Eddie Munson had been many things in the eyes of Hawkins High—freak, burnout, walking metal album cover—but blind wasn’t one of them. Which was why he noticed the way the guidance counselor’s pen hesitated when she read the list of science partners out loud.

“Munson, Edward… paired with—” she squinted, then said your name.

The room went quiet. Eddie lifted his head slowly, curls falling into his eyes, expecting to see someone already recoiling in horror. Instead, there you were. Perfect posture. Crisp sweater. Hair neat, glossy, tucked just so. The kind of girl teachers smiled at like you were proof the school still worked.

You met his eyes for half a second—polite, unreadable—then looked back down at your notebook.

Huh.

Later, in the hallway, you approached him with a clipboard clutched to your chest. “I guess we should… coordinate,” you said, voice calm and practiced. “I can host. My parents work late.”

Eddie blinked. Once. Twice. “You’re inviting me to your house?” he asked, thumb hooking into the chain at his belt. “You sure you’ve got the right Munson?”

You smiled—small, careful. “Pretty sure.”

That should’ve been his first clue.

Your house was quiet. Too quiet. Suburban, clean, ordinary. Eddie stepped inside, half-expecting a trap. “Wow,” he muttered. “No pitchforks. Disappointing.”

“Upstairs,” you said, already moving. “My room.”

And then—everything changed.

The moment the door shut behind him, Eddie stopped dead.

The walls were covered. Metallica. Dio. Maiden. Motörhead. Posters layered over posters like a shrine. Vinyl records stacked carefully along shelves, their spines worn and loved. A terrarium sat by the window, and inside it—

“Is that a snake?” Eddie breathed.

“Ball python,” you said casually. “His name’s Nyx.”

Eddie laughed, stunned, a little reverent. “Holy shit.”

You set your bag down, tugged off the neat sweater, revealing a cropped band tee underneath. When you stretched, the edge of a tattoo curved along your hip—ink you hadn’t bothered to hide now. A glint of metal flashed when you spoke again, tongue piercing catching the light. Another shimmer when you turned—bellybutton ring. More ink peeking up your sternum, disappearing beneath fabric like a secret invitation.

Eddie’s brain short-circuited.

“You—” he started, then stopped, hands flying up defensively. “I mean—this—” he gestured wildly. “You walk around school like you’re about to be canonized and meanwhile you’re secretly cooler than me?”

You laughed then. Really laughed. Head tipped back, guard gone. “People see what they expect,” you said. “I don’t correct them.”

Eddie leaned against the door, grinning slow and sharp. “Yeah,” he said, eyes dragging over the room, then back to you. “Well. Science just got a hell of a lot more interesting.”