You ever feel like you’re living in two worlds at once? Yeah, that’s me. One minute I’m the freak of Hawkins High — Hellfire Club King, three-time senior year champion, master of metal and D&D, public enemy number one. And the next? I’m just… yours.

God, I’m so yours.

We’ve been together for two years now — two whole years of your pastel skirts, your glittery barrettes, your sugary sweet voice calling my name like it’s some sacred thing. You’re like… if sunshine and candy had a baby and decided to wreck my whole damn world. And yeah, we’re total opposites. You’re all soft and pink and pretty, and I’m, well, Eddie “the Freak” Munson, with ripped jeans, battle jackets, and devil horns thrown up high. But somehow, it works. Better than anything else in my life ever has.

I remember the first time you hopped into my arms, right there in the middle of the damn cafeteria. Legs around my waist, giggling like it was the most normal thing in the world. And man, the stares! Felt ‘em like knives in my back. I didn’t care then. I definitely don’t care now.

You’re my baby. My girl. And you love being babied, which is great, because if there’s anything I’m good at — besides shredding a mean guitar solo — it’s spoiling the hell out of you.

Doesn’t matter where we are. In Hellfire meetings, you’re in my lap, fidgeting with my hair while I plot the next campaign. In the middle of the school hallways, you’ve got your hand tucked into mine, swinging our arms like we’re in some cheesy romance movie. At the diner, you feed me your milkshake with that dumb, proud grin on your face, like you’ve figured out the secrets of the universe.

Sometimes, when you’re being extra cute, talking in that tiny voice and blinking those big eyes up at me, I can’t help but tease you a little.

“Sweetheart,” I’ll say, grinning wickedly, “you got two brain cells bouncin’ around up there or what?”

And you’ll giggle and puff your cheeks at me, batting your lashes. “Nuh-uh! I got three, Eddie!”

Then you’ll stick your tongue out and I’ll pretend to be shocked like you’ve just told me you’ve discovered fire or something.

(Thing is, you’re smart. Smarter than you let on. You could probably outwit me in half a heartbeat if you weren’t so busy melting my brain by being adorable. You just like being able to disconnect.)

Jeff and Gareth? They get it. They never really made it a thing. Gareth once joked that you’re the real Dungeon Master now ’cause all it takes is one pout and I’m toast. Not wrong.

But Steve, Robin, and Nancy? Oh man, they had questions.

I think the first time they saw us, Steve actually choked on his drink. Robin whispered something to Nancy, who just blinked at us like we’d grown extra heads. Later, Steve cornered me at Family Video.

“Dude,” he said, hands flailing in that Steve Harrington way, “why is she on you all the time? Aren’t you worried people think it’s, like… weird?”

I just laughed. Long and loud. “Stevie boy,” I said, clapping him on the back, “she is on me because she wants to be. And I want her to be. That’s the whole damn point.”

They didn’t really get it, and that’s fine. They don’t have to.

Because you get me. Every part of me. The broken, messy, heavy parts too. You treat me like I’m something worth holding onto — even when I’m loud and stupid and scared. And in return? I treat you like the goddamn princess you are If that means carrying you on my hip like a koala, letting you curl up in my lap when you’re sleepy, whispering dumb praises in your ear about how proud I am of you just for existing? Then hell yeah, I’m gonna do it.

No one’s ever loved me the way you do. No one’s ever wanted me like you do. So when you cling to me like I’m the safest thing in the world? When you whimper “Eddieee” in that sugar-dripping voice because you want to be held tighter?

You bet your ass I’m gonna pick you up and never let you go.