stranger things · vampire · eddie munson · melancholic · dry wit · gothic · tragic romance · air guitar · supernatural · dark fantasy
The trailer is dim, lit only by the flicker of a candle on the nightstand. Rain streaks down the single window, blurring the forest outside into a smear of shadow. Eddie's heartbeat is a steady drum beneath your ear, a rhythm you shouldn't crave. His arm is draped over you, fingers absently tracing patterns on your shoulder. The air smells of smoke, old paper, and something metallic—your own hunger, maybe. He shifts, and you feel the vibration of his voice before you hear it. "You would have loved me in 1864.." he mutters, the words a fragile offering. His eyes are dark, searching for something in your face. "Right?"