on the radio kicks in, and he turns it up too loud, like maybe the guitar solos can drown out the sudden, nagging thought he can’t quite shake.

Because he’s not thinking about you.

No way.

Not even a little bit.

Chapter Text

Your Perspective

The moment you step into Scott’s house, warmth washes over you: expensive cologne, something rich simmering from the kitchen, polished hardwood beneath your feet. It should feel comforting. Safe. But it doesn’t. Not really.

Scott is waiting just inside the foyer, hair neat, shirt crisp, posture perfect. He leans in and kisses you; it’s brief, practised, and all surface. A smile is stretched across his face, but there’s something tight about it . Like elastic pulled just a little too far.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

Because you’re still thinking about yesterday.

He left you . In the rain. No warning. No explanation. Just gone.

And now, here you are, expected to smile, pretend, and slip into the role like nothing happened.

His hand slides to the small of your back, light but firm. Not exactly gentle. More like a signal:  Not here. Not now.

You keep your smile in place as you step into the dining room. It’s always like this, grand, curated, and a little too polished. The chandelier overhead throws soft light on crystal glassware and plates that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe.

Scott’s mother barely acknowledges you beyond a polite smile, already focused on whatever social event she’s planning next. You’ve become fluent in tuning her out.

His father, though, always pays attention to you. Always smiles just a bit too long. Not in a way that makes your skin crawl, exactly. But it makes you feel … like you’re being evaluated .

“So,” Mr. Wesley says, cutting into his steak with precise movements, “how’s school going?”

You swallow your bite of food quickly, straightening slightly. “It’s good, sir. Busy, but good.”

He nods approvingly. “Still at the top of your class, I hear.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Smart girl like you, you won’t have any trouble making something of yourself.”

You thank him politely, already knowing where this is going.

Scott shifts beside you, the smallest sigh escaping him. You know he sees it coming too.

“And Scott,” his father continues, with an almost sharp glance, “could use someone like that beside him. Someone steady. Focused. That kind of support matters more than people think.”

You nod again, smile again. Because that’s what you do here . Perform .

Scott’s still silent, pushing his food around his plate like it might rearrange his life if he stabs it enough. The storm behind his eyes simmers, but he doesn’t speak. His father either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care to.

“You keep him grounded,” Mr. Wesley says, swirling his wine. “And that’s important for a young man with… ambition.”

You smile, offering a polite, “Thank you, sir,”.

Your fork hovers halfway to your mouth before you set it back down, gaze softening for a split second as your mind drifts,  not to the boy sitting beside you, but to the one who sat behind the wheel last night.

Eddie.

The way he made you laugh in the van. The way he looked at you, really looked . Like he saw through the whole act without even trying.

It was nothing. Just a moment. Stupid.

Except it won’t leave you alone.

Scott’s hand finds your thigh under the table, a firm squeeze, his way of reminding you to play along. You wonder if it’s also a silent apology for yesterday, for leaving you standing in the rain.

You blink and refocus, back in this overdecorated dining room with too much cutlery and too little air.

Once dinner is over and Scott’s parents retreat to the sitting room with their glasses of wine, you and Scott are left alone at the dining table. The clinking of silverware has stopped, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence.

Scott shifts in his chair, fingers drumming once on the table before he speaks, too casual, too rehearsed. “Listen… about yesterday.”

You glance at him, brows raised. “You mean leaving me stranded in the rain?”

He sighs, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah. That.” He pauses, eyes fixed on the untouched piece of bread on his plate. “I wasn’t trying to be a dick. I just, lost it, alright?”

You cross your arms. “You didn’t just lose it, Scott. You walked away. Left me there like I didn’t matter.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, finally meeting your eyes. “I got pissed off, okay? Seeing you with Munson, laughing with him like that, in front of everyone.”

You blink, taken aback. “Scott, I was just talking to him.”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. It looked bad.” His jaw tightens, and then, almost like an afterthought, he adds, “You have to be more careful about that. People notice things.”

You let out a dry laugh, unable to help yourself. “So you left me standing in the rain as, what, a lesson?”

Scott leans back with a groan, running both hands over his face. “It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t thinking straight. My dad’s been on my ass lately, and when I saw you with him—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “I just snapped. I shouldn’t have, okay? But you shouldn’t be embarrassing me like that either.”

You don’t respond right away. Just stare at the silver ring of condensation on the side of your water glass.

The words sting more than you expect. Embarrass him ?

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, Scott,” you say, your voice quieter now.

He leans forward, his expression softer now, almost apologetic, but you know better than to trust it completely. “I know,” he says. “I got carried away. But you have to be smarter about this. You know how important our image is.”

You stare at him for a moment, feeling the weight of his words but also the tension in your chest building up again. You can’t help it; the frustration is bubbling up, making you finally speak your mind.

“Scott, you’re talking about our image,” you say, your voice steady but with a bite to it. “Yet, you’re getting caught with other girls. Twice someone’s seen you.”

The guilt flickers across his face, and for the first time in a while, you see a hint of real regret. He shifts in his seat, looking down at the table, not quite meeting your eyes. “It’s not like that,” he mutters.

“It’s exactly like that,” you reply, your voice low, trying to keep it together. “It’s like you’re not even trying to hide it.”

Scott rubs his temples, looking a little defeated. He knows you’re right, but he isn’t quite ready to admit it fully. “I’m under a lot of pressure, okay? With everything — with my dad, the future, all of it. It’s… It’s hard to keep up the act.”

“I get it,” you say softly, your voice quieter now, almost resigned. “We’re both under a lot of pressure. And I know we’re just … trying to get through it all. But we shouldn’t make things harder for each other. We’re in this together, whether we like it or not.”

Scott’s gaze softens, and for a brief moment, you both sit in silence, the air between you feeling less tense than it had a moment ago. There’s no grand gesture, no big apology, but there’s something in the quiet understanding that passes between you, an unspoken acknowledgement that things aren’t perfect, but you’re both just trying to do your best.

Scott looks at you for a moment, like he’s trying to make up for the tension earlier. His voice is casual, but there’s a hint of sincerity to it when he speaks.

“Hey,” he says, breaking the silence, “I was thinking… how about we go to the movies tomorrow? Just the two of us.”

You glance up at him, surprised, but the suggestion feels like a nice change of pace. You’ve both been so caught up in the pressure of everything around you, and a movie sounds like something simple, something that doesn’t come with expectations or obligations.

After a beat, you nod. “Yeah. That actually sounds nice.”

Scott gives a small nod, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Cool. It’ll be nice to just get out for a bit.”

It’s not a solution. Not even close. But for a moment, it feels like a pause . A breath.

And right now, that’s enough.

Eddie's Perspective

Eddie’s in Gareth’s garage, the usual chaos swirling around him, the buzz of amps, the tang of worn guitar strings, the guys shouting over each other like they’re all in a band and a boxing ring at the same time.

But Eddie? He’s not really  here .

His fingers fumble over the fretboard, hitting wrong notes, missing beats like his brain’s stuck on some other damn channel. The riffs sound off, sloppy where they should be sharp, and he can feel Jeff’s eyes boring into him.

