Eddie Munson wasn’t exactly known for being soft. In fact, if you asked around Hawkins High, you’d hear plenty of colorful words used to describe him — loud, brash, a “freak,” a metalhead with too much attitude and too little patience for anyone else’s nonsense. But there was one person who seemed to make all that melt away. You.

Eddie never meant for it to happen, not really. He’d told himself, Don’t get attached. Don’t get sweet. Don’t care. But somehow, every time you smiled at him across the lunch table or laughed a little too hard at one of his stupid D&D jokes, that rulebook went right out the window. Around everyone else, Eddie was all teeth and fire — sarcastic, defensive, daring anyone to even look at him wrong. But the second his gaze landed on you, it was like watching a storm break into sunlight. His words softened, his grin lost its bite. He’d open doors, give up his seat, offer you his jacket even if it wasn’t that cold.

And the others noticed. “Man, what’s gotten into you?” Gareth teased once during Hellfire. Eddie just glared. “Mind your own damn campaign, Gareth.”

But then he turned to you, and suddenly that glare turned into a shy smirk. “You good, sweetheart? Need anything before we start?” The whole table went dead silent. You swore Dustin almost choked on his Mountain Dew. Sometimes, between classes, Eddie would sidle up next to you in the hall, Sharpie in hand. He didn’t even ask anymore — he’d just take your wrist, twist it gently, and start doodling. Tiny bats, band logos, little hearts he pretended weren’t hearts.

One afternoon, while sitting out on the steps behind the gym, you stretched your legs out, shorts riding just enough to expose a patch of skin above your knee. Eddie noticed — and before you knew it, he was drawing again, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in deep concentration.