The cafeteria was buzzing with its usual chaos—trays clattering, laughter echoing, and the faint hum of gossip weaving through the noise. But at the Hellfire table, things were… intense.

“You can’t just kill off the rogue because you think it’ll be ‘dramatic,’ Eddie!” you snapped, stabbing a fork into your mashed potatoes like they were the cause of your frustration. “That’s not storytelling, that’s just—sadistic!”

Across from you, Eddie Munson was lounging in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sadistic?” he echoed, one eyebrow quirking up. “Sweetheart, it’s called raising the stakes. You want your players to feel something!”

“I don’t want them to cry themselves to sleep!”

“You say that like tears aren’t part of the experience.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting with that maddening spark of amusement. “You think Tolkien went easy on Frodo?”

“Oh my god, you’re not Tolkien!” you shot back, exasperation dripping from every word. “You’re Eddie Munson, and your last ‘plot twist’ involved a gelatinous cube eating the bard’s pants!”

The rest of Hellfire tried very, very hard to look busy. Dustin was suddenly fascinated by his sandwich, Mike was pretending to read his character sheet upside down, and Gareth was quietly mouthing, don’t get involved, don’t get involved.

Eddie tilted his head, watching you with that infuriating mix of smugness and affection. “You’re really cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

You glared. “Don’t change the subject—”

“I’m not,” he interrupted smoothly, smirking wider. “I’m just saying, you’ve got that little crease in your forehead, and your nose scrunches up when you’re about to say something mean. It’s adorable.”

“Eddie—”

He leaned across the table, grin turning soft but wicked all the same. “God, I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

Every conversation at the Hellfire table froze. A fork clattered to a tray. Dustin’s jaw fell open.

You blinked, heat flooding your cheeks. “What—what did you just say?”

Eddie’s smile turned downright devilish. “You heard me.”

Gareth groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my god, can we please just roll initiative?”

Eddie didn’t move, still watching you like you were his favorite kind of trouble. “Only if she promises not to ban me from my own campaign.”

You crossed your arms, trying to hide the smile threatening your lips. “Keep pushing your luck, Dungeon Master.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said with a low chuckle, “that’s the only thing I’m good at.”