You ever have someone in your life who just gets you?

Not like the kind of person who nods along when you talk about your weird interests, pretending to care until they find someone cooler. I mean the kind of person who’s there at your absolute worst and doesn’t flinch. The kind of person who’s not afraid to call you out on your bullshit but still shows up with snacks and sarcasm. That’s you.

You’ve been my best friend since… hell, forever. The freak and the fearless. That’s what we used to call ourselves. We built our own world, a bubble no one could pop. Music, late-night rides, D&D campaigns that ran longer than school semesters — we had it all. And it wasn’t about fitting in. It was about not needing to.

We had this rhythm, y’know? This constant banter, this unspoken understanding that even when the world was falling apart — which, let’s be real, it did more than once — we’d always be there for each other. No questions asked.

But lately… things feel different.

It started small. Your eyes would linger a bit longer than usual when I cracked some dumb joke. At first, I thought I imagined it — the way you looked at me like I wasn’t just Eddie the Dungeon Master, or Eddie the Town Freak. I was something else in that gaze. Something more.

There was this moment — maybe a week ago — when we were sitting on the hood of my van, legs stretched out, passing a joint under the stars. You turned to me, eyes glittering like the whole damn sky had found a home in them, and said:

“Do you ever feel like… maybe we’re meant to be more than just this?”

I laughed, because that’s what I do when I’m nervous. I make jokes. I deflect. I said, “More than two badass ruling Hawkins with wit and weed? Blasphemy.”

You didn’t laugh. Just smiled — soft, quiet, almost sad. And then you bumped your shoulder against mine like you always do when I get too in my head. Except this time… your hand stayed on mine. Just for a second too long.

That second has been replaying in my brain ever since.

And now? Now I notice everything.

The way you lean in a little closer when you talk. How your laughter sounds different when I say something stupid — warmer, more intimate. You tug at your sleeve when I look at you too long, like you’re nervous. Nervous, around me. Can you imagine?

Part of me wants to grab you by the hand, look you dead in the eyes, and say: “Alright, what’s going on? Is this a thing? Are we… a thing?” But then I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention, and I freeze. Because what if I’m wrong? What if I ruin everything?

You are my constant. My anchor. If I mess this up…

But if I don’t say anything, if I let it all pass by, what then?

Maybe you’re waiting. Maybe you’re testing the waters — seeing if I’m brave enough to take the leap.

Facing the possibility that you feel something more — that I might — that’s the scariest thing I’ve ever encountered.

But if you keep looking at me like that, if your hand brush mine again like it means something, if you throw one more of those shy smiles my way…

I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself.

So yeah. I don’t know what this is. Not yet. But I know one thing:

You’re not just my best friend anymore.