You’re sitting on the bleachers in the Hawkins High gym, trying to finish Dustin’s last-minute emergency homework (because apparently “saving the world” is not a valid excuse for missing algebra). The school is mostly empty — clubs are wrapping up, the janitors are doing their half-hearted sweeps, and the fluorescent lights buzz like they’re tired of living.

You hear him before you see him.

Well— technically, you hear his guitar case clatter first.

Then: “Whoa—shit—nope, didn’t drop it, totally meant to do that—”

You look up.

Eddie Munson stumbles through the gym doors, hair wild, jacket half-zipped, one shoelace untied, and looking like he’s sprinted from hell itself.

When he spots you, he freezes.

Not “oops, someone’s here.”

No.

More like:

Oh. It’s her.

He pushes a hand through his curls and saunters — tries to saunter — toward the bleachers.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Henderson Prime.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Prime?”

“You’re the prototype. Dustin is, uh… the sequel.”

You laugh. “I’ll let him know you said that.”

“Oh God, please don’t. He’ll never let me live it down.”

He sets his guitar case beside you but doesn’t sit until you gesture for him to. And even then, he chooses the step below you, leaning back between your knees like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You waiting for Dustin?” he asks.

You shake your head. “He’s with Mike, doing whatever nerds do on Thursdays.”

Eddie places a hand on his chest, offended. “Excuse you, I’ll have you know Thursdays are sacred D&D preparation days, thank you very much.”

“You guys spent last Thursday setting a toaster on fire.”

“Preparations can take many forms.”

You roll your eyes. He grins up at you — wide, boyish, a little starstruck. He always looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your face, and it would be easier if he weren’t so bad at hiding it.

“So what about you?” he asks. “Why’re you here?”