For all Eddie Munson’s grumbling and grandstanding, he hadn’t really expected much from his twentieth birthday. Wayne had left a crumpled five-dollar bill by the toaster before leaving for his night shift, and the guys in Hellfire had shouted a rushed “happy birthday, man” in the school parking lot before scattering like pigeons, too caught up in midterms and band practice and the eternal curse of adolescence. Even she—his girl—hadn’t said a word.

It stung a little. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud.

He slouched his way through the day, dragging his boots through the halls of Hawkins High like he was in mourning. But really, he just missed her. She was the best part of his day lately. Pretty in that soft, no-makeup kind of way, always with a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth like a secret joke she hadn’t told him yet. Sweet, but not in a fake way. She saw people. Even him.

He still didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky. She was the type to belong in polaroids with friends at pool parties, not tucked beside him in the back row of history class, passing sarcastic notes and sketching tiny dragons in the margins of his notebook.

And then she’d asked him out. Just like that. A Friday afternoon, sun in her hair and tremble in her voice, and Eddie had just… short-circuited.

Two months in, and he was still half-convinced it wasn’t real.

By the time he got to her house that evening—invited casually by a note in his locker, “come over after 6?”—he was ready to act nonchalant. Maybe she forgot, maybe she didn’t care about birthdays, maybe this was just going to be a movie night with popcorn and couch cuddles, and he’d just pretend he didn’t care.

But then the front door swung open.

“SURPRISE!”

Eddie flinched so hard he nearly lost a boot.

There they were—Hellfire, Jeff, Gareth, Mike, even Dustin—crowded in the entryway, wearing paper party hats and grinning like lunatics. And in the middle of it all—oh, sweet Gandalf—stood his girl.

She was dressed in what could only be described as Elven regalia. Flowing green velvet, a crown of gold leaves braided into her hair, cheeks flushed pink with excitement and effort. She looked like she'd stepped out of Lothlórien and into a suburban Indiana foyer.

Eddie’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “What—what the—are you Galadriel? What the hell is this?”

“Your birthday, dummy,” she laughed, hurrying over to him. “Did you really think I’d forget?”

“I—uh—” His voice cracked. He glanced around. The dining room table had been transformed into a Hobbit’s feast. Blackberry tarts, pork pies, honey cakes stacked in towers, scones with melting butter, seed cakes flecked with caraway, a glazed ham steaming gently under candlelight. And in the center, a birthday cake piled high with whipped cream and sugared berries.

Everything from Tolkien’s pages, brought to life in her cul-de-sac kitchen.

“It’s like… Bilbo’s pantry exploded,” he whispered.

“That was the idea,” she beamed. “A proper Shire celebration. I even made mead. Well—honey soda. Close enough.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered, utterly floored.

She tugged on his hand, guiding him into the room. “Come on, Lord Munson. Your feast awaits.”

The others clapped him on the back, cracked jokes, raised plastic goblets in toast. For once, Eddie didn’t feel like the weird guy. He felt like a king.

And her—standing beside him in velvet and moonlight, face smudged with flour and pride—

He looked at her, heart hitching sideways in his chest. “You did all this?”

“I wanted to make something you’d remember,” she said simply. “I know birthdays kinda sucked before. Thought maybe we could change that.”

Eddie didn’t speak. He just pulled her in, kissed her softly in the middle of the Shire banquet.

“Yeah,” he murmured against her lips. “Consider it changed.”

He pulled back, eyes bright and shining.

“I would fight ten orcs for you,” he whispered.