The Hellfire Club had been at it for nearly twenty minutes.

Jeff had tried teasing. Eddie had tried taunting. And Freaking Grant had even tried reading a painfully dramatic sonnet he’d found in a Cosmo in the school library’s lost-and-found.

But Gareth Emerson — stoic, stone-faced drummer boy of Hawkins High — wasn’t budging. Not a twitch. Not a hint of red. Just a resigned sigh every now and then as he rested his elbows on the Hellfire table, eyes occasionally drifting toward where you sat with Nancy and Robin.

You had been watching the entire spectacle with increasing amusement, chin propped in your hand while Nancy quietly studied for chemistry and Robin whispered commentary like a sports announcer gone feral.

“They’re floundering,” Robin murmured, leaning close. “He’s immune. It’s embarrassing at this point.”

Nancy hid a smile behind her notebook. “They’re going to break him eventually.”

You hummed. Eventually. But Gareth wasn’t exactly an easy mark, and you knew it better than anyone. He could handle monsters, missions, Eddie’s catastrophically bad flirting… But you?

Well. That was different.

Across the cafeteria, Eddie threw his hands up dramatically. “Come on, man! Nothing? Not even a little blush? You’re killing me.”

Gareth rolled his eyes. “I don’t blush on command, dude.”

“Then we’ll make you blush unintentionally!” Jeff declared, immediately tripping over his own shoelace and nearly face-planting into his tray. Eddie groaned into his hands.

You finally pushed your chair back.

“Oh boy,” Robin whispered. “She’s going in.”

Nancy didn’t even look up from her notes. “They asked for it.”

You walked across the cafeteria with the slow, deliberate kind of confidence that already made Gareth straighten a little in his seat. He noticed you in the same way someone notices a storm on the horizon — quiet, intense, a little terrified, but in awe all the same.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he started, already softening just from you being close.

You didn’t say anything.

You simply stepped between him and the table, placing yourself squarely in his focus. His brows knit, confused but curious, and he started to tilt his head—

Until you gently lifted his chin with a single finger.

The cafeteria noise faded into static.

His breath caught. His eyes widened just a fraction — the only tell that he was already folding.

You leaned down, lips hovering barely a breath from his. Close enough to feel his exhale tremble against your mouth, close enough that his hands uselessly clenched at his knees like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you.

You whispered, slow, warm, devastating

“My good boy.”

Gareth short-circuited.

It was visible — the instant, catastrophic collapse of all coherent thought. His brain did the emotional equivalent of a Windows error screen. His cheeks ignited, blooming red so fast Eddie actually choked on air.

Gareth made a sound. Not a word. Not even a syllable.

Just a static-filled reboot noise of a man whose entire soul had left his body.

You smiled sweetly, patted his cheek once, and turned to head back to Nancy and Robin.

But before you left, you tossed over your shoulder, “You guys can stop trying now. Turns out you just needed the right cheat code.”

Eddie slammed both hands on the table. “THAT’S NOT FAIR!”

Gareth was still frozen, staring at nothing, pupils blown, face redder than the Hellfire dice.

Grant waved a hand in front of him. “Dude? Earth to Gareth? Blink twice if you’re alive.”

Gareth didn’t blink.

Robin cackled loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear.

Nancy only smirked. “Told you.”

You sat back down, stealing one more glance at your boyfriend — still malfunctioning, still melted, still yours.

Yeah.

You were definitely the cheat code.