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Capítulo 2: Favorite Crime

Leighton intentó concentrarse en la película.

De verdad que lo intentó.

Pero era complicado cuando tenía la cabeza apoyada en el hombro de Jake y la sensación constante de que algo dentro de ella estaba incómodo desde hacía rato.

La comedia romántica seguía avanzando en la televisión mientras Tucker cocinaba en la cocina abierta, moviéndose por ahí con unos pantalones grises de deporte y una camiseta vieja de Briar.

El olor a pollo frito y arroz llenaba toda la casa.

Dean estaba tirado en el otro sofá, completamente aburrido ahora que la rubia con la que había estado hacía una hora se había marchado.

Logan tenía los pies sobre la mesa y estaba medio pendiente de la película, medio pendiente del móvil.

Y Garrett seguía arriba.

Con Kendall.

Por alguna razón, aquello molestaba más a Leighton de lo que debería.

—Esto es físicamente doloroso de ver —se quejó Dean cuando el protagonista de la película empezó a correr bajo la lluvia detrás de la chica—. Nadie hace eso en la vida real.

—Tú no harías eso ni aunque te pagaran —contestó Logan.

—Claro que sí. Si Margot Robbie me deja, corro hasta Canadá.

Tucker levantó la voz desde la cocina.

—¡La comida casi está!

—Te quiero, Tucker —dijo Leighton automáticamente.

—Lo sé, cariño.

Dean giró la cabeza hacia ella con expresión ofendida.

—Qué injusto. Yo también cocino.

—Calentar pizza congelada no cuenta.

—Eso ha sido cruel, princesa.

Leighton sonrió apenas.

Jake, a su lado, pasó el brazo más fuerte alrededor de su cintura.

Ella notó inmediatamente la presión.

Dean la observó un segundo y sonrió lentamente.

Esa sonrisa peligrosa de Dean Di Laurentis que normalmente significaba problemas.

—¿Sabes? —dijo Dean casualmente, estirándose en el sofá como si no estuviera a punto de crear problemas—. Si Logan no fuera un psicópata posesivo, probablemente intentaría robarte a tu novia.

Logan le lanzó un cojín directo a la cara.

—Deja a mi hermana en paz.

Dean atrapó el cojín sin esfuerzo y sonrió.

—Solo digo que tiene un gusto horrible en los hombres.

Jake soltó una risa seca a su lado.

—Cuidado, Di Laurentis.

—¿O qué? —Dean arqueó una ceja—. ¿Me pegarás con un balón de fútbol?

Leighton notó inmediatamente cómo Jake tensaba la mandíbula.

—Dean —murmuró ella en tono de advertencia.

—¿Qué? Estoy siendo encantador esta noche.

—Eso da miedo.

Dean se llevó una mano al pecho.

—Leighton Logan acaba de romperme el corazón.

—No tienes corazón.

—Eso también es verdad.

Tucker apareció desde la cocina con una cuchara de madera en la mano.

—Dean vendió su alma hace años por pestañas bonitas y abdominales.

—Y volvería a hacerlo —contestó Dean tranquilamente.

Leighton soltó una pequeña risa y Dean la señaló enseguida.

—¿Ves? Ella sí me aprecia.

Jake pasó el brazo con más firmeza alrededor de la cintura de Leighton.

—Creo que simplemente es amable contigo.

—Eso ha dolido —Dean fingió limpiarse una lágrima—. Y yo que estaba preparando nuestra boda en secreto.

—Voy a vomitar —dijo Logan.

—Tus discursos en mi boda iban a ser preciosos, Johnny.

—Voy a atropellarte con mi coche.

Tucker señaló a Dean con la cuchara.

—Yo sí asistiría. Pero solo por el catering.

Dean ignoró el comentario y volvió a centrarse en Leighton.

—Además, mírala. Es literalmente la chica más sexy de Briar y está saliendo con un jugador de fútbol. Eso es desperdiciar potencial.

Jake soltó una risa sin humor.

—Te estás pasando.

—Oh, vamos. Todos sabemos que si Logan no me asesinara mientras duermo, yo sería un novio excelente.

—Dean —advirtió Logan.

—Le compraría flores.

—Dean.

—Le escribiría poemas.

—Dean.

—Le dedicaría—

Logan le lanzó otro cojín.

Esta vez Dean empezó a reírse de verdad.

Leighton negó con la cabeza divertida.

—Tus poemas probablemente hablarían de tetas.

—Incorrecto —dijo Dean con absoluta seriedad—. También hablarían de tu sonrisa.

Tucker soltó un silbido exagerado.

—Uf. Eso ha sido suave.

—Gracias, Tucker. Tú sí entiendes el arte del romance.

Jake ya no estaba sonriendo.

Leighton lo notó incluso antes de sentir cómo sus dedos se clavaban ligeramente en su cadera.

No lo suficiente para que los demás se dieran cuenta.

Sí lo suficiente para ella.

Dean pareció notarlo también.

Porque su expresión divertida se suavizó apenas un segundo antes de volver a sonreír.

—Aunque, siendo sinceros —continuó él—, Graham me mataría antes.

El nombre hizo que Leighton levantara la vista automáticamente.

—¿Garrett? —preguntó Tucker divertido—. Garrett ni siquiera sabe que existen las emociones.

—Exacto —dijo Dean—. Por eso sería divertido verlo sufrir.

Logan soltó una carcajada.

—Nah. Garrett jamás tocaría a Leigh. Me tiene demasiado miedo.

—Eso o tiene buen gusto y respeto por su vida —contestó Tucker.

Dean miró a Leighton con falsa sospecha.

—Aunque ahora que lo pienso… Graham te mira raro últimamente.

El corazón de Leighton dio un pequeño salto completamente absurdo.

—Dean —dijo ella rápidamente.

—¿Qué? Solo observo cosas.

Jake giró la cabeza hacia ella.

—¿Garrett te mira raro?

La pregunta salió demasiado rápida.

Demasiado seca.

Leighton sintió inmediatamente la tensión.

—No —contestó enseguida—. Dean está diciendo tonterías.

—Siempre digo tonterías —confirmó Dean alegremente.

Tucker se apoyó en el marco de la cocina.

—Sí, pero esa vez igual tiene razón.

—TUCKER —gruñó Logan.

—¿Qué? Garrett literalmente sonríe cuando aparece Leigh y normalmente mira a la gente como si quisiera atropellarla.

Eso hizo que Leighton se riera un poco pese al calor incómodo que empezaba a subirle por el cuello.

—No es verdad.

—Es completamente verdad —dijo Tucker.

Dean señaló a Logan.

—Tu amigo está enamorado de tu hermana. Qué bonito.

Logan levantó el dedo corazón.

—Voy a mataros a todos.

Jake apartó la mirada con expresión oscura.

Y Leighton tuvo la sensación desagradable de que la broma acababa de cruzar una línea invisible.

Tucker apareció por fin desde la cocina con un plato enorme entre las manos.

—Apartaos, campesinos hambrientos.

—Huele increíble —dijo Leighton.

Tucker le guiñó un ojo.

—Porque cocino con amor.

Jake soltó un suspiro brusco de repente y apartó el brazo de ella.

—Vámonos.

Leighton parpadeó.

—¿Qué?

—Que nos vamos ya.

Ella entornó ligeramente los ojos.

—La película no ha terminado.

—Me da igual.

El tono hizo que el salón entero se tensara apenas un poco.

Logan apartó por fin la vista de la televisión.

—Tío, si quieres irte, vete. Yo llevo luego a Leighton a la residencia.

Leighton asintió enseguida.

—Quiero quedarme.

Jake la miró.

Directamente.

Y Leighton sintió inmediatamente ese escalofrío incómodo recorriéndole la espalda.

La advertencia silenciosa.

Levántate.

Ahora.

Pero no quería irse.

No quería otra discusión en el coche. No quería el silencio agresivo. No quería sentirse culpable por respirar demasiado fuerte.

Así que no se movió.

Jake soltó una risa seca.

Sin humor.

—Haz lo que quieras.

Y se levantó de golpe.

La puerta principal sonó fuerte cuando la abrió.

El corazón de Leighton empezó a latirle incómodamente.

Entonces vio la chaqueta negra de Jake tirada sobre el brazo del sofá.

—Espera —murmuró.

La cogió rápidamente y se levantó antes de que Logan pudiera decir nada.

—Leighton— empezó él.

—Ahora vuelvo.

Salió detrás de Jake.

El aire frío de la noche le golpeó la cara inmediatamente al cruzar el portal.

Jake estaba ya casi en la acera.

—¡Jake!

Él se giró.

Leighton levantó la chaqueta un poco.

—Te la habías dejado.

Durante un segundo, Jake no dijo nada.

Solo la miró.

Luego soltó una risa corta.

Incrédula.

Como si no pudiera creerse lo que estaba viendo.

—¿Disfrutas haciendo esto?

Leighton frunció el ceño, confundida.

—¿Haciendo qué?

Jake soltó una risa corta.

Vacía.

Como si ella fuera idiota por no entenderlo.

Bajó la mirada hacia ella y entonces le agarró la muñeca de golpe.

Fuerte.

Demasiado fuerte.

Leighton soltó una pequeña mueca de dolor inmediata.

—Jake—

—¿Te gusta llamar la atención, eh?

Ella intentó apartar el brazo.

—Me estás haciendo daño.

Pero él no la soltó.

Al contrario.

Sus dedos se clavaron todavía más alrededor de su muñeca.

—Toda la noche riéndote con ellos. Tocándolos. Mirando a Graham y a Dean como si tuvieras quince años.

—¿Qué? Yo no estaba—

—No me tomes por imbécil.

El corazón de Leighton empezó a acelerarse.

Ya conocía ese tono.

Conocía perfectamente ese tono.

El que significaba que dijera lo que dijera iba a estar mal.

—Solo estaba hablando con ellos.

—Claro. Porque necesitas que todo el mundo te mire constantemente.

Las lágrimas empezaron a acumularse en los ojos de Leighton casi sin darse cuenta.

—Eso no es verdad.

Jake soltó otra risa incrédula.

—¿Ah, no? Porque los chicos del equipo no paran de decírmelo.

Ella tragó saliva.

—¿Qué chicos?

—Todos. Bruce. Donovann. Los demás. —La miró con desprecio—. Todos piensan lo mismo. Que te encanta coquetear con cualquiera que te preste atención.

Eso le dolió más de lo que debería.

Porque ellos siempre habían sido amables con ella.

—Ellos no dirían eso…

—¿Me estás llamando mentiroso ahora?

Leighton negó rápidamente con la cabeza.

—No. Yo solo—

Jake tiró de ella un poco más cerca.

—Siempre haces lo mismo. Sonríes, te ríes, actúas como si fueras inocente y luego me haces quedar como un gilipollas delante de todo el mundo.

