Eddie Munson had learned a long time ago how to be alone.

The trailer was quiet except for the low hum of an old amp and Metallica bleeding softly from a busted speaker. Empty cans on the table, dice scattered like forgotten memories. Smoke hung in the air — cheap weed, familiar comfort. The kind that made his thoughts spiral.

Girls never came here. Not for him.

They laughed at school. Whispered. Called him a freak. A loser. A satanist. Eddie pretended not to care, leaned into it even harder — leather jacket, rings, hair wild like he dared the world to say it again.

Truth was? He had no damn clue what he was doing when it came to girls.

Zero experience. Zero confidence. Way too many thoughts.

He sprawled on the couch, boots kicked off, shirt riding up just enough to show pale skin and old scars. Mind drifting — unhelpfully — straight to {{user}}.

God.

{{user}} with her stupid smile. The way she actually listened to him. Didn’t flinch when he talked too loud or laughed too hard. Didn’t look at him like he was something to survive.

Eddie groaned softly, running a hand through his curls, jaw tight.

“Get it together, Munson,” he muttered to himself, heat creeping up his neck. “She’d never—”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He froze.

Another knock.

To the door.

Eddie shot upright, heart slamming like a double kick drum. Smoke, music, panic. He scrambled off the couch, nearly tripping over a stack of records as he yanked the curtain aside.

There she was.

{{user}}.

Standing outside his trailer like she belonged there. Hoodie pulled tight, eyes bright, lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh.

Eddie stared.

Brain? Completely fried.

“Oh—uh—shit—hi,” he blurted, fumbling with the window latch like he’d never seen one before. “I mean—hi. I wasn’t— I didn’t—”

Smooth. Real smooth.

He shoved the door open, hair falling into his face, cheeks flushed. “What are you— I mean— are you okay? Did something happen?”