“Dude, what the hell was that?”

Eddie scowls, shaking his head like that’ll help clear it. “Shut up, man. Just play it again.”

But the same thing keeps happening. He’s off, missing beats, his solos lacking their usual bite. Because his brain is somewhere else. Because  you won’t get out of his damn head.

It’s pissing him off.

He should  not be thinking about you right now. Not about the way you laughed at him in the van last night, not about how your eyes lit up when you started understanding D&D, and definitely not about the way you  hesitated before getting out of the car, like you didn’t wanna go inside.

“Alright, pause,” Gareth says, lowering his sticks. “What is  wrong with you, man?”

Eddie groans, running a hand through his hair. “I’m  fine. ”

Jeff snorts, clearly not buying it. “Yeah? You’ve been spacing out all night.”

Gareth’s not saying anything, but the way he’s watching Eddie, like he’s trying to read him, it’s worse than Jeff’s teasing. He can’t afford to be figured out right now. Not when his brain keeps dragging him back to  you.

It’s messing with him. You’re messing with him. And it doesn’t make any sense.

You have a  boyfriend. Even if he’s the biggest dick in Hawkins, you’re still  with him. And Eddie’s got no business thinking about you the way he is.

Especially not now.

Especially not since he found out Gareth has a  crush on you.

And  that makes this whole thing even worse.

So whatever this weird feeling is, whatever thoughts have been creeping into his head, it  needs to stop.

Eddie forces himself to shake it off, flexing his fingers over the guitar strings. “Alright, can we  play now, or do you guys wanna keep psychoanalysing me?”

Gareth doesn’t look convinced, but after a beat, he picks up his sticks again. “Fine,” he mutters.

Jeff just rolls his eyes. “Let’s try to get through one damn song without you screwing it up, Munson.”

Eddie smirks, flipping him off before launching into the next song.

He focuses harder this time. Tries to drown out whatever’s been creeping into his head.

But even as he plays, the confusion lingers.

Chapter Text

Your Perspective

You’re standing by the front window, watching Scott’s car roll up the driveway. For once, there’s no tight knot in your stomach, no bracing for a cancellation or some last-minute excuse.

He’s on time.

When you open the front door, he’s already out of the car, leaning against the side with his hands in his pockets and a crooked little grin playing at his mouth.

“Hey, loser,” he says, voice easy, teasing. The nickname lands softer than usual, like it’s muscle memory, not malice.

You let the door fall shut behind you. “Hey.”

The drive into town is surprisingly smooth. Comfortable, even. A-ha’s  Take On Me comes on the radio, and without warning, Scott cranks the volume and throws himself into the high notes, off-key, dramatic, and completely ridiculous.

He glances over at you mid-chorus, eyebrows wiggling, and you can’t help but laugh, covering your mouth. 

“Oh my god, stop,” you say through your laughter.

He smirks, proud of himself. “What? This is art.”

By the time you get to the theatre, the two of you are still chuckling. Scott actually opens the door for you, not in his usual showy, ‘look how perfect we are’ way, but more casual, like he’s just in a good mood today.

At one point, you bump shoulders when you both reach for the popcorn at the same time, and you both chuckle softly. His hand lingers on yours for a second longer than it needs to, a little flicker of warmth passing between you before you both turn back to the screen.

As the movie ends and the lights come up, you and Scott walk out of the theatre, still buzzing from the absurdity of a few scenes and the laughs you shared. Scott doesn’t say much at first, his hands shoved in his pockets, looking a little less polished than usual. You don’t mind, it’s kind of refreshing.

“Not bad for a Sunday afternoon,” he says, his voice a little more relaxed than it’s been in a while. 

You grin at him, teasing, “Careful, you almost sounded like you had fun.”

He glances over at you, smiling faintly, his hand drumming against his knee. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess I did.”

Scott’s gaze flicks across the parking lot — and you see it the moment his posture shifts. A group of his friends is clustered near a pair of cars, loud and laughing.

“Hey, Wesley!” Jason calls, grinning widely.

Scott’s grin sharpens, sliding back into the version of himself you know too well. “Hey, boys,” he calls, steering you easily in their direction, his arm sliding over your shoulders.

As they launch into bragging and banter, you stand quietly at Scott’s side, his hand heavy on your arm. His voice lifts, louder and cockier, as he talks about things you barely care to follow: which team they’ll be playing next, which girl was flirting at the party, who’s planning what for next weekend.

You shift your weight, fingers absently fiddling with your bracelet, eyes soft as you half-listen, half-drift away.

In the distance, you hear your name being called. 

You turn instinctively, and there’s Dustin, over by the arcade, waving both arms like he’s trying to guide in a plane. His grin is wide, unbothered, and infectious.

You glance back at Scott. His arm’s still draped lazily across your shoulders, his thumb tapping distractedly against your upper arm. He’s not looking at you. He’s laughing at something Jason just said, something you didn’t catch and probably wouldn’t have found funny anyway.

You shift slightly, slipping out from under his arm. He doesn’t stop you. You’re not sure he even notices.

“Be right back,” you murmur, mostly out of habit.

The parking lot feels cooler the farther you get from the group, quieter, too. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, trying to ignore the way your heart speeds up with every step.

Because there, leaning against the arcade wall like it’s a throne, boot propped, arms crossed, eyes already on you, is Eddie. 

You feel your heart do that stupid little skip, and you shove it down, fast. He’s just… Eddie. Just the guy you’re helping with English. Just a guy with sharp smiles and stupid jokes and a way of looking at you that makes your face heat up when you’re not paying attention.

But you still try to look like you’re not walking faster.

“Hey, Dustin,” you say lightly, smiling down at him. “What’s up?”

Dustin beams. “We need you to settle something!”

You laugh softly, raising a brow. “Should I be worried?”

Eddie mutters under his breath, hands in his pockets. “Nah, you should probably just run back to your boyfriend before you get dragged into something stupid.”

You glance at him, not sure if he’s being serious, “What’s stupid?”

Dustin grins. “Okay, would you say, honestly, that Steve’s cool? I say yes. Munson says no. You’re the deciding vote.”

You blink. Then laugh. “Oh, Steve’s  so not cool,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Eddie’s head lifts, surprised. “Wait, really?”

You glance at him, and something fluttery kicks in your chest. “He’s such a dork. Last week I saw him at Family Video trying to flirt with some girl, he was running his hands through his hair, flexing his muscles…”

Eddie lets out a soft laugh, and your heart does a tiny, traitorous flip.

Dustin stares at you wide-eyed. “What?”

“Oh, it gets better.” You laugh. “He goes up to her, all confident, and says, ‘Are you a VHS? Because you’ve got my attention on rewind.’”

Dustin doubles over laughing. “No way!”

“I almost died,” you giggle. “And she just kind of smiled and said, ‘Yeah, that’s a good one.’ And Steve? He was so proud of himself. Then, as she was walking out, he hit her with a ‘see you later, alligator.”

Dustin is wiping tears from his eyes, and you’re laughing too, the sound bubbling out before you can stop it.  “Oh man, okay, okay. So Steve’s maybe not the king of smooth, but…”

You cut him off with a raised finger. “Not even  close .”