—Jake, yo no he hecho nada—

—¿Nada? —repitió él con voz más alta—. ¿Crees que no veo cómo miras a Graham o a Dean? ¿Incluso al imbécil de Tucker?

Leighton sintió un escalofrío recorrerle el cuerpo.

—No miro a ninguno de ninguna forma.

—Mentira.

—No estoy mintiendo.

—Entonces explícame por qué parecías tan jodidamente feliz cuando Graham entró.

Ella abrió la boca.

La cerró otra vez.

Porque no sabía qué responder.

Porque cualquier respuesta iba a empeorarlo.

Jake sonrió sin humor al ver su silencio.

—Eso pensaba.

Leighton notó cómo el pecho empezaba a dolerle.

—Solo estaba siendo amable…

—Ese es el problema contigo, Leighton. —Su voz bajó, más fría todavía—. Actúas como si fueras demasiado buena para darte cuenta de las cosas que haces.

Ella volvió a intentar soltarse.

—Por favor…

Jake ignoró completamente la súplica.

—¿Sabes lo humillante que es escuchar a otros tíos hablar de tu novia como si estuviera disponible?

Las lágrimas resbalaron finalmente por las mejillas de Leighton.

—No soy así.

—Entonces deja de comportarte como una puta.

La palabra le golpeó el pecho como una bofetada.

Jake vio perfectamente cómo le afectaba.

Y aun así continuó.

—Porque estoy cansado de quedar como un idiota mientras tú disfrutas de toda la atención.

—Yo no disfruto de esto… —susurró ella.

—Oh, sí que lo haces.

Él se inclinó un poco hacia ella.

—Te gusta que te miren. Te gusta hacerte la dulce para que todos se obsesionen contigo.

Leighton negó rápidamente con la cabeza.

—No…

—Dean prácticamente estaba tirándote los tejos delante de mí y tú te reías.

—Porque estaba bromeando.

—Y Graham no apartaba los ojos de ti.

El corazón de Leighton dio un pequeño salto nervioso.

Error.

Porque Jake lo notó.

Claro que lo notó.

Sus dedos se clavaron todavía más fuerte en su muñeca.

—Mírate —escupió él—. Ni siquiera puedes ocultarlo.

—Jake, por favor, me estás asustando…

Eso pareció frenarlo un segundo.

Solo uno.

Su expresión cambió apenas un poco antes de transformarse en cansancio irritado.

Como si ella fuera el problema.

Como si él fuera quien estaba sufriendo.

—¿Ves? —dijo con voz más baja—. Siempre haces esto.

Leighton parpadeó entre lágrimas.

—¿Qué?

—Me haces enfadar y luego me miras así para que me sienta como el malo.

Ella sintió cómo se le cerraba la garganta.

Porque una parte de ella, la peor parte, empezó inmediatamente a preguntarse si tenía razón.

Jake soltó aire por la nariz y negó con la cabeza.

—Estoy intentando que nuestra relación funcione, Leigh. Pero tú no ayudas.

La culpa cayó sobre ella instantáneamente.

Pesada.

Familiar.

—Lo siento…

Jake la miró unos segundos.

Y entonces aflojó un poco la mano.

Solo un poco.

Lo suficiente para que Leighton creyera que quizá la discusión estaba terminando.

—No quiero tener que preocuparme constantemente por ti —dijo él más calmado—. Pero me obligas.

Ella bajó la mirada.

—Yo no quería molestarte.

—Pues deja de dar motivos.

Silencio.

Leighton seguía temblando ligeramente.

Jake observó las lágrimas en su cara y finalmente la soltó.

Ella se llevó la mano a la muñeca enseguida.

Le dolía.

Mucho.

Pero ni siquiera sabía si tenía derecho a sentirse herida.

Porque Jake siempre conseguía eso.

Hacer que terminara confundida.

Como si todo fuera culpa suya.

Él dio un paso atrás.

—Compórtate de una puta vez —dijo fríamente—. O habrá consecuencias.

Leighton sintió un escalofrío horrible recorrerle la espalda.

Jake la sostuvo la mirada unos segundos más antes de girarse e irse.

Y ella se quedó sola en medio del portal.

Temblando.

Intentando respirar.

Intentando convencerse a sí misma de que quizá no había sido para tanto.

Aunque la marca roja de sus dedos seguía ardiendo sobre su piel.

Y luego se marchó.

Sin más.

Leighton se quedó inmóvil en medio del portal.

Con el pecho subiendo y bajando demasiado rápido.

Intentando respirar.

Intentando no llorar.

Otra vez.

Se limpió las lágrimas rápidamente con la manga de la sudadera y tragó saliva antes de volver a entrar en la casa.

No podía dejar que lo notaran.

No podía.

En cuanto abrió la puerta, Tucker apareció delante de ella con una sonrisa enorme y un plato en las manos.

—¡Pollo frito para mi Logan favorita!

Leighton hizo un esfuerzo gigantesco por sonreír.

—Gracias, Tuck.

—He cocinado arroz perfecto. PERFECTO. Necesito reconocimiento.

Ella soltó una pequeña risa falsa y cogió el plato.

Logan levantó la vista desde el sofá cuando volvió.

Sus ojos recorrieron inmediatamente su cara.

Demasiado atento.

Demasiado hermano mayor.

—¿Todo bien?

Leighton asintió enseguida.

—Sí.

Y antes de que él pudiera seguir preguntando, se sentó a su lado y apoyó la cabeza contra su hombro.

Logan pasó automáticamente un brazo alrededor de ella.

Protector.

Cálido.

Seguro.

—Jake está siendo un capullo —murmuró él mientras le daba un beso distraído en la cabeza—. Ya se le pasará el enfado.

Leighton cerró los ojos un segundo.

Y odiaba.

Odiaba tanto mentirle a su hermano.

Porque Logan seguía abrazándola como si pudiera protegerla de todo.

Sin tener ni idea de aquello de lo que realmente necesitaba ser protegida.

Leighton tragó saliva lentamente y bajó la vista hacia el plato que Tucker le había preparado.

El arroz todavía soltaba un poco de vapor y el pollo frito olía increíble.

Normalmente habría devorado dos platos.

Especialmente si lo cocinaba Tucker.

Pero el comentario de Jake que le había dicho hace unas semanas seguía resonando en su cabeza.

Estás subiendo de peso.

Deberías cuidarte un poco más.

Leighton cogió el tenedor y empezó a comer despacio mientras mantenía la mirada fija en la televisión.

Intentando pensar en cualquier otra cosa.

La película seguía sonando de fondo, una escena exageradamente romántica bajo la lluvia, mientras Tucker comentaba indignado desde la cocina lo poco realista que era todo aquello.

—Nadie besa así —protestó—. Eso es anatómicamente imposible.

Dean soltó una carcajada.

—Habla por ti mismo.

—Tú probablemente has provocado lesiones cervicales besando.

—Varias veces.

Leighton sonrió apenas.

Solo un poco.

Logan notó la sonrisa y le dio un pequeño empujón con el hombro.

—Ahí está. Pensaba que Jake te había secuestrado el sentido del humor.

Ella intentó mantener la sonrisa.

—Muy gracioso.

—Siempre.

Poco a poco el salón volvió a sentirse normal.

Seguro.

Dean terminó estirándose en el sillón con expresión dramática.

—Necesito una novia rica que me mantenga.

—Necesitas terapia —contestó Logan.

—Eso también.

Tucker apareció con su propio plato y se dejó caer en el suelo frente al sofá.

—Leighton me quiere más que a vosotros porque cocino.

—Leighton quiere a cualquier persona que le dé comida gratis —dijo Dean.

—Eso no es verdad —murmuró ella.

Dean arqueó una ceja.

—Te compré nuggets una vez y me abrazaste durante cinco minutos.

—Porque eran nuggets.

—Entendible —admitió Tucker.

Leighton soltó una pequeña risa por la nariz.

Y aun así, después de apenas la mitad del plato, dejó el tenedor lentamente sobre la mesa.

Ya no podía más.

O quizá sí podía.

Pero las palabras de Jake habían convertido el simple hecho de comer en algo incómodo.

Logan lo notó enseguida.

Claro que lo notó.

—Eh. —Miró el plato frunciendo el ceño—. ¿Por qué has dejado medio?

Leighton intentó sonar casual.

—No tengo más hambre.

—Eso es mentira. —Tucker señaló el plato indignado—. Mi pollo merece más respeto.

—Está buenísimo, Tuck. Lo prometo.

—Entonces cómetelo.

Dean levantó una mano solemnemente.

—Sí. Tucker lleva cocinando una hora y cuarenta minutos. He visto lágrimas en ese arroz.

—Había cebolla, idiota —gruñó Tucker.

Leighton sonrió un poco y volvió a coger el tenedor, aunque solo movió un trozo de arroz por el plato.

—Mañana me lo termino.

Logan seguía observándola.

Demasiado atento.

Pero finalmente suspiró.

—Vale. Pero luego no vengas diciendo que te mueres de hambre a las tres de la mañana.

—No prometo nada.

Dean se incorporó un poco para darle un beso rápido en la mejilla.

—Buenas noches, Logan favorita.

—Solo tienes una Logan favorita.

—Exactamente.

Ella negó con la cabeza divertida.

—Buenas noches, Dean.

—Sueña conmigo.

—Eso sería una pesadilla.

Dean se llevó una mano al pecho dramáticamente.

—Qué mujer tan cruel.

Tucker soltó una risa mientras recogía algunos platos.

—Buenas noches, Leigh.

Leighton levantó la cabeza hacia él.

—Buenas noches, Tuck. Y gracias por la comida.

—Cualquier día te enseño mis secretos culinarios.

—¿Tienes secretos?

—No. Pero queda sexy decirlo.

Logan le lanzó una servilleta arrugada.

—Lárgate a dormir.

Tucker se rio y desapareció por el pasillo junto con Dean.

El salón quedó mucho más silencioso.

Solo el sonido bajo de los créditos de la película llenaba el espacio.

Logan giró un poco la cabeza hacia ella.

—Entonces… ¿todo bien con Jake?

Leighton sintió el cuerpo tensarse automáticamente.

Pero sonrió.

Porque ya estaba acostumbrada.

—Sí. Solo ha tenido un mal día con el entrenamiento.

Logan frunció ligeramente el ceño.

—¿Seguro?

—Sí.

Otra mentira.

Otra más.

Logan no parecía completamente convencido.

Pero terminó asintiendo despacio.

—Vale.

Leighton apoyó otra vez la cabeza contra su hombro.

—¿Quieres que te lleve a la residencia? —preguntó él al cabo de unos segundos.

Ella negó lentamente.

—No quiero moverme.

—Puedes dormir en mi cama.

—No. —Cerró los ojos un poco—. Ya estoy casi dormida aquí.

Logan sonrió apenas.

Con cariño.

Como siempre hacía con ella.

Se inclinó y le dejó un beso suave en la mejilla.

—Buenas noches, Leigh.

—Buenas noches.

