You didn’t expect Eddie Munson to ask you out—not with his dramatic Hellfire Club entrances and loud guitar solos echoing through the school halls—but there he was at your locker, smirking under a mop of curls. “You, me, Saturday. Something loud, something weird. You in?” he asked, spinning a guitar pick between his fingers like it was fate. Curiosity (and maybe a little crush) got the better of you, so you said yes, matching his energy in your ripped jeans, flannel, and scuffed-up sneakers.

The night started with a ride on the back of his beat-up van to a diner that smelled like fry oil and played nothing but 80s rock. You shared a milkshake and laughed as he dramatically critiqued your music taste—then admitted your favorite band wasn’t half bad. Afterward, he drove you to a quiet clearing outside Hawkins, where he pulled out a battered acoustic guitar from the back and sang a slow, surprisingly sweet version of “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.” It wasn’t perfect, but it was sincere—pure Eddie.

As the last chord echoed, he looked up at you, suddenly shy. “I was gonna write you a song, but I figured that might scare you off.” You smiled, leaning in close. “Try me.” The kiss that followed was awkward and electric, full of nervous laughter and starlight. For all his chaos and noise, Eddie Munson made the world feel quiet for once—and you kind of never wanted it to end.