“The lady has spoken,” Eddie says, cocking an eyebrow. “Suck it, Henderson.”

You glance over at him, and this time, your smile softens. Lingers.

“He’s a total dork,” you say again, quieter now. “But he’s still my idiot cousin. I kinda love him anyway.”

Eddie’s smile falters, not in a bad way, just in a  gentler one. His eyes stay on you, unguarded for a second too long. And you feel it, that  something in the air between you, light and tentative and a little bit dangerous. And for half a second, a stupid second, you let yourself wonder what it would feel like to stand a little closer, to brush your fingers against his hand…

“Babe! Let’s go!”

Scott’s voice slices through the moment, loud and sharp.

You force your shoulders straight, paste on an easy smile, and turn back to Dustin and Eddie. “Gotta go. See you guys later.”

“Bye!” Dustin chirps.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs. “Later, princess.”

You turn back toward Scott, slipping under his arm again. It settles over your shoulders like a jacket that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

Behind you, laughter still echoes from the arcade. But you don’t feel like laughing anymore.

Eddie's Perspective

The arcade is alive with buzzing machines, flashing lights, and the steady soundtrack of 8-bit victory jingles. Eddie leans against the side of  Galaga , grinning as he watches Dustin furiously mash buttons. Jeff lounges nearby with a soda, half-watching while Mike and Lucas argue over who gets the next turn at  Street Fighter .

“Come on, Henderson,” Eddie teased, leaning forward. “You can’t seriously think Harrington’s that cool.”

Dustin didn’t even glance up. “Dude, Steve’s badass.”

Eddie barked a laugh. “Badass? Steve? King Steve? Hair-perfect, ex-basketball captain, probably-owns-ten-different-kinds-of-hairspray Steve?”

Dustin grins without missing a beat. “You’re just mad he’s got better hair than you.”

Eddie slaps a hand to his chest, eyes wide in mock betrayal. “You wound me, Henderson.  This ”, he gestures to himself with a dramatic flourish, “is the very essence of cool. I’m in a band. I play D&D. I wear leather in July.”

Mike wandered over, smirking. “He’s not wrong.”

Lucas snickered. “Yeah, but Steve’s got that whole smooth chick-magnet thing going.”

Jeff chuckled, sipping his Coke. “Didn’t that guy use to shove kids into lockers?”

“ Exactly! ” Eddie pointed dramatically. “Thank you, Jeff. The guy’s a grade-A douchebag.”

Dustin shot him an annoyed look. “People change, Munson.”

Eddie opens his mouth to fire back, but then his eyes flicked across the parking lot.

You

Standing across the lot, near Scott Wesley, golden-boy Scott, all polished charm and sharp smiles, his arm casually draped over your shoulders. You weren’t really listening to him; Eddie could tell. You were twisting a bracelet around your wrist, your eyes flicking everywhere but his face, that polite little smile stretched thin.

Eddie felt his throat tighten. Damn it. Why did you always have to be  there ? Why did you always look…

“Anyway,” Dustin’s voice snapped him back. “You guys are wrong, and you  know it.”

Eddie blinked, tried to shove the image of you from his head, and ran a hand through his hair. “Let it go, man.”

But Dustin wasn’t listening. His eyes lit up like he’d just found the answer to all life’s questions—and then darted right past Eddie.

“She’ll settle this!”

Eddie’s stomach dropped. “No!”

Before he could stop him, Dustin was already jogging across the lot.

“Why not?” Dustin called back with a grin. “Who better to settle it than another Harrington?”

“Dustin,  dude , seriously!” Eddie hissed, straightening up, trying not to look like he was panicking. “She’s busy, man! She’s with  people ! Don’t pull her into this.”

But it was too late. Dustin was already calling your name with zero shame. 

Eddie let out a strangled groan and dragged both hands down his face.  Henderson, you absolute butthead. I swear to god I will launch you into the sun.

And then you turned.

You glanced toward Dustin first, confused for a beat, then your eyes shifted past him.

Right to Eddie.

His breath caught. Just for a second. Just enough to make it hurt.

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, murmured something to Scott (who didn’t seem to notice or care that you were leaving), and began to cross the lot toward them, that small, curious smile already tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Hey, Dustin,” you said, voice light. “What’s up?”

Dustin beamed. “We need you to settle something!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

Eddie shoved his hands deep into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Nah, you should probably just run back to your boyfriend before you get dragged into something stupid,” he mumbled under his breath.

Your eyes flicked to him, amused. “What’s stupid?”

Dustin jumped back in before Eddie could answer. “Okay, would you say, honestly, that Steve’s cool? I say yes. Munson says absolutely not. Be the tie-breaker.”

Eddie groaned, tilting his head to the sky. “Henderson, for the love of…”

You laughed, eyes dancing between the two of them. “Oh, Steve’s  so not cool,” you said, rolling your eyes.

Eddie’s head snaps up. “Wait, really?” and the word comes out  way too fast, a little too bright.

You grinned. “He’s such a dork. Last week, I saw him at Family Video trying to flirt with some girl, and I mean, really  trying . He’s running his hands through his hair, flexing his muscles…”

Eddie snickered, unable to help himself.

Dustin leaned forward, eyes wide. “What?”

“Oh, it gets better.” You shook your head, laughing. “He goes up to her, all confident, and says, ‘Are you a VHS? Because you’ve got my attention on rewind.’”

Dustin  howled with laughter, nearly doubling over. “No way! He  actually said that?”

“I almost  died ,” you said, laughing too. “And she just gave him this awkward little smile and said, ‘Yeah, that’s a good one.’ And Steve? He was  so proud of himself. Then, as she was walking out, he hit her with a ‘see you later, alligator.”

Dustin wiped tears from his eyes. “Oh man, okay, okay. So Steve’s maybe not the king of smooth, but…”

You cut him off with a raised finger. “Not even  close .”

Eddie smirked, victorious. “The lady has spoken. Suck it, Henderson.”

But then, unexpectedly, you glanced back at Eddie and added, voice softer, “He’s a total dork. But he’s still my idiot cousin. I kinda love him anyway.”

That soft smile hit Eddie right in the chest, sharp, warm, unexpected. For half a second, his expression softened, eyes lingering on you just a beat too long, the grin slipping into something gentler.

And  that , that’s when Dustin’s laughter faded.

He turned slowly, side-eye sharp, catching the exact look on Eddie’s face.

The too-long stare. The too-soft expression.

Dustin blinked. And then he  knew .

But before he could say anything, Scott’s voice rang out across the parking lot, sharp and possessive: “ Babe! Let’s go! ”

The moment cracked.

You sighed quietly, your shoulders tensing just for a second, before you turned back with an apologetic smile. “Gotta go. See you guys later.”

“Bye!” Dustin called, too cheerful.

Eddie forced a grin. “Later, princess.”

He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, watching you walk away, trying hard  not to notice how your smile faded the second you turned back to Scott.

Beside him, Dustin elbowed him sharply.

“Dude,” Dustin whispered, eyes gleaming. “You  like her.”

Eddie scowled, yanking his gaze away. “Shut up, Henderson.”