Y esta vez, el cansancio pudo más que todo lo demás.

Se quedó dormida apenas unos minutos después.

Acurrucada en el sofá.

Con la sudadera amarilla demasiado grande y el plato todavía a medio terminar sobre la mesa.

Cuando Garrett bajó las escaleras casi una hora después, llevaba el pelo todavía húmedo de la ducha y una camiseta gris cualquiera puesta a toda prisa.

Kendall se había marchado hacía rato.

Y él seguía pensando que todo aquello había sido una pérdida de tiempo.

Tenía demasiadas cosas en la cabeza para disfrutar siquiera del sexo.

Entró en la cocina directamente, abrió la nevera y sacó el recipiente enorme de arroz salvaje y pollo.

No vio el bulto dormido en el sofá.

No al principio.

—Ey.

Garrett levantó la vista al escuchar la voz de Logan.

Su compañero estaba apoyado en la encimera con una cerveza en la mano.

—No pensé que te vería de nuevo esta noche —comentó Logan—. Supuse que estarías MOF.

Garrett abrió el microondas.

—¿MOF?

—Muy Ocupado Follando.

Garrett resopló mientras metía el plato dentro.

—Necesitas urgentemente dejar de inventarte acrónimos.

—Nunca.

El microondas empezó a girar.

—¿La rubita se ha ido ya? —preguntó Logan.

—Sí. —Garrett se pasó una mano por el pelo—. Conoce las normas.

Las normas.

Nada de novias.

Nada de dramas.

Y, sobre todo, ninguna chica se quedaba a dormir.

Logan se acomodó mejor en el taburete.

—Estoy impaciente porque llegue este puto finde contra St. Anthony. ¿Te has enterado? La sanción de Braxton ha terminado.

Eso captó inmediatamente la atención de Garrett.

—No me jodas. ¿Juega el sábado?

—Claro que sí. —La expresión de Logan se volvió peligrosamente alegre—. Voy a disfrutar muchísimo rompiéndole la cara contra la valla.

Garrett soltó una risa seca.

—Si necesitas machacar a ese cabrón, estaré ahí contigo.

—Te tomo la palabra. Ah, y la semana que viene tenemos a Eastwood en casa.

—Joder —murmuró Garrett.

El microondas pitó.

Garrett sacó el plato caliente y se sentó frente a Logan.

Durante unos segundos solo comió.

Luego suspiró.

—Necesito aprobar Ética.

Logan soltó un “mierda” inmediatamente.

—¿Tan mal ha ido?

—He suspendido.

—Entonces deja el curso.

—No puedo. Se pasó la fecha límite.

Silencio.

Logan se pasó una mano por el pelo.

—Entonces tienes que currártelo, tronco. Estudia hasta que se te caigan los huevos y saca un diez en el siguiente examen. Te necesitamos, G.

—Lo sé.

Garrett removió el arroz distraídamente.

—Tengo una profesora particular en mente. Es una puta genia.

—Guay. Paga lo que te pida. Yo pongo pasta si hace falta.

Garrett soltó una pequeña sonrisa.

—Guau. ¿Estás ofreciendo compartir tu dinerito? Sí que quieres que juegue.

—Ahí le has dado. Todo por nuestro sueño, tío. Tú y yo con las camisetas de Bruins, ¿recuerdas?

Garrett asintió lentamente.

Sí.

Siempre lo recordaba.

—Sube esa puta nota, G —le ordenó Logan—. Si no, te voy a patear el culo.

—El entrenador me dará más fuerte.

—Pues espabila.

Garrett sonrió apenas.

—Estoy en ello.

Y fue entonces cuando giró ligeramente la cabeza.

Y la vio.

Leighton estaba dormida en el sofá.

Completamente hecha un ovillo.

Garrett frunció el ceño.

—¿Qué hace aquí?

Logan miró un segundo hacia el sofá y bajó la voz automáticamente.

—No quería volver a la residencia esta noche.

Garrett apoyó el codo sobre la mesa mientras seguía mirándola dormida.

—¿Por?

Logan se encogió un poco de hombros.

—Jake estaba siendo un imbécil.

Garrett soltó un leve resoplido.

—Qué sorpresa.

Eso arrancó una pequeña risa cansada a Logan.

—Nunca te ha gustado, ¿eh?

—Nunca me ha dado buena espina.

Y era verdad.

Había algo en Jake que siempre le había parecido… incorrecto.

Demasiado intenso.

Demasiado controlador.

Como si todo el tiempo estuviera enfadado por algo.

Garrett volvió a mirar hacia el sofá.

Leighton seguía completamente dormida, acurrucada sobre sí misma.

Parecía agotada.

No físicamente.

Algo peor.

Logan siguió la dirección de su mirada y frunció un poco el ceño.

—Se ha quedado KO enseguida.

—Sí.

Hubo un pequeño silencio.

Entonces Garrett vio la marca rojiza alrededor de la muñeca de Leighton.

Su expresión cambió ligeramente.

—¿Eso estaba antes?

Logan entrecerró los ojos y se inclinó un poco para mirar mejor.

—No lo sé.

Garrett dejó el tenedor despacio.

La marca parecía reciente.

Demasiado marcada para ser cualquier tontería.

—Igual se ha golpeado o algo —dijo Logan, aunque sonó poco convencido.

Garrett no respondió enseguida.

Porque no le gustaba cómo se veía.

Ni un poco.

Y tampoco le gustaba recordar la cara que tenía Leighton cuando él subió las escaleras antes.

Esa sonrisa rara.

Como triste.

Su mirada bajó entonces al plato de comida sobre la mesa.

Más de la mitad seguía intacta.

—Tucker va a deprimirse cuando vea eso.

Logan soltó aire por la nariz.

—Ya le he dicho que se lo termine y nada. Dice que no tenía hambre.

Garrett arqueó ligeramente una ceja.

—¿Leighton Logan rechazando pollo frito? Eso sí que da miedo.

Esta vez Logan sonrió un poco.

—Exacto. Normalmente habría repetido dos veces.

Garrett volvió a mirar hacia el sofá.

La manta apenas subía y bajaba con su respiración tranquila.

—¿Seguro que está bien?

Logan tardó un segundo en responder.

—Sí… supongo. —Se pasó una mano por el pelo—. Últimamente Jake y ella discuten bastante.

—Entonces quizá debería dejar de salir con él.

La respuesta salió demasiado rápida.

Demasiado seca.

Logan lo miró un segundo.

—Créeme, ya se lo he dicho.

Garrett resopló.

—¿Y?

—Y ella hace lo que hace siempre. —La voz de Logan se suavizó un poco—. Lo defiende.

Eso hizo que Garrett frunciera ligeramente el ceño.

Porque no encajaba con Leighton.

No parecía el tipo de chica que aguantara mierda de nadie.

Pero luego recordó la forma en la que Jake le agarraba constantemente la cintura esa noche.

Como si estuviera marcando territorio.

Y volvió a sentir esa incomodidad rara en el pecho.

—Bueno —murmuró finalmente—. Jake sigue pareciéndome un capullo.

—Bienvenido al club.

Garrett volvió a mirar a Leighton.

Dormida.

Pequeña bajo la luz tenue del salón.

Con el ceño apenas fruncido incluso mientras dormía.

Como si ni siquiera así pudiera relajarse del todo.

Logan terminó levantándose.

—Voy a dormir.

Garrett asintió distraídamente.

—Buenas noches.

—No dejes que Dean le dibuje pollas en la cara si baja borracho otra vez.

—No prometo nada.

Logan soltó una risa cansada antes de desaparecer escaleras arriba.

Y Garrett se quedó solo en silencio.

Mirándola.

No sabía cuánto tiempo pasó exactamente.

Solo sabía que algo dentro de él se tensó otra vez al fijarse en la marca de su muñeca.

Finalmente se levantó.

Cogió una manta del respaldo del sillón.

Y con cuidado, intentando no despertarla, se la colocó sobre el cuerpo.

Leighton se removió apenas entre sueños.

Acercándose automáticamente al calor de la manta.

Garrett sintió una presión extraña en el pecho.

Una suave.

Peligrosa.

Entonces apagó la luz del salón y subió las escaleras sin dejar de pensar en ella.

#garrett graham x you #garrett graham x reader #garrett graham #off campus #kiss me #john tucker #john logan #dean di laurentis #love #romantic

Capítulo 1: Gold Rush

Garrett Graham estaba convencido de que la profesora Tolbert disfrutaba viendo sufrir a sus alumnos.

No era una sospecha pasajera ni una exageración dramática. No. Era un hecho sólido y aplastante que llevaba retumbándole en la cabeza desde que había salido de la clase esa mañana.

Entró en el portal con el ceño fruncido, aún con el frío pegado a la chaqueta y una presión desagradable latiéndole detrás de los ojos. Había salido del grupo de estudio más cabreado de lo habitual y eso ya era decir bastante. Porque Garrett normalmente podía manejar la frustración. Sabía canalizarla. En el hielo, en el gimnasio, donde fuera.

Pero suspender no entraba dentro de sus planes. Y eso era un problema muy serio cuando tu entrenador amenazaba con dejarte fuera del hielo si tu nota media caía demasiado.

Con el ceño fruncido y la mochila colgando de un hombro, Garrett empujó la puerta de casa esperando encontrar silencio.

Error.

El ruido lo golpeó en cuanto cerró la puerta.

Música demasiado alta. Risas. El sonido agresivo de disparos y comentarios insultantes viniendo del salón.

La casa estaba hecha un desastre.

Latas de cerveza vacías cubrían la mesa de centro y alguien había dejado una caja de pizza abierta sobre el sofá. El olor a alcohol y comida grasienta llenaba el ambiente.

—¡Eso es trampa! —rugió Logan desde el sofá.

—¡Eso es talento natural, capullo! —contestó Tucker.

—Te voy a partir la cara.

—En tus sueños, princesa.

Los dos estaban completamente absortos en una partida de Ice Pro, inclinados hacia delante con los mandos en las manos mientras en la televisión un jugador digital estampaba a otro contra la valla.

La mesa de centro estaba repleta de latas vacías de cerveza y una botella de Jack Daniels casi terminada descansaba junto a un paquete abierto de patatas fritas.

Dean, por supuesto, estaba medio desnudo.

Porque Dean siempre estaba medio desnudo.

Estaba tirado en el sillón individual con los pies descalzos sobre la mesa mientras una rubia en sujetador negro de encaje se movía lentamente sentada a horcajadas sobre él. Dean tenía las manos apoyadas en sus caderas como si aquello fuese lo más normal del mundo.

Garrett ni siquiera pestañeó.

Ya había visto cosas peores en esa casa.

—Ey, Graham —saludó con tranquilidad—. Tienes cara de funeral.

—Tolbert me ha violado académicamente.

—Uy —murmuró Dean—. Feo asunto.

—¡JODER, TUCKER! —gritó Logan de repente.

—¡Aprende a perder!

