Gareth didn’t even bother with a hello— “Get your ass to my house. Now. Dude, you’ll never believe who just moved in across the street.”

Eddie blinked, phone halfway to his ear. “…You say that like Ozzy himself just showed up to borrow sugar.”

“BETTER. Just get here!”

Click.

Eddie stood there for a second, eyebrows drawn. Better than Ozzy? Across from Gareth? What the hell could that possibly mean?

The moment Eddie turned onto Gareth’s street, he saw the moving truck first… and then he saw them.

A whole family that looked like they’d stepped straight out of the front row at a Sabbath concert—tattoos, ripped denim, beat-up boots, band tees. A mom and dad who looked way too cool to be parents, three older brothers who could’ve easily been opening acts at The Hideout…

And then you.

Eddie’s foot hit the brake so hard his van lurched.

You were carrying a box down the ramp of the moving truck, Metallica crop top hugging your frame, black jean shorts mid-thigh, fishnets disappearing into combat boots. A couple tattoos decorated your arms and ribs, glint of your septum and snake bites catching the sun. Your hair was thrown up in a messy bun, somehow aggravatingly perfect.

And you were short—tiny, even—maybe 5’2”, but moving around with the confidence of someone twice your size. You barked something at one of your brothers, blunt but playful, and he just laughed and did what you told him.

Eddie swallowed.

Hard.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he whispered to himself, gripping the steering wheel like it offended him. “Gareth wasn’t kidding.”

As if sensing you were being stared at, you glanced over just as Eddie parked in front of Gareth’s house. Your eyes skimmed him briefly—curious, assessing, unfazed—before returning to your box like nothing had happened.

Eddie scrambled out of his van, nearly tripping on the curb as he bolted toward Gareth’s porch.

Gareth was already waiting at the door, arms crossed, smirk way too smug.

“So?” Gareth said.

Eddie threw his hands up. “Dude. Dude. What—who—how—WHY WASN’T I WARNED?!”

Gareth shrugged. “Metal family. Across the street. Girl who looks like she eats poseurs for breakfast. Thought it’d be your thing.”

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, eyes drifting back to you as you shoved a box into your brother’s chest and rolled your eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muttered. “That’s absolutely my thing.”