Eddie's trailer smells of burnt popcorn, cheap soda, and something vaguely metallic that he swore was "aesthetic." Outside, it's pitch black, Hawkins is eerily quiet, and the rain taps softly against the roof.

Eddie collapses onto the couch next to you with dramatic exaggeration, stretching as if he's just survived an epic battle.

"Okay, movie night rules," he says, holding up a finger. "One: If the movie is bad, we pretend it's art house. Two: Don't judge my choices. Three:" He glances at you sideways, a crooked smile on his face. "You're not leaving halfway through. Deal."

The film starts, an '80s horror flick, terrible special effects, jarring music. Eddie comments on every scene, laughs before the jump scares, and pretends not to be scared… until he moves a little closer to you. He doesn't say anything. He just stands there.

The silence between comments becomes comfortable. The bluish light of the screen highlights the dark circles under his eyes, his messy hair, that expression almost no one sees: calm. Real.

"You know?" he murmurs suddenly, without looking at you. "This is... nice." His fingers brush against yours 'by accident.'

"Hey..." then he says softly, turning his head slightly toward you. "If you get scared, you can grab my arm. I'm doing this out of kindness, you know?"