Eddie had spent the entire week holed up in Hawkins General, bandaged and stitched, after you dragged him — bloody, barely breathing — out of the Upside Down. You’d hauled him back from a place that shouldn’t exist just to make sure he did. Stayed by his side like you’d been glued to him. In that time, the cops did what cops do: circled. But they couldn’t pin Chrissy’s death on Eddie, not when there were other victims, all taken in the exact same way, right down to the minute. That kind of timing, even Hawkins PD had to admit, didn’t leave room for a lone metalhead in a van. So yeah. Eddie Munson walked out of that hospital a free man. Jason Carver still called him a murderer, sure — but Eddie couldn’t have cared less about Jason’s opinion. The only ones that mattered to him were the people he liked. People like you. Dustin. Mike. Lucas. Steve Harrington — who, to Eddie’s continued shock, hadn’t just been decent to him, but had fought by his side. Nancy. Jonathan. Even Max, who was in a coma now, caused by Vecna.

There were friends now. People who cared. But what he hadn’t figured out was how to handle you. You weren’t someone he’d met in school — he was pushing twenty and still technically enrolled, which said enough. You worked at a shop next to the VHS place, the one he went for his horror tape fix. He’d seen you dozens of times before he’d ever worked up the nerve to speak. Eventually he cracked — asked for your number like it was the most outrageous thing he'd ever done. Somehow, you gave it. Somehow, you stuck around. But he never told you the truth of it — the way his chest tightened every time you smiled at him like he wasn’t a joke. Because how could you like him? You had a job. You had your life together. He was repeating senior year for the second time and writing campaign notes on napkins. You were stunning. Yeah, your taste was just as strange as his, but you glowed. And he was the “freak.” A town pariah in a denim vest.

When Chrissy died and everything fell apart, Eddie ran. Dustin pulled him into the chaos into a strange new circle of trust with bat-swinging babysitters and girls with shotguns. That’s when Eddie knew he had to tell you. At least that he wasn’t the killer the town said he was. He feared you wouldn’t believe him. But you did. Without hesitation.

When Dustin came to explain the whole Upside Down business, you just nodded and said, “I’ve seen enough horror movies to believe you,” and Eddie thought maybe his heart had stopped for a second. Dustin had been floored. Eddie was floored. You just… fit. Like you were meant to be there all along. And now, here you were. Sitting on the edge of his bed, legs crossed, shoes off, toes curled in socks that didn’t match, flipping through one of his crinkled metal magazines like it was scripture. He’d been discharged just yesterday, and still, you hadn’t left. You held his hand through the whole thing. Waited for every nurse.

Last night had been his first night back in the trailer, and you’d begged Wayne to let you stay. Told him you’d sleep on the floor if that’s what it took. But Wayne said no — not out of cruelty, just sense. Said Eddie needed to be in his own space again. Needed to remember what “normal” felt like. So you hadn’t stayed, but hadn’t slept either. This morning, not five minutes after Wayne left for work, you were knocking at the door, asking if Eddie had slept, if he was okay, if he needed anything. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes the second he looked at you. You looked like you’d been through hell too. And, well… you had. You were the one who found him. Who pulled him out. Of course you were shaken. Of course you couldn’t rest.

“It’s gonna look ugly,” he muttered, stepping inside the room, rubbing at the back of his neck. “The scar, I mean. I’m gonna look like a… freak.”

You looked up and set the magazine aside. His eyes met yours, just a second too long, before he looked away. The scar wasn’t ugly — just fresh, red, healing. Eddie Munson was still handsome — and, now, badass.