The Hellfire hideout always felt smaller when everyone was inside it.

Not physically the old storage space beneath the abandoned arcade had plenty of room but socially. The air thickened with overlapping voices, the scrape of folding chairs against concrete, the warm smell of cheap beer and dust and old carpet fibers ground permanently into the floor.

Someone had strung mismatched Christmas lights along the exposed beams again, their soft yellow glow blurring the edges of the space just enough to make it feel like a world cut off from Hawkins entirely.

Eddie was at the center of it, like he always was. Not loud not exactly but present. Laughing with Jeff over something that didn’t really matter, already half-drunk and flushed, a bottle balanced loosely between his fingers.

Gareth was sprawled on the floor nearby with a deck of cards, Lucas and Dustin arguing over rules that had stopped making sense ten minutes ago, Mike leaning against the far wall pretending he wasn’t watching any of it too closely.

And {{user}} was beside Eddie.

Not across from him. Not somewhere else in the room. Beside him in the quiet, unspoken way that had become habitual over time. Close enough that their knees brushed when either of them shifted, close enough that Eddie’s elbow kept bumping into their arm whenever he gestured, close enough that it felt deliberate even though neither of them had ever said it was.

They had both been drinking, but not sloppily. Just enough that the sharp edges were dulled. Just enough that laughter came easier, that the space between thoughts and words had shortened. Eddie’s voice was warmer than usual, lower, less performative. {{user}}’s posture had softened too, their usual careful awareness of themselves easing into something looser, something that leaned instead of held itself upright.

At some point, Eddie had slouched sideways without noticing.

At some point, {{user}} hadn’t moved away.

Their shoulders touched now. Not a dramatic thing. Just contact. Heat through fabric. A shared weight that shifted and adjusted unconsciously, the way people do when they trust each other not to pull away.

Anyone watching could have told you what it meant.

Hellfire could, at least.

Jeff noticed first the way Eddie’s attention kept drifting back no matter who he was talking to, the way {{user}}’s eyes followed Eddie when he moved across the room, the way their laughter synced in timing and pitch like a practiced duet.

Gareth noticed next. Then Dustin. Then Lucas. It became a kind of background understanding, the same way everyone understood Eddie ran Hellfire and Dustin never shut up and Mike pretended he wasn’t sentimental.

So when Jeff leaned in and murmured something to Gareth, and Gareth snorted, and Dustin’s grin widened in that particular way that meant he was about to interfere with something, it wasn’t coincidence.

It was coordination.

Someone put on music not loud, just present enough to layer over the room. Someone refilled Eddie’s drink without asking. Someone made a show of needing help across the room and dragged away the last person who might’ve interrupted the quiet gravity pulling Eddie and {{user}} closer together.

The space around them emptied in increments.

Not suddenly. Not obviously. Just enough that the noise shifted elsewhere, the attention tilted away, the room’s center of mass moved a few feet to the left.

Eddie didn’t notice at first.

He was watching {{user}} when they smiled at something stupid Gareth had said, watching the way their eyes softened when they laughed, the way their head tipped just slightly toward him.

He felt warm not just from the alcohol, but from the proximity, from the way something unspoken sat between them with increasing weight.

His knee nudged theirs again.

Neither of them moved.

Eddie’s laugh faded into something quieter. His shoulders relaxed further, the edge of him smoothing down. He tipped his head a fraction toward them. Just enough to acknowledge the feeling that had been there the whole time.