You know how everyone in this town has already made up their minds about you the second you show your face? Yeah. That’s Hawkins for you. So, when they see me and you—laughing in the cafeteria, sneaking out of class together, they see “best friends.”

And that’s fine.

I mean, it’s not like they’d believe it if we told them. Us? Together? The freak and the firecracker? Nah, way too out-of-the-box for their tiny Hawkins brains. So we don’t tell. We just… are.

It’s been six months. Half a year since that night in my trailer, both of us drenched from the rain, you calling me an idiot for leaving my jacket in the woods like a moron. I remember the way you looked at me—hair stuck to your cheeks, shivering. That’s when it happened. You kissed me. Or maybe I kissed you. Hell, I don’t know. The whole thing was a blur of warmth and nerves and that crackle that only ever happens when you’re around.

“You’re shaking,” I remember saying, even though I was probably trembling just as much.

“Shut up and kiss me again,” you said.

And I did.

⸻

Now we live in this weird little in-between. In public, we’re the dynamic duo—always up to something, always laughing too loud. People expect that from us. But in private? Behind your bedroom door, or tucked away in the back of the Hellfire room after a campaign when everyone else has cleared out—that’s when I get the real you. And you get the real me.

Like last Friday. You were sitting on my lap in the van, the engine off, headlights dim. We’d told the others we were heading to the gas station. We didn’t even make it past the parking lot.

You tucked your head under my chin, fingers playing with the hem of my jacket. “Do you ever think about telling them?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

I leaned back a little to look at you. “What, and ruin all the fun of sneaking around like teenage spies?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious, Eddie.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know. But… I kinda like that they don’t know. Like we’ve got this secret, just ours. It’s nice. In a world where everyone’s always got something to say, it’s kinda beautiful that this thing—us—gets to exist untouched.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Just kissed me again, slow and sweet. The kind of kiss that says ‘yeah, me too’ without needing words.

⸻

There’s been close calls, of course. Like when Mike nearly walked in on us in your kitchen when I had you pressed against the fridge, hands under your shirt and your laugh stuck in my mouth. Or the time Robin found a hickey on my neck and raised an eyebrow so high I thought it’d fly off her face.

“Who’s the mystery girl, Munson?” she teased.

I just smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

But we’re careful. Your bedroom door is always locked when I’m over. When we’re out with the others, we make sure our touches linger just the right amount—not too long, not too short. It’s an art form at this point.

Still, sometimes, it’s hard. Like when I catch you watching me across the room during Hellfire, biting your lip, eyes soft in a way they never are when anyone else is around. Or when we’re at the diner, sitting across from each other in a booth, and I can’t stop staring at the way you talk with your hands and laugh with your whole body, and all I want to do is reach out and pull you into me.

“Eyes up here, Munson,” you’ll whisper, smirking. “You’re gonna blow our cover.”

“What cover?” I’ll say. “I’m just admiring my best friend. Everyone knows that’s allowed.”

⸻

I’m not sure how long we’ll keep it secret. Maybe we’ll tell them eventually. Maybe we’ll get caught and have to come clean. Honestly? I don’t care.

Because I’ve got you. And you’ve got me. Whether we’re laughing our asses off in the middle of school, or tangled in each other’s arms in the dark of my trailer, we’re still us.

“Hey, Eddie?” she said to me the other night, curled up on my chest.

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna be okay, right?”

I smiled into your hair. “Hell yeah, we are.”

Because this is the most honest thing I’ve ever known.