Garrett soltó una exhalación cansada mientras dejaba la mochila junto a la entrada.

Y entonces la vio.

Leighton Logan estaba sentada en el extremo del sofá con una cerveza entre las manos y las piernas dobladas debajo de ella. Llevaba una sudadera amarilla enorme de Briar que le cubría parte de los muslos y tenía las mejillas ligeramente sonrojadas.

Probablemente por el alcohol.

O por el calor infernal de la casa.

Jake estaba sentado pegado a ella con un brazo rodeándole la cintura de una forma demasiado firme. Demasiado posesiva.

Garrett nunca había sabido exactamente por qué aquello le molestaba.

Pero le molestaba. Mucho.

Leighton levantó la vista al verlo entrar.

Y sonrió.

Dios.

Garrett llevaba años viendo esa sonrisa. Desde fiestas, barbacoas, visitas sorpresa de Logan o tardes tirados viendo partidos. Pero había algo distinto esa noche. Quizá porque estaba un poco borracha. Quizá porque sus ojos verdes brillaban más de lo normal.

O quizá porque Garrett había tenido un día tan de mierda que verla le aflojó algo dentro del pecho.

—Eh —dijo ella suavemente.

Jake tensó la mandíbula al instante.

Garrett lo notó.

Leighton también.

Leighton, ignorándolo por completo, se levantó tambaleándose apenas un poco y cruzó el salón hacia Garrett con la cerveza aún en la mano.

—Whoa —se rio él cuando ella casi chocó contra la mesa—. Creo que alguien va borracha.

—No voy borracha —protestó ella.

—Ajá.

—Solo... feliz.

Ella soltó una risa baja.

Y antes de que Garrett pudiera reaccionar, Leighton lo abrazó.

Seguía sosteniendo la cerveza en una mano, así que el abrazo fue torpe y desordenado, pero cálido. Muy cálido.

Garrett se quedó quieto un segundo mientras ella escondía la cara contra su pecho.

Porque Leighton siempre había sido cariñosa con Logan, con Tucker, incluso con Dean.

Pero no tanto con él.

Nunca así.

Y definitivamente no con Jake mirando desde el sofá como si estuviese decidiendo dónde esconder un cadáver.

Durante una fracción de segundo, se permitió abrazarla de vuelta.

Solo una.

—¿Qué tal el examen de Tolbert? —preguntó ella todavía pegada a él.

Garrett acabó sonriendo sin querer.

Ahí estaba otra vez.

Eso que lo descolocaba de ella.

Leighton siempre preguntaba cosas que parecían importar de verdad.

—Creo que acabo de presenciar mi propia muerte académica —respondió él.

Ella se apartó un poco para mirarlo.

—No habrá ido tan mal.

—He confundido a Kant con Aristóteles.

—Eso es grave.

—Lo sé. Voy a acabar vendiendo drogas en un callejón.

Leighton soltó una carcajada suave.

Jake apareció detrás de Leighton y apoyó una mano en su cintura.

El gesto fue violento. Demasiado violento.

Posesivo.

—Leighton lleva preguntando por tu examen toda la noche —comentó Jake con una sonrisa que no llegó a sus ojos.

Garrett percibió perfectamente el mensaje escondido debajo del tono casual.

Aléjate.

Y normalmente, Garrett habría levantado las manos y retrocedido. No tenía interés en dramas ajenos, menos aún con la hermana de Logan.

Pero algo en Jake siempre le había puesto de los nervios.

No sabía exactamente qué era.

Quizá la forma en la que hablaba por encima de ella. O cómo parecía irritarse cada vez que Leighton llamaba la atención de alguien más.

O quizá era simplemente que Garrett jamás había visto a Leighton tan pendiente de alguien como para aceptar ciertas cosas.

Leighton parecía no darse cuenta de la tensión.

—Te dije que aprobarías si estudiabas conmigo —comentó señalándolo con la botella.

—Nunca aceptaste ser mi profesora particular.

—Porque eres insoportable.

—Y tú cruel.

Ella volvió a reírse y Garrett sintió algo incómodo en el pecho.

Algo cálido.

Algo peligroso.

Desde el sofá, Tucker alzó la voz sin apartar los ojos de la pantalla.

—¡Leighton! Dile a este imbécil que eso era fuera de juego.

—No era fuera de juego —contestó ella automáticamente.

—¿Lo ves? ¡Mi hermana sí sabe de hockey!

—Tu hermana está borracha —dijo Tucker.

—Tu culo está borracho.

Dean levantó una mano desde el sillón.

—Eso no tiene sentido, cariño.

—Cállate, Dean.

La rubia soltó una risita mientras Dean volvía a besarle el cuello como si el resto de personas en la habitación no existieran.

Garrett negó con la cabeza, incapaz de evitar una pequeña sonrisa.

Y por primera vez en toda la noche, el peso del examen dejó de aplastarle el pecho.

Solo un poco.

Solo lo suficiente para darse cuenta de algo que probablemente debería haber notado hacía tiempo.

Leighton Logan siempre conseguía que todo pareciera menos horrible.

Incluso un suspenso.

Incluso la amenaza de perder el hockey.

Incluso el caos absoluto que era esa casa.

Garrett dio otro trago a la cerveza mientras Leighton volvía al sofá, aunque esta vez no se sentó tan pegada a Jake como antes. El detalle fue pequeño. Probablemente insignificante para cualquiera que no estuviera prestando atención.

Garrett, por desgracia, sí estaba prestando atención.

Jake también.

El brazo del chico regresó inmediatamente alrededor de la cintura de Leighton, atrayéndola de nuevo contra él.

Demasiado fuerte.

Leighton apenas reaccionó. Solo dio otro sorbo a su cerveza mientras observaba a Garrett por encima del borde de la botella.

—Te he estado enviando mensajes desde hace una hora, tronco —le informó Logan desde el sofá.

Garrett soltó la mochila junto a la pared y abrió la Bud Light que acababa de coger de la mesa.

—En serio, ¿dónde coño has estado? —se quejó Logan.

—En el grupo de estudio. Ya sabes, intentando no suspender y convertirme en una desgracia nacional.

—Demasiado tarde para eso —intervino Dean desde el sillón, todavía con la rubia encima.

Garrett le dedicó el dedo corazón sin mirarlo siquiera.

La risa suave de Leighton llegó desde el sofá.

Garrett giró la cabeza automáticamente hacia ella.

Error.

Porque Leighton seguía mirándolo.

Tenía las mejillas sonrojadas por el alcohol, una cerveza entre las manos y esa expresión cálida y tranquila que siempre conseguía bajarle las revoluciones incluso cuando estaba cabreado con el mundo entero.

Jake seguía pegado a su lado con un brazo rodeándole la cintura.

Demasiado pegado.

—¿Qué? —preguntó Garrett al notar que ella sonreía.

—Tienes cara de querer matar a alguien.

—Tolbert está en la lista.

Ella soltó una pequeña risa por la nariz.

—Sabía que habías suspendido en cuanto has entrado por la puerta.

—Qué apoyo más increíble eres.

—Oh, no. Yo creo en ti. —Leighton levantó la cerveza señalándolo—. El problema es que tú claramente no crees en ti mismo.

Garrett arqueó una ceja.

—¿Eso era un análisis psicológico barato?

—Estoy estudiando para eso.

—Pues quiero que me devuelvan el dinero de tu matrícula.

Ella abrió la boca, indignada.

—¡Qué borde eres!

—Y aun así me has abrazado hace dos minutos.

La sonrisa de Leighton vaciló apenas un segundo.

Jake tensó la mandíbula.

Garrett lo notó.

Y, honestamente, una parte bastante inmadura de él disfrutó un poco.

—Porque dabas pena —replicó ella intentando sonar tranquila.

—Ah, claro. Caridad humana.

—Exacto.

—Qué bonito —murmuró Jake por fin, aunque el tono era cualquier cosa menos amable.

Leighton ni siquiera pareció darse cuenta.

O quizá sí y simplemente decidió ignorarlo.

Jake inclinó la cabeza hacia ella.

—Cariño, ¿puedes traerme otra cerveza?

La sonrisa de Leighton se apagó apenas un segundo.

—Acabo de sentarme.

—Porfa.

El tono era ligero. Pero Garrett vio algo en su expresión.

Algo cansado.

Leighton se levantó igualmente.

—Yo voy —dijo Garrett antes de pensarlo demasiado.

Jake clavó los ojos en él.

—No hace falta.

—Ya estoy de pie.

El silencio duró apenas un segundo demasiado largo.

Entonces Tucker gritó desde el suelo:

—¡Hostia, tensión sexual masculina!

Logan le lanzó un cojín a la cabeza.

—Cállate, idiota.

Garrett ignoró la escena y fue hacia la cocina, agarrando dos cervezas del montón sobre la encimera. Cuando regresó, le tendió una a Jake sin decir nada.

Jake la cogió.

—Gracias, tronco.

Pero sonó más a advertencia que a agradecimiento.

Garrett apenas levantó una ceja antes de volver a centrarse en Leighton.

—Tú no necesitas más cerveza.

Ella pareció ofendida.

—Estoy perfectamente.

—Hace diez minutos casi abrazas una lámpara pensando que era Tucker.

—TENÍA SU MISMA ENERGÍA —protestó ella.

Tucker se llevó una mano al pecho.

—Es lo más bonito que me han dicho nunca.

Garrett negó con la cabeza, riéndose por lo bajo.

Logan dejó el mando sobre la mesa un segundo.

—Bueno, cambiando de tema antes de que Garrett empiece a llorar por sus notas... —sonrió ampliamente—. ¿No quieres saber qué es esa sorpresa de la que no he parado de escribirte?

Garrett bebió un trago de cerveza.

—Sí, eso. ¿Qué coño quieres? Porque me has mandado como quince mensajes.

Desde el sofá, Logan sonrió tanto, tantísimo, que era increíble que no se le desencajara la mandíbula.

Mala señal.

Muy mala señal.

Logan señaló hacia el techo con el pulgar.

—Sube arriba y lo ves por ti mismo.

Garrett entrecerró los ojos.

—¿Por qué? ¿Quién está ahí?

Logan soltó unas risitas borrachas.

—Si te lo dijera, no sería una sorpresa.

—¿Por qué tengo la sensación de que estás tramando algo?

—Por Dios —dijo Tucker con voz aguda sin apartar la vista de la pantalla—. Tienes serios problemas de confianza, G.

Garrett señaló hacia él con la cerveza.

—Dice el gilipollas que dejó un mapache vivo en mi dormitorio el primer día del semestre.

Leighton se atragantó con la cerveza de la risa.

Jake le sostuvo el vaso antes de que se le cayera de las manos.

—Va, vamos —protestó Tucker sonriendo—. Bandit era superadorable. Era tu regalo de bienvenida a la escuela otra vez.

Garrett levantó el dedo corazón.