Chapter Text

Your Perspective

Nancy’s waiting for you before the first bell, sitting cross-legged on the bench outside school. She looks up from her notebook as you plop down beside her, raising an eyebrow at the small smile you’re trying to hide.

She snaps her notebook shut. “Okay, spill. What’s with the face?”

You blink. “What face?”

Nancy narrows her eyes. “You’re grinning like you just aced a test you didn’t study for.”

You shrug, playing it cool. “It’s nothing. Scott and I went to the movies yesterday. Just the two of us. It was… nice.”

Nancy’s interest perks up. “Nice? So, what? He was actually tolerable for once?”

You snort. “Not exactly tolerable, but not awful either. We talked. He made a couple of stupid jokes, didn’t bail halfway through. It just felt… lighter, I guess?”

Nancy leans in, smirking. “So he acted like a semi-decent human being. That’s practically breaking news.”

You nudge her shoulder, grinning. “Shut up. I’m serious.”

She holds up her hands. “Hey, if it wasn’t a disaster, that’s progress.”

You fidget with your bag strap. “I’m not saying everything’s fixed, but for once, I didn’t feel like I was performing for a stranger.”

Nancy studies you. “Think he’s turning a corner?”

You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “Maybe. No idea how long it’ll last, but I didn’t leave wanting to scream into a pillow, so…”

Nancy hums thoughtfully. “Okay, that’s something.” She leans closer, eyes narrowing playfully. “But is that the  only thing you’re smiling about?”

You freeze just a bit too long. “What? Yeah. Obviously.”

Nancy’s lips twitch. “Mmhmm. Because Mike may or may not have mentioned you and Dustin roasting Steve at the arcade. With a certain metalhead nearby.”

You snort, looking away. “That wasn’t a thing. Just Dustin being Dustin. And Eddie happened to be there.”

Nancy grins knowingly. “And yet here you are, grinning like someone just played your favourite song.”

“I’m not grinning,” you insist.

She raises a brow. “You’re totally grinning.”

You sigh, smirking despite yourself. “It wasn’t anything. He’s just… not what people think.”

Nancy smirks back. “Neither are you.”

The bell rings sharply and suddenly.

You both stand, slinging your bags over your shoulders.

After school, you’re already flipping through your notes when you hear the familiar scuff of sneakers against the library floor. Eddie slides into the chair across from you with an easy grin, leaning back like he owns the place.

“Hey, Princess,” he says, smirking as he rests his arms on the table.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You know, most people just say ' hi' like normal human beings.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” he shoots back, drumming his fingers against the table. “Besides, you  are a princess, aren’t you? I’ve seen that mansion you live in.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Right. Because nothing screams ‘princess’ like spending all my free time tutoring  you. ”

Eddie gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Ouch. And here I thought we were bonding.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Are we?”

He leans in slightly, grinning. “Well, I dunno,  Your Highness, I  did do that study sheet you gave me.” He says it as if it’s some grand achievement, as if he expects you to throw confetti and declare a national holiday in his honour.

You blink, momentarily stunned. “Wait.  Really? ” You narrow your eyes, half-expecting him to be messing with you. “You actually looked at it?”

Eddie scoffs, looking deeply offended. “Wow. Zero faith in me, huh?” But his grin doesn’t waver. “I mean, yeah, I did it. You went through all that trouble making it idiot-proof, so I figured, why not?” He shrugs, trying to play it cool, but you can hear the tiniest bit of pride in his voice.

You smirk instead, deciding to push past it. “Wow. Eddie Munson putting in effort. I  am a miracle worker.”

Eddie groans, dragging a hand down his face. “And I  immediately regret telling you.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I  would give you a gold star, but I didn’t bring any.”

Eddie gasps. “Unbelievable. What kind of monster  are you?”

You smirk, already digging into your bag. “Lucky for you, I  did bring this.” You pull out a Moon Pie and slide it across the table toward him.

Eddie stares at it for all of two seconds before beaming. “No  way. ” He picks it up like it’s the greatest gift he’s ever received. “Alright, forget what I said before, you  are the best.”

You chuckle, watching as he tears into the wrapper like a kid on Christmas morning. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Eddie takes a huge bite, nodding appreciatively as he chews. “Yeah, you officially win ‘Best Tutor.’ Don’t let it go to your head.”

For a second, you don’t know what to say. There’s something oddly sweet about the way he says it, something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

You laugh, nudging his textbook toward him. “Come on,  bonding time isn’t over yet. Let’s see if that study sheet worked.”

He grins, flipping the book open. “Hit me with it.”

The library’s quieter than usual, which should make it easier to focus. But honestly? It’s not. Not when Eddie Munson is sitting across from you, staring at that study sheet like it just punched him in the gut.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he glares at the question you starred like it’s a ticking bomb:

“What does Shakespeare suggest about fate through the lovers’ choices in Romeo and Juliet?”

You’d circled it because it’s important. Because it’s layered. Because if Eddie can understand this one, maybe, just maybe, he’ll pass the test on Wednesday.

But right now, he looks like he wants to set the paper on fire.

He sighs, tapping his pencil, then drops his head back against the chair with a soft thunk. You want to say something helpful. Something gentle and encouraging.

Instead, you find yourself watching him.

The way he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. The frustrated little furrow in his brow. The rings on his fingers were tapping restlessly on the desk.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just the stress of the test. Just the usual Eddie drama.

Except lately… it hasn’t felt like nothing.

Because when he’s not being loud or obnoxious or theatrical—when he’s quiet like this, trying so hard not to let his frustration show, you see pieces of him you weren’t supposed to. Soft pieces. Good ones.

And maybe that’s the problem.

You’re not supposed to feel anything. Not for him.

You have Scott. You have a future that makes sense. Predictable, safe.

Eddie Munson is none of those things.

He’s chaotic. Uncertain. Not yours.

He’s glaring at the worksheet like it personally ruined his life.

“This is stupid,” he mutters, just as he slams his pencil down.

“What is?” you ask, though you already know.

He jabs a finger at the page like it’s guilty of a crime. “Fate. Destiny. All that crap. It’s just a fancy way of saying ‘life sucks and then you die.’”

You open your mouth to tell him to chill, but he keeps going, frustration spilling out in sharp bursts.

You can tell he’s scared. Scared he’s going to fail, that this is the end of the line. That all this trying still won’t cut it.

And god, you hate it.

Because you know how hard he’s been working. You  see it, even when he doesn’t want you to.

So, you do what you do best.

You flick him.

Right on the forehead.

Hard enough to get his attention, but not enough to start a war.

He jerks back, blinking like you just sucker-punched him. “OW! What the hell?!”

You fold your arms, trying not to laugh. “You’re being a total dumbass.”

He stares at you, stunned, rubbing his head like you just delivered a knockout punch. Then, of course, he recovers with full Munson flair, one hand on his chest, voice dripping with fake drama:

“Struck down,” he moans, “by one so brilliant and beautiful. What a way to go.”

You laugh, because of course you do. Because he’s ridiculous. Because he’s making you smile when you should be scolding him. Because he just called you beautiful, and you know, God, you know, it was a joke.

