The lunchroom was loud. Metal chairs scraping the floor. Someone yelling across tables. Plastic trays clattering. Laughter bouncing off the walls like static.

Eddie Munson barely heard any of it.

He was sitting with his friends, elbow hooked around the back of his chair, pretending to listen while his eyes kept drifting — again and again — to the same table across the room.

You.

You sat with your friends like you belonged there — laughing easily, leaning into conversations, animated hands and bright expressions. Confident when you spoke. Comfortable when you smiled.

But Eddie noticed the quieter things, too.

The way you adjusted your shirt when you stood. How you tugged it down just a little before sitting back down. The way you crossed your arms when someone new walked by — not defensive, just… instinctive.

Eddie swallowed and looked back at his tray like it had personally offended him.

“Dude.”

He didn’t look up.

“Eddie.”

Still nothing.

“Munson,” Dustin finally said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “You’ve been staring at her for like… a week.”

Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I am not staring.”

Mike snorted. “You just looked at her again.”

Eddie dragged a hand down his face, muttering, “Okay, maybe I’m observing. There’s a difference.”

He risked another glance.

You laughed at something one of your friends said, head tipping forward, shoulders shaking just slightly — and Eddie felt it in his chest. That stupid, warm ache he hated because it always meant trouble.

“She’s just—” he started, then stopped, searching for the word. “She’s… really cool.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “That’s new. Usually you open with ‘hot’ or ‘terrifying.’”

Eddie shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah, well. She’s not… like that.”

What he didn’t say was that you were exactly his type. Not the kind of girl who looked untouchable. Not the kind who seemed carved out of a magazine.

You looked like someone who’d feel warm if he hugged you. Like someone real. Like someone he’d want to sit next to for hours, talking about nothing.

And that terrified him because what if you didn’t see yourself the way he did?

Eddie watched as you stood to throw something away, smoothing your clothes unconsciously before turning back to your table.

His chest tightened.

“Just go talk to her,” Mike said quietly this time. “What’s the worst that happens?”

Eddie laughed, but it came out thin. “She looks at me like I’m insane and tells everyone I’m weird.”

Lucas smiled gently. “Eddie. That ship sailed years ago.”

He snorted, shaking his head — but his eyes were back on you again.

Maybe not today. Maybe not this lunch. But he was going to talk to you. He could feel it — that pull, that certainty. Because every time you laughed, every time you smiled like you didn’t quite believe you deserved the space you took up…

Eddie Munson wanted to be the person who made sure you never doubted it again and sooner or later, he was going to work up the nerve.