—Sí, bueno, fue muy jodido deshacerse de tu regalo. —Frunció el ceño—. Tuvieron que venir tres personas de control de plagas para sacar a ese demonio de mi habitación.

—Bandit te quería —dijo Leighton con tono solemne.

Garrett la miró incrédulo.

—Leighton, ese animal intentó arrancarme un pezón mientras dormía.

Ella ya estaba riéndose otra vez.

Y mierda.

A Garrett le gustaba demasiado hacerla reír.

Jake pasó el brazo otra vez alrededor de la cintura de Leighton, acercándola más a él.

—Creo que exageras un poco, tío —comentó Jake mirando a Garrett.

Garrett sostuvo su mirada apenas un segundo más de lo necesario.

—Y yo creo que tú nunca has compartido habitación con un mapache asesino.

Dean levantó la mano desde el sillón.

—Yo estoy del lado del mapache.

—Tú estarías del lado de cualquiera con tetas —contestó Garrett.

—También es verdad.

—Por el amor de Dios —gimió Logan—. ¿Podéis dejar de hablar del puto mapache? Solo tienes que subir arriba. Confía en mí, nos lo agradecerás más tarde.

Dean soltó una risa ahogada.

—Oh, sí. Definitivamente le encantará.

Eso hizo que Garrett sospechara todavía más.

—No me gusta vuestra cara ahora mismo.

—Tu cara es siempre así de fea —contestó Logan.

Garrett resopló y dejó la cerveza sobre la mesa.

—Si me encuentro un cadáver arriba, pienso denunciaros a todos.

—Con lo que te queremos —dijo Tucker.

Garrett empezó a subir las escaleras.

Y fue entonces cuando notó algo.

Leighton ya no sonreía.

La estaba mirando.

Directamente.

Con esa pequeña arruga entre las cejas que aparecía cuando algo le molestaba aunque intentara ocultarlo.

Jake volvió a rodearle la cintura, acercándola a él.

Pero Leighton apenas reaccionó.

Sus ojos seguían puestos en Garrett.

—Buenas noches, Graham —dijo ella finalmente.

Había algo raro en su voz.

Demasiado suave.

Garrett apoyó una mano en la barandilla de las escaleras y le sostuvo la mirada un segundo más de la cuenta.

—Intenta no abrazar más lámparas mientras no estoy.

Ella sonrió un poco.

Pero esta vez no llegó del todo a sus ojos.

Y, por alguna razón, eso le dejó una sensación extraña en el pecho mientras subía hacia su habitación.

#garrett graham #off campus #garrett graham x reader #garrett graham x you #dean di laurentis #prohibidoenamorarse #prime video #john logan #john tucker

Chapter 3: Electric Love (Joe Keery)

The afternoon passed slowly, wrapped in a kind of quiet comfort María hadn’t realized she had missed.

They were both on the sofa now, a soft blanket thrown over them, the TV casting a warm glow across the room. The movie had been María’s choice.

Brother Bear.

One of her favorites.

She sat curled up slightly, her legs tucked under the blanket, while Joe leaned back beside her, relaxed. Every now and then, their shoulders brushed, neither of them moving away.

On the screen, the story unfolded, but María found her attention drifting.

Not away from the movie—

But around it.

The warmth of the blanket.

The quiet.

Him.

Her gaze shifted slightly, wandering around the room until it landed on something leaning against the wall.

A guitar.

She tilted her head, studying it for a second.

Then she turned toward Joe.

“Hey,” she said softly.

He glanced at her.

“Yeah?”

She nodded toward the guitar.

“Teach me how to play.”

Joe blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“Now?” he asked, a small smile already forming on his lips.

María didn’t hesitate.

“Now.”

He studied her for a second, amused, as if trying to figure out if she was serious.

“You just decided that out of nowhere?” he asked.

She shrugged slightly, curling up a bit more under the blanket.

“I saw it,” she said simply. “And now I want to learn.”

Joe let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“That’s how all great musicians start, you know. Pure impulse.”

“Exactly,” she said, pointing at him. “So you should support my artistic journey.”

“Oh, I will,” he replied, standing up and pushing the blanket off. “But you should feel very honored.”

María raised an eyebrow, already smiling.

“Oh, really?”

Joe walked over to the guitar, picking it up carefully before turning back to her.

“Yeah,” he said. “Not everyone gets lessons from the best guitarist in the world.”

María laughed, shaking her head.

“Wow,” she said. “So humble.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“Sure,” she replied. “Until I learn and steal your title.”

Joe smirked as he walked back toward her.

“I’d like to see that.”

María shifted slightly to make space for him again.

“You’re underestimating me,” she said.

Joe sat down beside her, the guitar in his hands.

“I don’t think I am,” he said. “I just think you’re about to realize it’s harder than it looks.”

She leaned a little closer, narrowing her eyes playfully.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

He glanced at her.

“It is.”

María smiled, a spark of determination in her expression.

“Good,” she said. “I like challenges.”

Joe held her gaze for a brief second, his smile softening just a little.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

She shifted slightly on the sofa to make space.

Joe gently placed the guitar on her lap, adjusting it so it sat comfortably.

“Okay,” he said. “First rule—don’t be scared of it.”

María looked down at the instrument.

“I’m not scared,” she said.

“Good,” he replied. “Because it can tell.”

She let out a small laugh.

Joe stepped behind her then, sitting close—closer than before.

Carefully, he reached around her, guiding her hands.

“Alright,” he said, his voice softer now. “This is the neck. You use your left hand here.”

He gently placed her fingers on the strings.

María’s breath hitched slightly.

Not because of the guitar.

Because of how close he was.

She could feel his presence right behind her.

His arm brushing lightly against hers.

His breath, warm, just at the side of her neck.

“Does that hurt?” he asked quietly.

“A little,” she admitted.

“That’s normal,” he said. “Your fingers will get used to it.”

He adjusted her hand slightly.

“Press harder,” he added. “Otherwise it won’t sound right.”

She tried again, focusing.

“Like this?”

“Yeah… that’s better,” he murmured.

His hand moved to her right one.

“And this hand,” he continued, “you use it to strum.”

He guided her wrist gently, moving it across the strings.

A soft, uneven sound filled the room.

María smiled a little.

“That sounded… not terrible.”

Joe laughed quietly behind her.

“That’s a strong start.”

She tried again.

This time, the sound was a little clearer.

Joe leaned in slightly closer, his chin almost brushing her shoulder as he watched her hands.

“Okay, now try this,” he said, shifting her fingers into a simple chord. “This is one of the basics.”

María frowned in concentration.

“This feels impossible.”

“It’s not,” he said. “You just need practice.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Are you saying I’m bad?”

He smiled.

“I’m saying you’re a beginner.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

“Rude.”

He chuckled softly.

“You asked me to teach you.”

She tried again, focusing more this time.

The chord rang out—still imperfect, but closer.

Joe noticed.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “That was actually good.”

María smiled, a small, proud smile.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

There was a pause.

Neither of them moved.

They were still close.

Too close.

But neither of them said anything about it.

María looked back at the guitar, trying to ignore the way her heart was beating just a little faster.

“Again,” she said.

Joe nodded.

“Again.”

Time slipped by without them noticing.

Until—

“Alright,” Joe said suddenly, gently taking the guitar from her hands. “Superstar, that’s enough for today.”

María laughed.

“Superstar?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Time to go to work.”

She sighed dramatically but stood up anyway.

“Tragic.”

Joe smiled as he set the guitar aside.

María grabbed her bag and coat, slipping them on quickly.

A few minutes later, they were both out the door.

They walked side by side to Joe’s car, the air outside cooler now.

María got into the passenger seat, adjusting her coat as Joe started the engine.

The drive began quietly.

Comfortably.

Until—

Her phone lit up.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She frowned slightly and picked it up.

Henry.

Her stomach tightened.

She opened the messages.

A link.

The article.

Then another message.

Henry: "What the hell is this?"

María sighed softly.

María: "It’s nothing. Just gossip. You know how this works."

A few seconds passed.

Then—

Henry: "Doesn’t look like nothing."

She frowned.

María: "It is. We just had dinner with the cast."

Henry: "And he walked you home?"

María’s jaw tightened slightly.

María: "Joe is my friend. That’s it."

There was a pause.

Then—

Henry: "You seem pretty close for ‘just friends’."

She exhaled slowly.

María: "Because we are close. He’s my friend."

Another message came almost instantly.

Henry: "Right."

That word again.

Short.

Cold.

María: "What is that supposed to mean?"

A few seconds.

Then—

Henry: "It means I don’t like seeing my girlfriend all over the internet with another guy."

María looked out the window, her grip on the phone tightening.

María: "I’m not ‘all over the internet.’ It’s one article."

Henry: "It’s enough."

She felt frustration building in her chest.

María: "You know how this industry works."

Henry: "Yeah. I also know how people act when something’s going on."

She froze for a second.

María: "Are you serious right now?"

Henry: "I’m just saying it doesn’t look great."

María shook her head slightly, disbelief written all over her face.

María: "There’s nothing going on."

No answer.

Then—

Henry: "Whatever."

Her chest tightened.

María: "Don’t do that."

Henry: "Do what?"

María: "Act like this."

A pause.

Then—

Henry: "Maybe if you didn’t give me reasons to doubt—"

She cut him off.

María: "I haven’t done anything wrong."

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Then—

Henry: "I have to go."

María stared at the screen.

Of course he did.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

María: "I’m about to go on set too."

No reply.

She locked her phone and put it on silent, dropping it into her bag.

Joe glanced at her briefly while driving.

“You okay?” he asked.

María forced a small smile.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s just Henry being… a complete idiot.”

Joe didn’t press, but his expression softened slightly.

Instead, he reached forward and turned on the radio.

Music filled the car, light and familiar.

“Remember last year,” he said after a moment, “when Gaten forgot his lines and just started making stuff up?”

María let out a small laugh despite herself.

“Oh my god, yes,” she said. “And the Duffer brothers didn’t even stop him.”

Joe smiled.

“They were just watching him like… ‘let’s see where this goes.’”

María shook her head, laughing softly now.

“And Finn couldn’t stop laughing,” she added. “They had to cut like five times.”

“Best scene that never made it,” Joe said.

She smiled, her mood slowly lifting.

“Or when you tripped over that cable,” she added.

Joe glanced at her, offended.

“That was not my fault.”

“It was completely your fault.”

“There was a cable in the middle of the floor!”

“You were looking at me instead of where you were going,” she said, smirking.

Joe paused.

Then—

“Okay,” he admitted. “That might be true.”

María laughed again, softer this time.

And just like that, the tension faded.

Not completely.

But enough.

The building loomed ahead of them, large and buzzing with quiet activity as Joe pulled into the parking lot. María watched through the window as people moved in and out, already feeling that familiar mix of nerves and excitement settle in her chest.

Joe parked smoothly and turned off the engine.

“Ready, superstar?” he asked, glancing at her with a small grin.

