The air in Hawkins High's cafeteria on March 21, 1986, was a thick, cloying blend of lukewarm tater tots, stale pizza grease, and the barely-there scent of teenaged desperation. It was a smell Valerie "Val" Vance had become intimately familiar with over the years, a scent that clung to her denim vest and leather jacket, mixing with the faint, sweeter notes of stale cigarettes and rebellion. She tapped her worn Doc Martens against the linoleum floor, her gaze fixed on the bustling chaos of lunch hour, but her mind was miles away, composing a bass line for a new D&D anthem.
"So, what's your call, Vance?"
Val didn't need to turn to know who it was. The voice, a low rumble tinged with a permanent smirk, belonged to Gareth, one of the more... enthusiastic members of the Hellfire Club. She finally shifted, her dark curls swaying slightly as she leaned back against the wall, a half-eaten apple dangling from her fingers.
"Call on what, Gareth? Whether Mrs. O'Donnell's hair is actually a wig or just a product of excessive perming?" she quipped, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. She tossed the apple core expertly into a nearby trash can.
Gareth snorted, pushing his glasses up his nose. "No, smartass. On Munson. He's late. Again. And Dustin's about to spontaneously combust from anticipation."
Val glanced towards their usual table, tucked away in the far corner, a designated island of metalheads and misfits. Dustin Henderson, indeed, looked like he was vibrating with barely contained energy, gesticulating wildly at Mike Wheeler and Lucas Sinclair, who both seemed to be trying to maintain an air of studied indifference – a futile exercise when Dustin was on a roll. Their current D&D campaign, "The Cult of Vecna," was reaching a critical juncture, and their Dungeon Master, Eddie Munson, was the sun around which their chaotic little universe revolved.
"He'll be here," Val said, a familiar calm in her voice. "He probably had to perform an emergency exorcism on his van or something. You know how she is."
Just as the words left her mouth, a sudden roar echoed through the cafeteria, followed by a cacophony of surprised shouts and clattering trays. Heads swiveled. A hush fell, then quickly dissolved into murmuring and laughter.
And there he was.
Eddie Munson, a hurricane in human form, burst through the double doors, a gust of wind seeming to follow him. His long, dark hair, a glorious untamed mane, cascaded around his shoulders as he surveyed the room, a wild grin splitting his face. He was wearing his usual uniform: a ripped band t-shirt (Iron Maiden today), a faded denim vest adorned with countless patches, and his signature chain wallet clinking against his thigh. He moved with a kind of reckless grace, a rockstar swagger that was both endearing and infuriating.
"Forgive me, my disciples!" Eddie boomed, his voice carrying over the din, drawing even more attention. "The forces of darkness conspired against me! My noble steed, the mighty 'Corroded Coffin,' suffered a grievous wound to its carburetor! But fear not, for your DM hath arrived!"
He strode towards their table, a dramatic flourish accompanying each step, oblivious—or perhaps entirely accustomed—to the stares and whispers that followed him like a tailwind. Jocks snickered. Cheerleaders rolled their eyes. The "normal" kids just looked bewildered. Val just shook her head, a soft smile finally gracing her lips. Never a dull moment.
"Munson, you ass!" Dustin shrieked, jumping up and nearly knocking over his milk carton. "We thought you were abducted by a demogorgon!"
"Worse, my friend! I was abducted by a faulty fuel line!" Eddie declared, collapsing into his chair with a theatrical sigh. He immediately launched into a detailed, highly embellished account of his morning's mechanical woes, complete with sound effects and dramatic pauses.
Val finally made her way over, slipping into the chair next to Eddie. He smelled faintly of gasoline, stale cigarette smoke, and something distinctly him – a mix of cheap cologne and sheer, unadulterated enthusiasm. She leaned closer, nudging him playfully with her elbow.
"You really need to give that van a proper burial, Munson," she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear over the din of his own storytelling. "Before it takes you with it."