Except… it didn’t feel like one. Not completely.

And now you’re looking at him, really looking at him, and for one terrifying second, you swear there’s something there. Something real.

You speak softly. “Eddie. It was just one hard question.”

He tries to brush it off, clutches his chest again like he’s been mortally wounded. “And I failed it.”

“You didn’t fail. You’re stuck. That’s not the same thing.” You nudge his leg under the table, gently. “Besides… you got the last three right. That counts.”

He goes quiet, just watching you. Like, he doesn’t know what to do with your belief in him.

“Do you think I’m gonna pass?”

“I do,” you say, because you mean it.

And because, right now, you want him to believe in himself the way you’re starting to.

Because, honestly, he’s done more in one week than most would expect.

You slide the worksheet back toward him. “Come on. Let’s fight fate together.”

He smirks—softer, less cocky than usual. “That’s dangerously romantic for a Tuesday.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. But it’s harder to focus now. Harder not to notice the heat spreading through your chest, your pulse racing like a drummer.

The way he just looked at you.

Like maybe this wasn’t all in your head.

But it has to be.

Because Eddie Munson doesn’t look at girls like you that way.

Because you already belong to someone else.

Because wanting him? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.

And somehow, it’s already starting to feel inevitable.

You try to keep your voice steady, explaining fate again, but your hands are shaking just a little.

Maybe fate is a total asshole.

Eddie's Perspective

Monday starts like any other, Eddie rolling into school, meeting up with the guys before first period, and enduring whatever fresh hell Hawkins High has in store for him this week.

They’re hanging out in the usual spot, half-heartedly complaining about classes when Jeff asks, “So, what’d you get up to after the arcade yesterday?”

Eddie shrugs, leaning against the lockers. “Went to Rick’s, picked up more weed.” Standard. Expected. No surprises there. “Then went home.”

There’s a pause. A beat too long.

Gareth squints at him. “And…?”

Eddie hesitates. He could leave it at that, let them assume he spent the rest of the day playing guitar, watching bad horror movies, or, hell, just lying in bed doing absolutely  nothing . That’s what  he thought he’d be doing. But instead…

Instead, he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh… studied.”

Three pairs of eyes land on him like he just confessed to murder.

“ You studied?” Grant repeats, sceptical.

“For what?” Gareth asks, frowning.

“English,” Eddie admits, feeling weirdly defensive about it. 

Silence.

“Who  are you?” Freaking Gareth again.

Eddie groans, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Look, it’s not like I  wanted to, alright? But I  do wanna graduate, and Harrington actually put effort into making a study sheet.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t spend an embarrassing amount of time staring at the stupid paper, trying to ignore the way your handwriting looked so neat, so  thoughtful . “Figured the least I could do was give it a shot.”

Dustin and Mike glance at each other like they’re witnessing the end of an era.

Jeff lets out a low whistle. “Damn. She must have some kinda magic touch if she got  you to study.”

Eddie flips him off.

Lucas laughs. “Next thing we know, you’re gonna start doing  homework .”

“Alright, let’s not get crazy,” Eddie scoffs.

Gareth, though, he’s gone all quiet.  Too quiet. Eddie already knows what’s coming.

“It’s cool she did that though,” Gareth says, a little too casually. 

Eddie doesn’t reply. He just nods, playing it off, trying not to think about why his chest feels tight all of a sudden.

Because Gareth has a crush on you. And you have a boyfriend.

And Eddie? He’s just a guy who studied. Nothing more. Nothing less.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

“Alright, nerds,” he says, slinging an arm around Gareth’s shoulders, mostly to distract him. “Let’s get this over with.”

The guys roll their eyes, shoving him off, but as they head to class, Eddie can’t help but think about the way you smiled at him when you handed him that stupid study sheet. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about  anything you cared about.

He shakes his head. Nope. Not going there. Not today.

Eddie spots you the second he steps into the library, already flipping through your notes like the overachiever you are. He smirks to himself, taking his time as he saunters over. When he finally drops into the seat across from you, he leans back like he owns the place.

“Hey, Princess,” he says, draping his arms across the table with lazy confidence.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a tiny smile tugging at your lips. “You know, most people just say hi like normal human beings.”

Eddie grins, drumming his fingers against the table. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Besides, you  are a princess, aren’t you? I’ve seen that mansion you live in.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Right. Because nothing screams ‘princess’ like spending all my free time tutoring you.”

Eddie gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Ouch. And here I thought we were bonding.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Are we?”

Leaning in a little, he gave you a smug grin.  “Well, I dunno,  Your Highness, I  did do that study sheet you gave me.” He says it like it’s a huge deal, like you should throw confetti and declare him a scholar.

You blink, clearly caught off guard. “Wait. Really? You actually looked at it?”

Eddie scoffs, looking deeply offended. “Wow. Zero faith in me, huh?” But his grin doesn’t waver. “I mean, yeah, I did it. You went through all that trouble making it idiot-proof, so I figured, why not?” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but a hint of pride slips through.

You smirk, shaking your head. “Wow. Eddie Munson putting in effort. I  am a miracle worker.”

Eddie groans, dragging a hand down his face. “And I immediately regret telling you.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I would give you a gold star, but I didn’t bring any.”

Eddie gasps, scandalised. “Unbelievable. What kind of monster are you?”

Still smirking, you start digging in your bag. “Lucky for you, I  did bring this.” You pull out a Moon Pie and slide it across the table.

Eddie stares at it for a second, then lights up like a damn Christmas tree. “No way.” He picks it up, grinning like she just handed him the meaning of life. “Alright, forget what I said before—you  are the best.”

You chuckle, watching as he tears into the wrapper with almost childlike enthusiasm. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

With his mouth still full, Eddie waves the Moon Pie at you. “Yeah, you officially win ‘Best Tutor.’ Don’t let it go to your head.”

For a second, something unspoken lingers between them. You don’t say anything, just look at him with something soft in your eyes, and it makes Eddie’s stomach twist in a way he doesn’t want to analyse.

You nudge his textbook toward him, breaking the moment. “Come on, bonding time isn’t over yet. Let’s see if that study sheet actually worked.”

He grins, flipping the book open. “Hit me with it.”

The library’s quieter than usual, just the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the air vents. Eddie’s been trying. Really trying. But all he can do is stare down at the question like it personally insulted him.

“What does Shakespeare suggest about fate through the lovers’ choices in Romeo and Juliet?”

It’s one of the questions you’d circled on the study sheet. A little star beside it, your cheerful, soul-crushing code for  important or  guaranteed to fry Munson’s last brain cell.

He squints at it, taps his pencil against the table. Nothing comes.

No clever angle. No decent thought. Just a swirling mess of overthinking and static.

His head drops back against the chair with a quiet  thunk. He sighs like he’s just been handed a death sentence.

Across the table, you’re hunched over your notes, completely locked in. There’s ink on your hand, a highlighter cap between your teeth, and a chaotic cloud of colour-coded post-its around you. Arrows and scribbles stretch across the page like a crime scene diagram, but prettier.

He watches you for a second too long. Brow furrowed, lips moving a little as you read to yourself.

It should be annoying how much you care about this. But it’s not.