María rolled her eyes, but she smiled as she grabbed her bag.

“Always.”

They stepped out of the car, the cool air hitting their faces as they walked toward the entrance. The moment they were inside, the atmosphere shifted—voices, footsteps, distant laughter, the hum of a working set.

“Makeup first,” María said, adjusting her coat.

Joe nodded, then suddenly looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Race you.”

Before María could even react, he took off running.

“HEY—!” she shouted, freezing for half a second in disbelief.

By the time her brain caught up, he was already halfway down the hall.

“That’s cheating!” she yelled, breaking into a run after him, laughing despite herself. “You didn’t even count!”

Her footsteps echoed as she chased him, trying to catch up, her laughter mixing with his as he glanced back.

“You snooze, you lose!” Joe called over his shoulder.

“I hate you!” she shot back, though she was still laughing as she ran faster.

They burst into the makeup room one after the other, Joe arriving first. A few people inside turned to look at them, amused smiles spreading across their faces.

Joe raised his arms slightly in victory.

“I win.”

María arrived a second later, slightly out of breath, and immediately hit his arm lightly.

“You’re a cheater,” she said, trying—and failing—to look annoyed.

“I won fair and square,” he replied, completely unbothered.

“You literally started running mid-sentence!”

“Strategy.”

“That’s not strategy, that’s betrayal.”

Joe placed a hand over his chest dramatically.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of such things.”

María narrowed her eyes at him, but she was smiling.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he said, smirking, “still faster than you.”

She scoffed.

“Rematch. Proper start this time.”

“You’d still lose.”

“Keep talking, Joseph.”

He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice just a bit.

“You love it.”

She rolled her eyes again, but there was a hint of a smile she couldn’t quite hide.

“Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I don’t need to,” he replied. “I already proved my point.”

“What point?” she shot back. “That you run away from fair competition?”

“That I adapt quickly.”

“That you panic and sprint?”

Joe let out a quiet laugh.

“You’re just mad because you hesitated.”

“I didn’t hesitate,” she said immediately. “I was processing your betrayal.”

“Excuses.”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re slow.”

María gasped softly, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense.

“Wow. That was low.”

“Accurate, though.”

She stepped a little closer, pointing at him.

“You know what? Next time, I’m not even going to warn you.”

“Please do,” he said, amused. “I like a challenge.”

“You won’t like losing.”

“I won’t lose.”

She smiled, a competitive spark lighting up her expression.

“We’ll see.”

Joe held her gaze for a second, clearly entertained.

“Careful,” he said. “You’re getting confident.”

“I am confident.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“For you.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“Alright, superstar.”

María rolled her eyes again, turning away as she started taking off her coat.

“I’m sitting down before you say something even more annoying.”

“Oh, I have plenty more,” he said, following her.

“I know. That’s exactly the problem.”

“You’d miss it if I stopped.”

She glanced back at him briefly.

“Don’t test that theory.”

“Noted,” he said, though the smile never left his face.

Joe laughed softly as she hung up her coat and sat in one of the chairs in front of the large mirror. He followed, sitting nearby, still clearly pleased with himself.

A few moments later, Gaten Matarazzo walked in, greeting them with an easy smile before sitting next to María.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“Joe cheating in a race,” María said immediately.

“I won,” Joe corrected.

Gaten looked between them, amused.

“Sounds like cheating.”

“Thank you,” María said, pointing at him.

“Unbelievable,” Joe muttered.

As the makeup artists began working, María picked up her script, her expression shifting into focus. She skimmed through her lines, occasionally mouthing them quietly, while Gaten leaned over slightly.

“We’ve got a lot together today,” he said.

“I know,” María replied, nodding. “Try not to expose my secrets like Dustin does.”

He grinned.

“No promises.”

Joe chuckled softly from beside them.

“Good luck with that.”

They spent the next minutes reviewing lines, joking occasionally, María fully immersed—switching between laughter and concentration with ease.

Once her makeup was done, María stood up.

“Wardrobe time.”

She disappeared briefly, changing into the outfit prepared for her, and when she returned, she headed straight to the set.

Everything was ready. Cameras, lights, crew members moving around with purpose. Duffer Brothers stood nearby, talking quietly.

Joe and Gaten were already in place.

María joined them, taking a breath as everything settled.

“Ready?” someone called.

She nodded.

And then they started.

The first take began smoothly, but it didn’t take long before things started slipping.

“You drool,” Dustin said casually.

Steve immediately shot back, “I do not—”

María, standing as Blair, tried to hold it together—but the way Gaten delivered the line, completely serious, made her snort.

“Cut!”

Laughter broke out across the set.

“I’m sorry!” María said, covering her face. “That was—no, I wasn’t ready.”

Gaten laughed too.

“You started it!”

“I didn’t even say anything yet!”

Joe shook his head, smiling.

“Very professional, both of you.”

“Shut up,” María muttered, still laughing.

They reset.

Second take.

They made it further this time—until:

“The blanket. It was soaked.”

María lost it again, turning away as she laughed.

“CUT!”

Even Joe cracked this time, looking down and shaking his head.

“This is impossible,” he said.

“It’s your fault,” María said, pointing at Gaten. “You say it like you mean it.”

“I do mean it!”

“Stop meaning it so much!”

More laughter.

After a few tries, they finally found their rhythm. The jokes still landed, but they managed to stay in character. María felt it click—the flow between them, the timing, the chemistry.

By the final take, everything worked.

“Cut! That’s good!”

A small wave of relief and satisfaction moved across the set. María let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, a soft smile forming as she glanced at Joe and Gaten.

“That felt better,” she said.

“Yeah,” Joe nodded. “You didn’t laugh this time.”

“Barely,” María replied. “I deserve an award for that.”

Gaten grinned.

“I was trying to make you break.”

“I know,” she said, pointing at him. “You’re evil.”

“Alright, let’s go again,” someone from the crew called. “Next scene!”

They reset quickly, moving back into position. María shook out her shoulders slightly, slipping back into Blair’s mindset. The shift was almost automatic now.

They reset quickly, everyone returning to their marks. María took a small breath, rolling her shoulders as she tried to focus again. Joe stood beside her, already back in position, but there was still a trace of a smile on his face from the last take.

“Don’t laugh,” he murmured under his breath.

She glanced at him sideways.

“That’s your job,” she whispered back.

“Action!”

She glanced at him sideways, lips curling into a knowing smile.

“So,” she said lightly, “what were you two talking about back there?”

Steve didn’t look at her. He focused very hard on scooping another handful of raw meat from the bucket and flinging it ahead of them.

“Nothing.”

María hummed. “Funny. Because Dustin looked way too proud for it to be nothing.”

Joe shrugged. “He’s always proud. It’s his default state.”

She laughed softly and nudged him with her elbow. “Come on. You can tell me.”

Joe kept his eyes forward.

“Nope.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Not even a hint?”

He finally looked at her, jaw set.

“Absolutely not.”

Everything was going well—until María noticed the way he was avoiding her gaze too deliberately.

It hit her.

She bit her lip.

“Steve—” she started, but her voice broke slightly as a laugh slipped through.

Joe’s lips twitched.

“No—don’t—” he muttered, already losing it.

“Cut!”

Laughter exploded between them almost instantly.

“I’m sorry!” María said, covering her face. “You looked so serious!”

“You started it!” Joe shot back, laughing. “You made that face!”

“I didn’t make a face!”

“You did!”

“Reset!” someone called, amused.

They tried again.

“Action!”

“So,” María began again, more controlled this time, “what were you two talking about back there?”

Joe didn’t look at her.

“Nothing.”

María hummed. “Funny. Because Dustin looked way too proud—”

Joe glanced at her too early.

Their eyes met.

That was it.

A beat.

Then another.

And suddenly María couldn’t hold it.

A small laugh escaped her.

Joe inhaled sharply, trying to stay in character—but the second she laughed, he lost it too, turning away slightly.

“Cut!”

More laughter.

“This is impossible,” Joe said, shaking his head, smiling.

“You looked at me!” María accused.

“You looked at me first!”

“I was supposed to!”

“Not like that!”

She laughed harder.

“What does that even mean?!”

They reset again, both trying to compose themselves.

María took a deep breath.

“Okay. Serious. This time.”

Joe nodded.

“Serious.”

They both paused.

Then at the exact same time—

They smiled.

And immediately looked away again, trying not to laugh.

“Guys,” someone from the crew warned, half-laughing.

“Sorry!” María said quickly.

“Action!”

She glanced at him sideways again.

“So,” she said lightly, “what were you two talking about back there?”

He didn’t look at her this time. He was determined.

“Nothing.”

She hummed. “Funny. Because Dustin looked way too proud for it to be nothing.”

Joe shrugged. “He’s always proud. It’s his default state.”

She nudged him.

“Come on. You can tell me.”

“Nope.”

“Not even a hint?”

“Absolutely not.”

María slowed, forcing him to stop.

“Steve—”

This time, it worked. The rhythm came back. The dialogue flowed.

“It was… educational.”

“Educational how?”

“Eyes on the demogorgon bait.”

“Was it about me?”

Joe froze perfectly.

Just long enough.

María leaned into it.

“It was about me.”

“No—okay, maybe partly, but I’m not discussing it.”

“Why not?”

“Because… some conversations are classified.”

She laughed lightly.

“Classified. Wow. That bad, huh?”

“Drop it.”

María studied him, letting the realization build.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Oh.”

Joe felt it—and reacted instantly.

“Don’t.”

She tilted her head.

“Did you give my little brother advice?”

“No.”

“About girls?”

“No.”

“About hair?”

Joe groaned.

“Stop talking.”

María smiled—too much.

Joe saw it.

She saw that he saw it.

And for a split second, they both almost broke again.

But somehow—somehow—they held it.

“Oh my God, you did.”

“I said drop it.”

She stepped closer.

“Did you seriously coach Dustin on romance?”

“I will leave you here.”

She grinned.

“Did you tell him your secrets, Harrington?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

She turned fully toward him.

“Very well,” she said sweetly. “Fabergé.”

Joe went completely still.

Perfect.

Slowly, he turned.

“He told you.”

María switched instantly.

“No. But you just did.”

Behind them, Gaten was barely holding it together.

Joe stared at her.

“I am going to kill him.”

María stepped back, laughing as she called—

“Four puffs, right?”

“BLAIR—”

“CUT!”

There was a brief silence.

Then—

Applause.

And laughter.

Joe let out a breath, running a hand through his hair.

“That was dangerous,” he said.

María laughed, still coming down from it.

“We almost lost it again.”

“You almost ruined that,” he teased.

“Me? You looked at me!”

“I did not!”

“You did!”

He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice.

“You smiled first.”

She crossed her arms, still smiling.

“Lies.”

They held each other’s gaze for a second—

And immediately both looked away again, laughing.

“Okay,” María said. “We need a break.”

“Agreed,” Joe nodded. “Before we completely lose all professionalism.”

