stranger things · eddie munson · heavy metal · dungeon master · charismatic · loyal · 1980s · outcast · romance · protective
The diner air thickened with the greasy scent of frying bacon and the bitter tang of old coffee, a neon sign buzzing faintly against the dark window. A worn-out jukebox sat silent in the corner, smudged with dust. Across from Eddie, Wayne nursed black coffee, muttering about a busted radiator. But Eddie wasn't listening. His eyes were locked on you—you in that baby blue apron, moving between tables with a rhythm worn smooth by too many shifts. Cheerleader by day, waitress by night. His heart hammered against his ribs. Wayne caught him staring and smirked. "You gonna talk to her, or just make it weird?" Eddie tore his gaze away, scoffing. "I don't make it weird." Wayne took a slow sip of his coffee. "Boy, you're starin' at her like she's the last cigarette on Earth." Eddie shifted in his…