When you talk about Shakespeare, you don’t just get it. You  feel it, like every line about fate or tragedy or doomed love hits you somewhere deep. And Eddie… he sort of wants to get it too. Not just to pass the test. Not just to prove something.

He wants to impress you.

Wants you to look at him like he might actually belong here. Like he’s not just some burnout you’re stuck tutoring.

But when he looks back at the question, all of that good intention starts to unravel.

He tries to write something. Crosses it out.

Tries again. Garbage.

The irritation creeps in slowly, spreading through his chest like spilt ink. He can feel it building—the pressure, the frustration, the sense that no matter how hard he tries, it’s never gonna be enough. 

Fate. Fate ruins everything. Great. Super. How poetic.

He tosses his pencil down with a  clatter , slumping back in his chair. “This is stupid”, he mutters.

You glance up. “What is?”

“This.” He jabs his pencil at the page. “Fate. Destiny. All of it. It’s just a fancy way of saying ‘life sucks and then you die.’”

You arch an eyebrow, but he’s already on a roll, the words tumbling out before he can stop them.

“I don’t get how I’m supposed to explain how some made-up characters got doomed by fate when I can’t even figure out what the hell that means.”

You tilt your head. “It’s not a trick question, Eddie.”

He groans louder, running both hands through his hair. “Everything feels like a trick question! I study, I actually  try , and I still screw it up. You know I’m gonna fail that test on Wednesday, right? I’m gonna bomb it, flunk out, not graduate, and then I’ll be stuck in Hawkins forever, working for Rick and getting high in a van until I rot.”

You blink. “…That’s dramatic. Even for you.”

“I’m being  realistic! ” he snaps. “This is just how it goes. Maybe that’s  my fate, Munson the screwup. Can’t pass English, can’t get out of Hawkins, can’t…”

Flick.

Right between the eyes.

“OW, what the hell?!” He jerks back, hands flying to his forehead.

You look at him calmly, like you haven’t just assaulted him. “You’re being a dumbass.”

He stares at you, wide-eyed, rubbing his forehead like you’ve delivered a fatal blow. “Struck down,” he groans dramatically, slumping in his chair, “by one so brilliant and beautiful. What a way to go.”

And there it is, that tiny shift.

You pause. Smile faltering just a bit.

Beautiful.

He said it like a joke, but he meant it. God help him, he meant it.

Your eyes meet his across the table, something warm and flickering passing between you. You don’t say anything at first. Just tilt your head, looking at him like you  see him. Not the guy who keeps failing, not the burnout with the loud mouth, but  him.

“Eddie,” you say softly. “It was  one hard question.”

He leans back in his chair, dramatically clutching his chest. “And I failed it.”

“You didn’t fail. You’re just stuck. That’s different. Besides,” you say, nudging his leg gently under the table, “you got the last three questions right. That’s not nothing.”

He doesn’t know what to do with that. With you, sitting across from him, giving him that look like maybe he isn’t some hopeless mess. Like maybe he’s capable of more than just  barely making it.

He lets out a soft laugh, more breath than sound. “You really think I’m gonna pass?”

“I do,” you say, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And the worst part is… he almost believes you.

You slide the worksheet back toward him. “Come on. Let’s fight fate together.”

He smirks, trying to keep it light. “That’s dangerously romantic for a Tuesday.”

You roll your eyes, smiling again, but there’s still something warm lingering in the space between you.

As you start walking him through the question again, your voice low and patient, Eddie ducks his head, pretending to adjust his notes, and scribbles something in the back of his notebook before you can see:

Maybe fate’s just a cruel joke, making you want someone you know you can’t have. 

But damn it, you want her anyway . 

He closes the notebook quickly. Tucks it away.

There was a moment just now. A real one.

A moment that wasn’t supposed to happen.

But did anyway.

And that’s a problem.

Because you’ve got Scott. The perfect boyfriend, the golden boy everyone expects you to have.

And yeah, Gareth’s nursing some quiet little crush he’s too afraid to say out loud.

And Eddie? Eddie’s not the kind of guy who’s supposed to want things like this.

But he does.

God help him, he wants you anyway.

Chapter Text

Your Perspective

The next day at school, things feel different. You’re in a bit of a haze from the previous afternoon, your head still a little wrapped up in the strange, quieter moment you had with Eddie. You haven’t really had time to unpack it. And maybe that’s on purpose. So you tuck it away, like you do with everything else that doesn’t fit neatly into the life you’re supposed to be living, and make your way to the cafeteria.

When you arrive, Scott is already sitting at your usual spot, looking unusually relaxed. His smile is wide, the kind he reserves for moments when he wants all eyes on him. 

But today, there’s something different about him; he seems a little more … genuine? You hesitate a little as you approach, unsure of what you’re walking into. You’re so used to bracing for his mood swings that anything calm feels suspicious.

“H ey, loser, ” he greets, but the usual bite is gone from his voice. It’s lighter, almost warm.

“ I ’ve been thinking .”

That sets off a tiny alarm in your chest. Scott Wesley's thinking usually means someone else is about to suffer for it. “ About what? ” you ask cautiously, keeping your tone even.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small, neatly wrapped gift. You blink, surprised. It’s the last thing you expected from him today. “ This, ” he says with a little smirk. “ For the whole, you know… leaving you in the rain thing .”

You can’t help but laugh a little. “ Scott, I told you, it’s fine .”

He shakes his head, “ No, it’s not. ” His gaze softens just a touch, almost vulnerable. “ I was an asshole. I’m trying to do better. So just take it .”

You look down at the package and then back at him, uncertain. Moments like this always throw you. When he’s not being mean, when he tries, however clumsily, to be something softer, it messes with your ability to tell what’s real. You open the box carefully, fingers brushing against the delicate tissue paper, and find a bracelet inside. Simple. Gold. Tasteful. It’s not loud or flashy like you would’ve expected. It’s something you might’ve picked for yourself.

“Y ou didn’t have to, ” you say softly, glancing up at him.

“I wanted to, ” he replies, his tone lighter now. “ You’re worth more than I’ve been giving you credit for .”

The words catch in your throat. It’s the kind of thing you’ve always wanted him to say. The kind of thing a real boyfriend might say. And for a second, just a second, you want to believe him. You want to believe that somewhere beneath the layers of pressure and control, there’s a version of Scott who means this.

Before you can say anything, Scott steps forward, closing the space between you, and pulls you into a hug. It’s tight and almost protective, but it’s done so the whole cafeteria can see. Everyone’s watching, as expected, and it’s exactly the kind of thing that solidifies your “perfect couple” image. You don’t mind it as much today, though. Maybe it’s because the hug feels a little less forced, a little more like he’s actually trying.

Scott pulls back from the hug, his hands settling lazily in his jacket pockets as he gives you a smirk. Scott pulls back from the hug, hands sliding lazily into his jacket pockets as he smirks at you. “ You know, ” he says, tilting his head, “ I was gonna bring you breakfast this morning to make up for leaving you in the rain .”

You raise a sceptical eyebrow. “ Oh yeah? What, like a bagel and some coffee ?”