From behind them, Gaten finally gave up and laughed.

“Too late.”

This time, the laughter came after.

Gaten broke first, bending slightly as he laughed.

“That was so good,” he said.

Joe shook his head, smiling despite himself.

María exhaled, smiling as she turned to Gaten.

“Hey,” she said. “That was really good.”

Gaten smiled, clearly pleased.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You nailed it.”

“Thanks,” he said, a little shy but happy.

She gave him a quick side hug before heading off.

Back in her dressing room, María changed into her own clothes, letting out a quiet breath as the day started to wind down. She grabbed her things, said her goodbyes to the crew, and stepped outside.

Near the parking area, she spotted them immediately.

A couple of paparazzi.

Her expression shifted slightly as she adjusted her position, turning just enough so her face wasn’t fully visible, pretending to scroll on her phone while keeping her head lowered.

A few minutes later, Joe’s car pulled up.

He leaned over and pushed the door open.

María got in quickly, shutting it behind her.

She glanced toward the outside.

“I think we have an audience.”

Joe followed her gaze, spotting the paparazzi almost instantly, and let out a quiet sigh.

“Of course we do.”

He started the engine, one hand resting on the wheel as he glanced at them again.

“Persistent, aren’t they?”

María shifted slightly in her seat, lowering her head just a bit more and turning her face toward the window.

“Very,” she murmured. “They’ve been there for a while.”

Joe shook his head lightly.

“Do I at least look good today?” he added casually, like it was the only thing that mattered.

María let out a soft laugh, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders.

“Sadly, yes.”

He nodded, satisfied.

“Good. If I’m being watched, I want to look iconic.”

She glanced at him, amused.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m practical,” he corrected. “If they’re going to take pictures, at least let them get my good side.”

“You assume you have a bad side?”

Joe pretended to think about it for a second.

“…No.”

María laughed again, shaking her head.

“Wow. The ego.”

“Confidence,” he said. “Big difference.”

She leaned her head back against the seat, exhaling slowly.

“I should start charging them.”

Joe raised an eyebrow.

“For what?”

“For the free content,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the paparazzi. “They’re building entire stories out there.”

“True,” he said. “We should at least get a percentage.”

María smirked slightly.

“Exactly. If they’re going to invent things, they could at least make it interesting.”

Joe glanced at her briefly, a hint of curiosity in his expression.

“Oh? And what would you suggest?”

She shrugged, pretending to think.

“I don’t know… something dramatic. Secret wedding. Hidden life. Double identities.”

Joe let out a quiet laugh.

“Wow. Straight to chaos.”

“Go big or go home.”

“I respect that,” he said. “But if there’s a secret wedding, I feel like I should know about it.”

María turned her head to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe that’s why it’s secret.”

He smiled, playing along.

“Wow. Betrayed again. First the race, now this.”

She laughed softly.

“You started the race thing.”

“And you escalated to marriage.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

Joe glanced at her for a second longer this time, his smile softening just slightly.

“I might have.”

There was a brief pause, quieter now, before María looked away again toward the window.

“They’re still there,” she said.

Joe nodded, shifting the car into gear.

“Yeah.”

He pulled out smoothly, the car beginning to move away from the building.

“Don’t worry,” he added. “We’ll lose them.”

María glanced at him again.

“You sound very confident.”

“I am,” he said. “Years of experience.”

She smiled faintly.

“Is this the part where you drive dramatically into the sunset?”

“Only if there’s music.”

She reached toward the console, turning it on.

“Your moment.”

Joe laughed under his breath as music filled the car, the tension fading as they drove away.

Chapter 25: Ready for it?

Blair sat on the living room couch, her leg bouncing nonstop as if it had a mind of its own. She didn’t even realize she was doing it until her knee knocked softly against the coffee table for the third time. Her fingers twisted together in her lap, nails digging into her skin, her thoughts spiraling around the same question over and over again: Is this going to work? Is everyone going to be okay?

From the kitchen, voices drifted in. Familiar ones. Too animated to ignore.

She tilted her head, listening.

Dustin’s voice was loud, excited—way too excited for the situation. Steve’s was lower, edged with concern.

Blair frowned. That was never a good combination.

She pushed herself off the couch and padded quietly toward the kitchen, stopping just short of the doorway.

Inside, Dustin was aggressively clearing out the fridge, tossing containers onto the counter with reckless abandon.

“Okay, okay—he should fit now,” Dustin muttered, squinting at the empty space.

Blair’s eyes followed his gaze down to the kitchen floor.

The dead Demodog lay there, wrapped tightly in a blanket.

She stared at it.

Then blinked.

Then stared again.

“…What,” she said flatly, her voice breaking the moment.

Dustin looked up, unfazed. “Oh, hey. Perfect timing.”

Steve, gripping the edge of the fridge door, shot her a look that said I tried to stop this.

“…Is this really necessary?” Steve asked, clearly hoping someone—anyone—would say no.

Dustin scoffed. “Uh, yes. This is a significant scientific discovery. You can’t just bury it like some common mammal.”

Steve stared at him. “It tried to eat your cat.”

“That doesn’t negate the science.”

Steve sighed deeply. “Alright, well—you’re explaining this to Mrs. Byers when she opens the fridge and finds Satan’s dog next to the Eggos.”

They both grabbed the blanket-wrapped body and started awkwardly shoving it toward the fridge.

Blair watched in horrified fascination.

“…You want to put that in the fridge,” she said slowly, “where people keep food.”

Dustin glanced at her. “Yes.”

“No.”

“Blair—”

“Nope. Absolutely not.”

Dustin straightened, offended. “I need help.”

“You need therapy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Help me, Blair.”

She crossed her arms. “I am not touching that thing from hell.”

Dustin gasped. “It is not a thing from hell. It’s a breakthrough.”

Steve chimed in, deadpan. “Pretty sure hell’s gonna want its pet back.”

Dustin pointed at Blair. “See? He gets it.”

“No, I don’t!” Steve said quickly.

Blair shook her head. “Dustin, I love you, but if that thing moves, I’m burning the house down.”

“It’s dead.”

“It has lied before.”

Steve snorted despite himself. “She’s got a point.”

Dustin groaned. “You’re both impossible.”

Still, with a lot of grunting, muttering, and Blair standing as far away as physically possible while offering verbal assistance only (“No, not like that—Steve, your foot—ew”), they finally managed to slam the fridge door shut.

Steve leaned against the counter, catching his breath. “That is officially the worst sentence I’ve ever lived through.”

Blair stared at the fridge. “I’m never opening that again.”

From the living room, Mike’s restless pacing grew louder.

He moved back and forth like a caged animal, running his hands through his hair. Lucas and Max were sweeping up broken glass, both clearly trying to ignore him.

“Mike,” Lucas finally snapped, “would you please stop it already? You’re just making it worse.”

Mike spun on him. “You weren’t in there, okay, Lucas? That lab is swarming with hundreds of those dogs—”

“Demodogs!!” Dustin corrected from the kitchen.

Lucas rolled his eyes. “I don’t care what they’re called.”

“The chief will take care of her,” Lucas added.

“Like she needs protection,” Max said, shaking her head.

The fridge slammed shut behind them.

Steve stepped into the living room, arms crossed. “Dude, listen—if a coach calls a play in a game, bottom line—you execute it.”

Mike bristled. “Okay, first of all, this isn’t a stupid sports game. And second, we’re not even in the game—we’re benched.”

Steve blinked. “…Right. Yeah. That was my point. We’re benched. So there’s nothing we can do.”

“Well…that’s not entirely true,” Dustin said, stepping in.

Everyone turned to him.

“The Demodogs have a hive mind,” Dustin continued. “They ran from the bus because they were called away.”

Lucas’s eyes lit up. “So if we get their attention—”

“Maybe we draw them away from the lab,” Max added.

“And clear a path to the Gate,” Mike finished, energized now.

Steve stared at them. “…Yeah—and then we’ll all die.”

“That’s one point of view,” Dustin said.

“That’s not a point of view—that’s a fact,” Steve shot back, then looked at Blair. “Right, Blair?”

All eyes turned to her.

Blair swallowed. Mike was right. She could feel it. But Steve’s fear—his responsibility—was just as real.

She bit her lip, unsure.

Steve tilted his head. “Right?”

Mike didn’t wait. He was already tapping the X on the tunnel map.

“This is where the chief dug his hole. This is our way in.”

They crowded around.

“And here—this is like a hub. See how everything feeds into this?”

They nodded.

“So if we set this on fire—”

“NO,” Steve said instantly.

“The Mind Flayer would call his army,” Dustin said.

“They’d come to stop us,” Lucas added.

“And by the time they realize we’re gone—” Max said.

“El would be at the Gate,” Mike finished.

“Guys!! HEY!! HEY!!!” Steve yelled.

Blair stepped forward beside Mike. “Steve—listen to him. Just listen.”

Steve raised his hands, disbelief written all over his face. This wasn’t cool Steve. This was full-on Dad Steve.

“This is NOT happening,” he said sharply. “I promised to keep you idiots safe. All of you. Including you. His eyes flicked to Blair. “Especially you.”

Blair’s chest tightened.

“We are sitting here. On the bench. Waiting for the starting team. Does everyone understand that?”

Mike muttered, “This isn’t a sports game—”

“DOES EVERYONE UNDERSTAND?” Steve barked. “I need a yes.”

His eyes landed on Blair.

She stepped closer, softer now. “Steve… please. Just hear them out.”

Before he could respond—

A growl echoed outside.

Not a Demodog.

An engine.

Max ran to the window, yanking the curtain aside.

“…It’s my brother.”

Billy’s Camaro tore up the driveway.

“He can’t know I’m here,” Max whispered, panicked. “He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.”

Steve’s eyes went to Lucas. Then to Blair.

Blair turned to the kids. “Stay here.”

Steve grabbed her wrist gently. “You too.”

Then he stepped outside alone.

The kids drifted toward the windows again, unable to help themselves. One by one, they craned their necks, peeking through the curtains, trying to see what was happening outside.

Blair noticed immediately.

She let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Guys,” she whispered sharply, “back up. Seriously. Get away from the windows.”

No one listened.

They leaned in closer.

Blair clenched her jaw. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. “You’re all going to get us killed. I’m surrounded by idiots. Actual idiots.”

Suddenly, the kids jerked back at the same time, hearts jumping.

“Shit!” Dustin whispered frantically. “Did he see us?!”

Blair shot him a glare. “If we survive this, I’m grounding every single one of you—and I’m not even your mom.”

Before anyone could react—

The front door EXPLODED open.

Billy burst into the house like a wrecking ball, the force of it rattling the walls. His eyes swept the room until they locked onto the kids, now backed up into the kitchen.

Terrified.

Max looked like she couldn’t breathe.

Lucas immediately stepped in front of her, arms out slightly, protective without even thinking.

Billy smiled slowly.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled. “If it isn’t Lucas Sinclair. What a surprise.”