Eddie paused his monologue, turning his head to look at her, his dark eyes, usually alight with mischievous glints, softening slightly. "And miss out on the thrill of living on the edge, Vance? Never." He grinned, then reached under the table, his fingers brushing hers as he subtly pulled out a battered cassette tape. "Got something for you, though. New Merciful Fate bootleg I traded a dude from Indy for. Thought you'd appreciate the raw energy."
Val's heart did a strange little flutter, a familiar warmth spreading through her chest. It was a common occurrence, these small, almost intimate gestures from Eddie. He knew her taste in music better than anyone, always sharing obscure bands and rare finds. It was one of the many threads that had woven their friendship into something so tight, so uniquely theirs.
"Ooh, a bootleg," she said, taking the tape and examining its handwritten label. "You spoil me, Munson."
"Only the best for the best bassist in Hawkins," he replied, giving her a quick, genuine smile before turning his attention back to the eager faces of Dustin, Mike, and Lucas. "Alright, you nerds! Gather 'round! The Cult of Vecna awaits! Where were we, adventurers? Ah, yes... the Whispering Labyrinth..."
As Eddie plunged into the arcane details of their campaign, his voice shifting effortlessly between characters, Val found herself watching him, a comfortable, quiet presence beside his boisterous energy. She watched the way his hands moved expressively, the way his eyes lit up when he described a particularly gruesome monster, the way he somehow managed to make a mundane cafeteria table feel like the edge of a perilous cliff.
They had been inseparable since freshman year, two outcasts drawn together by a shared love for Dungeons & Dragons, heavy metal, and a general disdain for the suffocating conformity of Hawkins. Val, with her quiet intensity and razor-sharp wit, was the perfect foil to Eddie's explosive charisma. She was his sounding board, his confidante, the one person who truly got him, flaws and all. And he, in turn, was her shield against a world that often misunderstood her, her partner in crime, her loudest champion.
But lately, something felt... different. A subtle shift, like the tuning of a guitar string – barely perceptible, but enough to change the harmony. Sometimes, when Eddie looked at her, his gaze lingered a fraction of a second too long. Sometimes, when their shoulders brushed, a jolt, sharper than static electricity, would shoot through her. And sometimes, late at night, when she was supposed to be studying for AP History, she found herself replaying their conversations, searching for hidden meanings, for something more than friendship in his words.
She knew, logically, that it was foolish. Eddie Munson, the undisputed king of the Hellfire Club, the guy who wore his "freak" status like a badge of honor, was not the kind of guy who settled down. He was a supernova, burning bright and fast, destined for bigger stages than Hawkins High. And she was... Val. His friend. His bassist. His confidante. Nothing more.
Right?
A sudden clang of metal snapped her out of her thoughts. Eddie had dramatically slammed his fist on the table, punctuating a particularly terrifying description of Vecna's lair.
"So, brave warriors," he declared, his eyes gleaming with theatrical intensity, "will you dare to enter the Whispering Labyrinth? Will you face the monstrous guardians of Vecna's domain? Or will you cower like common townsfolk and let darkness consume Hawkins?"
Dustin, Mike, and Lucas all chorused "We dare!" with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Val, however, just caught Eddie's eye. He held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, a challenging, knowing glint in his dark eyes. It was a silent question, an unspoken invitation. You with me, Vance?
A small, determined smile touched her lips. She had always been with him. Through every absurd D&D campaign, every disastrous band practice, every whispered secret. And something told her, deep in her gut, that this time, "with him" was going to mean something entirely different. The air was already crackling, not just with the scent of cafeteria food, but with a strange, undeniable electricity.
The first string had been plucked. And the melody, she suspected, was about to get very loud.
YOU ARE READING
Strange Flames
FanfictionValerie Vance has spent years in the nosebleed seats of Eddie Munson's life. As the only girl in the Hellfire Club who can actually hold her own in a campaign, she's been his best friend, his favorite bassist, and his "safe harbor" in a town that tr...
