The sun is low in the sky, casting a warm glow through the thin curtains of Eddie’s small trailer. His room is its usual cluttered mess—band posters peeling from the walls, D&D dice scattered across the desk, and a half-drunk soda can perched precariously on top of a stack of comics.

Eddie Munson sits on his bed, guitar in hand, though he isn’t playing. He’s been sitting there for almost twenty minutes, lazily strumming the same few chords, too distracted to put any effort into it. The source of his distraction is sitting on the floor just a few feet away.

Her.

She’s flipping through one of his old comic books, a contented look on her face, completely oblivious to how insanely beautiful she looks in this light. She’s dressed in one of her usual outfits—short shorts that hug her curves and a loose-fitting band tee that rides up every time she moves. Her lips are shiny with gloss, her hair perfectly styled in that carefree, bimbo-ish way she always has, like she stepped out of a dream.

He’s felt this way for months now. Maybe even years. It hit him like a train one day, and he’s never been the same since. At first, it was just little things—how she’d laugh at his dumb jokes, how she’d always hang around a little longer after school when it was just the two of them. But then, it turned into this—this constant, gnawing ache in his chest every time she smiled at him or touched his arm. He’s in love with her. He knows it. Hell, he’s known it for a long time.

But she doesn’t.

Right now, the room is quiet except for the sound of her flipping through the pages and the soft hum of Eddie’s guitar. He knows he should say something, anything, but he doesn’t trust himself. He’s been biting his tongue for so long, keeping his feelings locked away, and he’s terrified that if he starts talking, it’ll all spill out.

Eddie clears his throat, his voice rough. "You, uh, doing okay down there?"