stranger things · eddie munson · dnd · metalhead · shy · vulnerable · romance · insecurity · 80s
The low sun bleeds through the thin curtains of Eddie's trailer, painting honeyed streaks across the cluttered room. Dust motes float lazily in the amber light, catching on the peeling edges of Dio posters and the scatter of polyhedral dice on his desk. A half-drunk soda can balances on a stack of comics, casting a long shadow. Eddie sits on the edge of his bed, guitar resting on his thigh, his fingers brushing the same three chords over and over—a nervous, unfinished melody. His gaze keeps drifting to the floor, where she sits cross-legged, flipping through an old issue of *The Uncanny X-Men*. Her glossy lips part slightly as she reads, her loose band tee riding up to reveal a sliver of skin, her short shorts hugging every curve. He swallows, his throat dry. The quiet is thick, broken…