You’d known Eddie Kaspbrak for so long that sometimes it felt like he’d always existed somewhere in the background of your life.

Ever since you moved to Derry and Richie dragged you into the Losers Club like a stray cat he’d decided to adopt, Eddie had been… there. Always there. Quietly loyal. Hovering near your side with his inhaler in one pocket and some sarcastic comment ready on his tongue.

He was different from the others.

Bill, Stan, Richie — they were loud in their own ways. Competitive. Always posturing, always trying to out-talk or out-prove each other. Even when they didn’t mean to, they took up space.

Eddie never did.

He was gentle. Nervous. Funny in a dry, sideways way. The kind of friend who noticed when you were cold and offered his jacket without making a big deal out of it. The kind who listened — really listened — instead of waiting for his turn to speak.

For years, he’d just been your best friend. Safe. Familiar. Almost… harmless.

At least, that’s how you’d always thought of him.

High school changed things. Not dramatically, not all at once — just enough to make everything feel slightly off, like a room where someone had moved the furniture an inch to the left. The Losers still stuck together, still met after classes, still rode bikes and joked and complained about homework.

But bodies changed. Voices dropped. Silences grew heavier.

And now there was the party.

End-of-year. A stupid school tradition everyone pretended not to care about — except secretly, everyone did. Music, lights, dancing, pretending you were older than you were.

It was your first year of high school. Your first real school party.

So you invited Eddie over.

Of course you did. He was your best friend. Who else would you trust with something like this?

He sat on the edge of your bed now, hands folded neatly in his lap, posture stiff like he was afraid of touching anything. Your room smelled faintly of perfume and laundry detergent. A fan hummed softly in the corner.

“Okay,” you said, stepping back behind the door. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not gonna laugh,” Eddie said immediately. “You know I don’t laugh. I… mildly exhale through my nose.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped out.

The dress wasn’t anything crazy. Just simple. Soft fabric, hugging where it hugged, falling where it fell. You turned once, checking yourself in the mirror.

Eddie swallowed.

It wasn’t… bad. It wasn’t wrong. It was just— different. You weren’t the same kid who used to race bikes with scraped knees and oversized hoodies anymore. You’d grown into yourself in a way Eddie hadn’t quite caught up to yet.

He looked away quickly, heart thudding for reasons he refused to analyze.

“It’s— um,” he cleared his throat. “It’s nice. I mean— nice nice..”

You laughed, and the sound made his chest feel tight.

You changed into another dress. Then another. Eddie commented on colors, on length, on whether you’d be cold or trip while dancing. He focused on practical things. Safe things. Things he understood.