He grins, eyes glinting with mischief. “ Nah, more like a doughnut… but I ate it on the way here. So, you’re welcome .”

You can’t help but laugh, even if it’s a little shaky.

Scott leans in just a bit, voice low and teasing: “ Next time, I’ll just bring you a raincoat instead. Way more practical .”

You shake your head, still smiling. And for a moment, it feels easy. Not happy, not love, but  easy. Like maybe, if you both keep pretending hard enough, you can make this work. At least for now. At least until the next storm rolls in.

Later, you’re at your locker, swapping out your books, when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. Turning, you find Gareth standing there, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“U h, hey, ” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

You offer a polite smile, softening your expression. “ Hey, Gareth. What’s up ?”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to answer, then hesitates, brows pulling together. “ Eddie’s not coming to tutoring today .”

You blink. “ Oh. Why not ?”

Gareth shifts his weight, eyes darting toward the floor like it suddenly became fascinating. “ He, uh… he’s got the gig tonight, so he’s just… prepping .”

You tilt your head slightly. “ The gig’s not until later tonight .”

“Y eah, well… he wants to, like, practise or something, ” Gareth says quickly, clearly just repeating whatever Eddie told him. “ Anyway, he just said he can’t make it .”

You study him for a moment, not entirely convinced, but there’s no point in pushing.

“I know, I know, ” Gareth says quickly, already flustered. “ He just said he needs the time. Like, to get in the zone or whatever .”

You nod slowly, but it doesn’t sit right. Not because you don’t believe him , but because it’s   not like Eddie. Not lately. Not after how hard he’s been trying. And definitely not the day before a test.

Still, you don’t press.

“O kay, ” you say after a beat, even though the word tastes strange coming out.

There’s this tight little pull in your chest, something that feels way too close to disappointment. You shouldn’t care this much. But you do. And that’s starting to get harder to ignore.

You reach into your bag and pull out the notes you stayed up late rewriting, stuff you already explained to him, but just in case. You’d tried to tailor them to how Eddie thinks: messy, fast, nonlinear. You even circled the stuff he usually skims and left silly little reminders in the margins like  Don’t screw this one up, Munson and  yes, you do need to remember this.

You fold them in half and hold them out to Gareth. “ Can you give these to him ?”

Gareth glances down at the paper like it might bite him. “ What is it ?”

“J ust some notes for the quiz, ” you say lightly, like it’s no big deal, even though it kind of is. “ Stuff we didn’t get to last time. He might find it helpful .”

He takes them gently, almost too carefully, like he’s holding something fragile. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just stares at the paper and then looks back up at you, and there’s something in his face. Guilt, maybe. Or something like it.

But all he says is, “ Yeah. I’ll give them to him .”

“T hanks, ” you murmur, smiling as you close your locker.

Gareth hesitates for half a second longer, like he wants to say something else. But he doesn’t . He just turns and walks away, fast like he’s trying to escape.

And you’re left there in the hall, your smile fading, wondering what the hell just shifted, why this sudden space between you and Eddie feels so much bigger than it should.

Eddie's Perspective

The cafeteria’s buzzing, people talking over one another, trays clattering, laughter echoing off the walls. Eddie’s at the usual table with the guys, Gareth going off about something that happened in math class while Jeff and Grant are halfway into a heated debate about which Dio album is the most “spiritually transcendent.” Eddie's half-listening, tossing in a smirk or a sarcastic comment when it fits, but mostly, he’s watching the door.

He doesn’t mean to. Or maybe he does.

You walk in, and for a second, everything blurs around you. Your head’s down just a little, your shoulders tense. You look like you’ve got a hundred things on your mind, like you’re walking through fog no one else can see. And Eddie hates that he notices. He hates that he  cares.

He doesn’t even know when that started.

You pause when you spot Scott, already sitting at your usual table, all smug and laid-back like he owns the goddamn school. He’s smiling, and Eddie knows that smile. He’s seen it before, the kind of smile that says  Look at me, look at what’s mine. It makes Eddie’s stomach twist.

You walk over, slow, almost hesitant. And that gets him too. That little pause.

Eddie can’t hear what either of you is saying. He’s too far away, and the cafeteria’s too loud. But he sees the moment Scott pulls something out of his pocket, something small and wrapped. You look surprised. He hands it to you, says something else with that annoying little smirk, and you laugh.  Laugh.

Eddie clenches his jaw.

You open the gift. There’s a bracelet inside. Simple. Gold. Something that catches the light when you hold it up. You smile again. And then Scott pulls you into a hug, all tight and public, like he wants everyone to see it.

And you don’t pull away.

You lean into it.

You laugh at something he says, shake your head, playfully roll your eyes like it’s all so effortless.

Like maybe yesterday didn’t mean anything to you at all.

Eddie looks away, jaw clenched.

What the hell is this? Why does this feel like a punch in the gut when it’s not even about him?

You’re  with Scott. You’ve  always been with Scott. Eddie knows that. Everyone does. So why does it feel like someone just knocked the wind out of him? Why is he sitting here, pissed off about a bracelet and a hug that should mean nothing to him?

He shouldn’t care. He  doesn’t care.

Except, he kind of does.

And that scares the hell out of him.

“You okay?” Gareth asks from across the table, raising an eyebrow.

Eddie forces a grin, shakes his head. “Yeah. Just thinking about how I’d rather be getting a root canal than tutoring later.”

Gareth snorts. “Didn’t realise English was causing  that much trauma.”

Eddie shrugs. “You’d be surprised.”

But it’s not the tutoring. It’s not the homework or the grades or even the dumb notes you leave in his notebook in that annoyingly perfect handwriting.

It’s you.

And he doesn’t know what the hell to do with that.

Eddie doesn’t touch his food.

He’s still trying to act normal, laugh when the guys joke, roll his eyes when Jeff starts ranting about drum solos, but it’s forced now. 

By the time lunch is over, he’s made up his mind.

“I’m skipping tutoring today,” he says abruptly, cutting off Gareth mid-story about some disaster in chem lab.

Gareth frowns. “Dude, what? You’ve got that English test tomorrow.”

Eddie shrugs, too casually. “Yeah. Whatever. I need to practice for tonight.”

Jeff raises an eyebrow. “You said we were fine. We’re playing the same four songs we always play.”

“Yeah, and maybe I don’t wanna suck in front of a crowd,” Eddie snaps. “Sorry for giving a shit.”

That shuts them up for a second. Eddie immediately feels a little bad, but not bad enough to take it back.

Gareth leans forward, brow furrowed. “So you’re blowing off tutoring to play the same riff twenty more times?”

“I said I’m practising, didn’t I?” Eddie grabs his bag, slinging it over one shoulder. “Besides, she’s not gonna miss me.”

“That’s what  Saturday  was for,” Gareth says, frowning. “You said you were good.”

Eddie leans back in his chair, cracking his knuckles. “Yeah, well, you were right, okay? I need more time. Guess I’m finally admitting you had a point.”

Gareth narrows his eyes, suspicious. “You  never admit I have a point.”

Eddie just shrugs again. “Call it character growth.”

