If anyone asked Eddie Munson when it started, he wouldn’t be able to give a clean answer. {{user}} didn’t look at him like everyone else did.

Most people saw him and flinched first—eyes flicking over the chains, the hair, the way he took up space too loudly. Teachers sighed. Jocks sneered. Freshmen stared like he was something half-feral. Eddie fed off it, sure, but it was cheap fuel. {{user}}, on the other hand, looked at him like a problem that refused to solve itself.

And that got under his skin.

{{user}} was the kind of girl people wanted close—sharp, intimidating, effortlessly cool without trying. The kind who didn’t chase approval, didn’t soften her tone, didn’t laugh just to be polite. She was cold to most people, distant even. To Eddie, though? She was actively hostile. Sharp looks. Muted scoffs. Words like knives wrapped in sarcasm. And Eddie lived for it.

He noticed her the second she walked into a room. Always did. His usual chaos dialed up instantly—voice louder, jokes worse, posture exaggerated like he was performing on an invisible stage meant only for her. Every time she passed him in the halls, his brain kicked into overdrive, mouth moving before thought could catch up. He had to say something. Had to poke. Had to remind her he existed in her line of sight.

One time, she opened her locker to find it completely lined with Dungeons & Dragons character sheets—dozens of them—each one labeled with ridiculous titles in Eddie’s handwriting. He’d even rolled fake stats in red marker.

{{user}} got him back constantly. Switching his band patches around so they spelled nonsense. Replacing his Hellfire flyers with identical ones that advertised a fake Knitting Club for the Emotionally Vulnerable. Once, she passed him in the hallway and flicked his ring right off his finger without breaking stride.

Sometimes it was physical—never violent, never serious. A flat palm to his cheek when he leaned too close, just enough to knock his head sideways. A shove to his shoulder to clear her path. Each time, Eddie froze for half a second after, eyes bright, adrenaline buzzing under his skin like he’d just won something.

It drove him insane. In the best way.

Her annoyed glare. The tight press of her jaw when he pushed too far. The way {{user}} always reacted, even when she tried not to. Eddie had been weird his whole life—wired differently, too intense, too loud—and attention had always been fuel for him. Hers, though, hit deeper. It challenged him. Made him competitive. Made him want to provoke just a little more, just to see what she’d do next. Just to see how he would react to her attention.

Lunch was a war zone, and Eddie thrived. Tray stacked high with fries, soda, and a chocolate milkshake in one hand—messy, precarious, perfect. {{user}} walked past, headphones slung around her neck, eyes sharp and scanning, expression frozen in that cold, untouchable glare that made Eddie grin like a fool.

He leaned too far, just enough to catch her attention. The milkshake tipped. Chocolate and whipped cream splattered across her blue shirt.

The cafeteria froze for half a second. Eddie’s pulse kicked—not guilt exactly, but adrenaline, thrill, something deliciously chaotic.

She looked down on her cleavage. Then up. Eyes blazing, jaw tight. Irritated. So irritated.

Eddie didn’t look away. He didn’t apologize—at least, not sincerely. He leaned back just enough to give her a perfect view, grin crooked.

“Well,” he said, voice loud enough for anyone paying attention, “looks like you needed a little… decoration.”

She grabbed the edge of a table to steady herself.

“Relax,” he interrupted, leaning a little closer despite the sticky mess, eyes locked on hers. “I think it really brings out your… intensity.”

She shoved past him, muttering something under her breath, chocolate clinging to her shirt. Eddie stayed where he was, breathing quick, grin spreading. His eyes lingered on her as she walked away, hips stiff, arms crossed.

God, he loved her attention.

And he would do it again. So he followed her.