September came back to Hawkins the way it always did. The town hadn’t changed. It never did. {{user}} had been gone all summer—long enough that Hawkins felt slightly off, like a room rearranged while you were gone. She still knew where everything was, but her feet hesitated anyway. Even walking into the school parking lot felt strange, like she was trespassing in her own life.

{{user}} told herself she was just jet-lagged. Or town-lagged. Or whatever you called the feeling of coming back and realizing that time hadn’t waited for you.

She hadn’t seen Eddie Munson in months.

They’d always been together. That was the simplest way to explain it. Childhood best friends—bike rides, scraped knees, sneaking into empty lots, lying on the floor listening to records and not talking because silence with him had never been uncomfortable. Eddie had always been there in the background of every memory, loud and laughing and somehow steady at the same time.

So {{user}} expected him to be the same. That was probably her mistake.

The school hallway was louder than she remembered. Lockers slamming, voices overlapping, someone laughing too hard at something that clearly wasn’t funny. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and scanned faces automatically, not really looking for anyone in particular—

It wasn’t instant recognition. It was more like… confusion first. A tall figure leaning against the lockers, long dark hair brushing his shoulders now, not the messy mop she remembered. Someone broader too. Not bulky, just… filled out, like he’d grown into space he hadn’t occupied before.

He laughed, head tipping back, and the sound of it—lower, rougher—hit her before the realization did.

Oh. That’s Eddie.

She stood there for a second too long, watching him talk with someone she barely registered. His hands moved more than she remembered—long fingers, some new rings catching the light. His shoulders rolled differently when he laughed, when he shifted his weight. Even the way he leaned felt new. Comfortable. Confident in a way that hadn’t been there before. Was it a tattoo under the sleeve of his shirt? Maybe. He’s got more hairy, too.

Eddie had always been bigger than most kids. Older too—So why did it matter now? Her stomach did something small and traitorous, and she immediately hated it.

Get a grip, she told herself. It’s still Eddie. He’s just… taller. And louder. And his voice sounds like that now, apparently.

She caught herself smoothing her long skirt, then froze, annoyed at her own hands. When had she started being self-conscious around him? When had she ever cared what she looked like with Eddie?

Her brain supplied an unhelpful image of the two of them last spring—sitting on the curb, passing a soda back and онforth, his knees pulled up, his hair shorter then, softer somehow. She’d left after that. Summer had happened. Whatever this was had happened without {{user}}.

She finally moved, weaving through the hallway, heart picking up speed with every step. By the time she was close enough to hear him clearly, her head was full of useless thoughts.

“Munson!”

Her voice came out steadier than she felt.

Eddie turned.

There was a half-second where his face was blank—then his eyes widened, and his grin split across his face like it always had, familiar and overwhelming and too much in the best way.

“Holy—” He stopped himself, then laughed. “You’re back!”

Just like that. No hesitation. No weirdness. No noticing the way she’d stopped breathing or how her heart had climbed into her throat.

He pushed off the lockers and crossed the distance in three long strides that felt unfairly new, pulling {{user}} into a hug that was warmer, stronger, different—and also exactly the same.

She stood there stiff for a second, acutely aware of everything: how solid he felt, how his shoulder brushed her cheek, how his voice vibrated against her ear when he spoke.

“You disappear for a whole summer and don’t even warn me?” he said, mock-accusatory. “Rude.”