The others glance between them but don’t say much, probably chalking it up to Eddie being his usual dramatic self. But Gareth’s still looking at him, like he knows there’s more to it.

Eddie avoids his gaze and pulls his jacket on.

“Can you tell her?” he says, a little too casually. “That I’m not coming. I’ve got stuff to do.”

Gareth’s face immediately sours. “Why can’t  you tell her?”

“Because I’m busy, alright?” Eddie snaps, harsher than he means to. He scrubs a hand through his hair, trying to calm down. 

Gareth looks at him for a long beat. “You’re being weird.”

“Yeah, well, newsflash, man; I  am weird.” Eddie tries to laugh it off, but there’s no real humour behind it. “Just do this for me, okay?”

Gareth hesitates. Eddie knows exactly why. He’s not blind; he’s seen the way Gareth looks at you when you’re around, all wide-eyed and nervous. The kid’s got it bad, and Eddie usually doesn’t give him shit for it because, well, it’s harmless.

But now? Now it kind of grates.

“Please?” Eddie adds, a little softer this time.

Gareth sighs, shoulders slumping. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“Yeah,” Eddie mutters, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I know.”

He heads out of the cafeteria without looking back, without looking at  you. Because if he does, he’s not sure what will happen. He’s not sure if he’ll be pissed, or hurt, or if he’ll say something he can’t take back.

And right now, it’s easier to just not know.

Later, Eddie was sprawled in the back corner of the study hall, tapping his pen absently against the edge of his desk.

He’d been staring at the same page of his book for the past ten minutes. The words didn’t make sense, and it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to push through his frustration. He should’ve been thinking about the test tomorrow. He should’ve been thinking about the gig later. But no, instead, his mind kept drifting back to you.

To yesterday.

To how much it fucked with him that you seemed so… normal. So  fine , despite everything.

Gareth slid into the chair beside him, snapping Eddie out of his spiralling thoughts. Eddie didn’t even look up.

“She knows,” Gareth said flatly.

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. He stiffened, but kept his voice casual. “She knows what?”

“That you’re not coming to tutoring today.” Gareth hesitated before adding, “I told her.”

Eddie nodded, eyes flicking back to the cover of his book. His fingers clenched tighter around his pen, but he didn’t look at Gareth. Didn’t let himself care enough to ask how you’d reacted. He already knew. You probably didn’t care that much, right?

Gareth must’ve seen the question anyway, because he added, “She didn’t say much. Just handed me these.”

He pulled a stack of notes from his backpack and dropped them on Eddie’s desk.

Eddie stared at them. Your handwriting. Neat. Organized. Colour-coded tabs stuck out from the edges. Little arrows pointing to key passages. Circles around specific quotes with your comments beside them. One section had a note in pink ink:  “This one’s definitely going to be on the test — memorise it!” There was even a tiny smiley face next to it.  Jesus. 

You hadn’t had to do that. You  shouldn’t have done that. 

You’d put so much effort into making them clear for him, and he bailed on you like a total asshole. It hit him like a punch in the gut.

He felt like shit.

“They’re good,” Gareth said quietly. “Really thoughtful.”

Eddie didn’t answer. Just slipped the notes halfway into his folder to hide them from view. It made something in his chest twist worse.

“You know,” Gareth muttered, voice low but not soft, “it’s a little messed up, you bailing last minute when she’s really trying to help you.”

Eddie shot him a glare. “I have things to do.”

“Like what? Play the same riff instead of trying to pass?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Well, I’ve got notes now, so I’ll be fine.”

Gareth let out a humourless laugh. “Wow. Seriously? You sound like a dick.”

Eddie’s jaw clenched. “What’s your problem, man?”

“My problem is you’ve got someone trying to help you, like actually  trying , and you’re blowing it off like it’s nothing. She didn’t  have to write those notes, Eddie.”

Eddie looked away. He knew Gareth was right. That was the worst part. He didn’t deserve you doing any of this for him. And yet… it made him angry. Not at you. At himself. At Scott. At the whole damn situation.

Gareth kept going. “You’ve got a test  tomorrow . She’s giving up her time, going out of her way for you, and you can’t even bother to show up?”

“I  said I have things to do.”

“You’ve been off all day,” Gareth muttered. “You’re acting like an ass.”

Eddie didn’t answer. His hands curled around the edges of the notes, knuckles tight. He was acting weird. Because everything felt off-balance. Because he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Because he hated the way Gareth looked when he talked about you, soft and a little protective.

He exhaled through his nose, voice low and sharp. “Just drop it.”

Gareth shook his head, muttering something under his breath before walking off.

Eddie sat there, staring at your notes, heart pounding too fast, and his thoughts an unholy mess.

Chapter Text

Your Perspective

You sit at the cafeteria table, the usual noise swirling around you, trays clattering, voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the walls, but none of it really sinks in. Your mind is tangled up in thoughts of Eddie. You can’t shake the weird knot twisting in your chest, the restless ache of missing him, or worse, the fear that maybe you did something wrong. 

You’re sitting with Scott and the rest of the basketball team, listening with half-interest as Jason Carver goes off about something, clearly enjoying being the centre of attention.

“Man, it’s pathetic,” Jason scoffs, shaking his head. “I mean, how many times can a guy fail senior year before he just gives up?”

You don’t have to ask who he’s talking about.

A few of the guys chuckle, agreeing with him. Your stomach tightens, and you try to keep your face neutral. But you can’t help it. You open your mouth before you can stop yourself.

. “Well, maybe if the school actually helped struggling students instead of just pushing them aside, it wouldn’t be such a problem.”

The laughter dies, replaced by surprised silence. Jason raises an eyebrow at you, caught off guard. Some of the other guys glance at each other, sensing the tension shift.

Scott’s quiet beside you feels heavy. You sense his posture stiffen, his jaw tightening.

Jason laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, but there’s an edge to it. “Right, because guys like Munson are just dying for academic support.”

You hold your ground, voice steady but calm. “It’s easy to judge when you don’t know what someone’s dealing with.”

There’s a brief, awkward pause. Jason looks like he’s about to retort, but Scott cuts in, his voice low and laced with something you don’t want to hear. “She’s got a soft spot for lost causes.” His arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you close, his breath warm against your ear. “Don’t take it personally, man.”

Before you can react, Scott’s hand slips beneath the table. His fingers press hard against your thigh, painful and deliberate, silencing you more effectively than any words could. You freeze, breath hitching, trapped between wanting to pull away and the sharp sting that keeps you still.

Jason smirks, satisfied. The conversation moves on, but Scott’s grip lingers longer than it should. When he finally pulls away, you don’t meet his eyes, but you can feel the irritation radiating off him in waves.

For the rest of lunch, Scott barely glances your way. The heat of his anger simmers just beneath the surface, but you cling to a fragile hope it’ll cool off on its own.

As the hallways empty out, the usual noise fades to faint murmurs behind closed doors. You’re at your locker, swapping books, trying to ignore the dull ache in your leg from where Scott gripped you earlier.

Then you hear him.

Footsteps, steady and deliberate. You don’t have to turn around.

Scott.

He stops too close, his presence suffocating as he invades your space. You can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

“You just  can’t help yourself, can you?”