He took a step forward.

Then another.

His gaze slid past Lucas and landed on Max.

“I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max.”

“Billy, go away,” Max said, her voice trembling.

Billy’s smile vanished. “You disobeyed me.”

“Billy—”

“And you know what happens when you disobey me.”

“I break things.”

Before he could move again, Blair stepped forward, heart pounding but spine straight.

“Hey,” she said loudly, forcing his attention onto her. “You don’t get to talk to them like that. Back off.”

Billy turned slowly, eyes raking over her—and then he laughed.

A cruel, ugly sound.

“Well, would you look at that,” he sneered. “Steve’s little sidekick.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward the hallway, where Steve had gone outside moments earlier.

Billy smirked wider. “What are you supposed to be, huh? His whore?”

“Get out,” Blair snapped, voice shaking with rage. “Now.”

Billy chuckled. “Stay out of this, bitch.”

Blair didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

And then—she slapped him.

The sound cracked through the room.

For a split second, everything froze.

Billy smiled.

And then he shoved her.

Hard.

Blair slammed back into the wall, her head hitting it with a sickening thud. Her vision exploded into white, her legs giving out beneath her.

She slid to the floor.

“BLAIR!” Dustin screamed.

Panic ripped through him as he dropped to his knees beside her, shaking her gently. “Blair—hey—hey, no, no, no—wake up, please—”

Her eyes fluttered, unfocused, her head lolling slightly.

“Come on,” Dustin whispered, terrified. “Please. Please.”

Billy had already turned away.

He grabbed Lucas by the jacket and slammed him backward into the kitchen.

Lucas crashed into a shelf. Pots and pans scattered everywhere.

“Let him go!” Mike yelled.

“HEY!” Dustin shouted, torn between his sister and Lucas.

“BILLY!” Max screamed.

“Get off me!” Lucas struggled. “GET OFF!”

Billy leaned in close, seething.

“Since Maxine won’t listen to me,” he hissed, “maybe you will. You stay away from her. STAY AWAY FROM HER. You hear me???”

“I SAID—GET—OFF!!!”

Lucas kneed Billy hard.

Billy staggered back, stunned.

Then his eyes flared.

“Oh, Sinclair,” he growled. “You’re dead. You’re dead—”

“No,” a voice cut in, shaking with fury. “You are.”

Steve stood in the doorway.

His eyes immediately dropped to Blair—crumpled on the floor, blood trickling from her hair.

Something in Steve snapped.

Billy barely had time to turn—

Steve’s fist slammed into his jaw.

Billy stumbled back.

Steve was back. Furious. Unstoppable.

Blair groaned softly, blinking as consciousness returned. Her head throbbed. She touched her temple and pulled her fingers back, seeing blood.

Billy wiped his mouth, grinning despite it.

“You got some fire in you after all, huh?” he said. “I’ve been waiting to meet this ‘King Steve’ everyone talks about.”

Steve pointed at the open door, breathing hard.

“Get. Out.”

Billy laughed—and swung.

Steve ducked, punched back.

Again.

The kids shouted.

“KICK HIS ASS, STEVE!!!” Dustin yelled hoarsely.

Billy grabbed a plate—

It shattered against Steve’s head.

Steve staggered.

Blood.

“STEVE!” Dustin cried.

Blair tried to stand, but the room spun violently. She dropped back to her knees, helpless, heart racing in fear.

Billy grabbed Steve.

“No one tells me what to do.”

He headbutted him.

Steve collapsed.

Billy climbed on top of him, fists raining down.

He was going to kill him.

A needle plunged into Billy’s neck.

Billy turned, shocked.

Max stood behind him.

Moments later, Billy collapsed.

Silence.

Max stood over him with the bat.

When it was finally over, she tossed the bat aside.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Dustin rushed back to Blair, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

“Easy,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Blair winced, leaning into him, her head still spinning. Her heart was pounding—not just from fear, but from what she’d seen.

From almost losing Steve.

“I’m okay,” she murmured shakily, even though she wasn’t sure it was true. “I think.”

Dustin swallowed hard, gripping her tighter. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Blair managed a weak smile. “Guess I owe you one… for the whole… revival thing.”

He huffed, eyes still wet. “You’re never doing that again.”

She nodded slowly. “Deal.”

And together, shaking but standing, they followed the others out—leaving Billy behind on the floor.

They moved fast, all adrenaline and shaking hands.

Between all of them, they hauled Steve up—his weight dead and uncooperative—and half-carried, half-dragged him out of the house. The cold night air hit them as they shoved him into the backseat of Billy’s Camaro.

Steve groaned, barely conscious.

Blair swayed on her feet, dizziness washing over her again. The world felt tilted, distant, like she was underwater.

Max noticed immediately.

“I can drive,” she said, already yanking open the driver’s door.

Blair opened her mouth. “Max, I—”

Too late.

Max was already in the seat, slamming the door shut and gripping the wheel with determination.

Blair didn’t have the energy to fight it. She just sighed and muttered, “If we die, I’m blaming you.”

Max smirked. “Fair.”

Blair climbed into the backseat and sat beside Steve, carefully pulling his head onto her lap. Her hand slid into his hair almost automatically, fingers brushing gently through it, grounding herself as much as him.

Dustin squeezed in on Steve’s other side and noticed the gesture.

Dustin squinted at the scene for a second—Steve half-unconscious, head in Blair’s lap, Blair gently stroking his hair like this was the most natural thing in the world—and his lips slowly curled into a grin.

“Well, well,” he started, trying to sound light, “guess this is one way to secure a ride, huh—”

Blair shot him a look.

Not just a look. A warning.

Dustin raised his hands. “Okay, okay, I’m just saying—most people use, like, gas money. You went straight for the deluxe emotional-support package.”

Mike leaned forward, eyebrows wiggling. “So… are we not gonna talk about this? Because this feels… new.”

“It feels very new,” Lucas added. “Like, ‘blink and suddenly there’s a rom-com happening in the backseat’ new.”

Max glanced at them through the rearview mirror, one corner of her mouth lifting. “Did I miss a chapter or something? Because last I checked, Steve was just… Steve.”

Blair tightened her jaw, still stroking Steve’s hair, very aware of how fast her heart was beating. “He got punched in the head,” she said. “Pretty sure that doesn’t mean anything.”

Dustin tilted his head. “Mmm. Counterpoint: you didn’t have to hold his hand.”

Blair finally snapped. “Dustin, if you finish that sentence, I will drop him on the floor of this car.”

Steve made a small, confused noise in his sleep.

“…Blair…?”

Her tone softened instantly. “Shh. You’re okay.”

The car went quiet for half a second.

Then Mike mouthed oh.

Lucas’ eyes widened. “Ohhh.”

Max snorted. “Wow.”

Dustin grinned like he’d just cracked the case of the century. “Guys. Guys. I think I’ve solved it.”

Blair looked up, murderous. “Solved what.”

Dustin shrugged. “Nothing. Just that my sister might be, hypothetically, possibly—”

“Dustin.”

“—dating the babysitter.”

“I will end you.”

Mike laughed nervously. “So you’re saying you’re not together?”

“We are not together,” Blair said immediately.

Steve shifted again, tightening his grip on her hand.

“…Don’t go,” he mumbled.

Blair froze.

Lucas winced. “Oof.”

Max raised her eyebrows. “Yikes.”

Dustin pressed his lips together, trying very hard not to smile. “Wow. That’s… unfortunate timing.”

Blair sighed, cheeks burning. “He’s concussed.”

“Sure,” Mike said. “And also holding your hand like it’s a lifeline.”

Blair opened her mouth to argue—then closed it.

“…Can we please just focus on not dying?” she said weakly.

Max turned her eyes back to the road, smirking. “Fine. But just so you know—when we survive this? We’re definitely revisiting this conversation.”

Dustin nodded. “Family meeting.”

Blair groaned. “I hate all of you.”

Steve smiled faintly in his sleep, still holding her hand.

As they pulled away, Dustin felt Steve stir.

“Shhhh,” Dustin whispered quickly, leaning in. “Stay still, it’s gonna be okay, shhhh.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. His eyes fluttered.

“…Blair?” he murmured, confused and soft.

Blair’s heart skipped painfully.

She smiled down at him, brushing his hair back again. “I’m here,” she said quietly. “I’m right here.”

Steve relaxed almost instantly at the sound of her voice.

Up front, Lucas unfolded a giant, crinkled map of Hawkins, holding it open with both hands.

“Okay,” he said, squinting. “You’re gonna keep straight for half a mile or so, then take a left on Mount Sinai…”

Steve blinked harder now, panic creeping in. “What—what is happening?”

“Don’t worry,” Dustin said calmly. “She’s driven before.”

“In a parking lot,” Mike added.

“That counts,” Lucas said quickly.

“Oh my God,” Steve whispered.

“They wanted to leave you behind,” Dustin continued.

“Oh my God.”

“But I promised them you’d be cool.”

Blair leaned closer, voice low and steady. “Steve, listen to me. You’re safe. We’re all here. Just breathe, okay?”

Steve did not breathe.

Instead, he panicked.

“Stop—stop the car, STOP THE CAR—!”

“I told you he’d freak out!” Mike yelled.

“Steve, please don’t freak out!” Dustin begged.

“STOP THE CAR—!”

“WOULD EVERYONE SHUT UP?!” Max shouted. “I’M TRYING TO FOCUS!”

Lucas craned his neck, peering out the window. “That’s Mount Sinai!”

“What?!” Max yelled.

“Turn left—LEFT!”

Max yanked the wheel.

The Camaro swerved hard, clipped a mailbox, then fishtailed back onto the road.

Max slammed the brakes and shifted into park.

Silence.

Steve clutched Blair’s hand with white-knuckled terror, looking seconds away from throwing up.

Blair squeezed back, steady despite the pounding in her head. “Hey. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Up front, the boys stared, stunned.

“…Whoa,” Dustin said.

“That was…” Lucas started.

“Incredible,” Mike finished.

Max leaned back in her seat, exhaling dramatically. “Told you,” she said. “Zoomer.”

The Camaro door flew open and everyone jumped out at once.

Steve was the last one out. He stumbled, catched himself on the door, then squinted at the night like it personally offended him. When he finally made it to the back of the car, he froze.

Dustin had the trunk open.

And he was handing things out.

“Goggles,” Dustin said seriously, passing a pair to Mike. “Bandanas—very important, don’t skip those. Gloves. Flashlights. And—” he lifted a gas can with a grunt, “—gas.”

Steve just started.

“…No,” he said. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

The kids kept gearing up. Goggles over eyes. Bandanas over mouths. They looked like tiny post-apocalyptic criminals.

“Guys,” Steve said louder, panic creeping in. “Guys! HELLO??”

No response.

Blair stayed a few steps behind him, arms crossed, watching everything unfold with a mix of nerves and disbelief. Her eyes flicked to the massive hole in the ground, then back to Steve.

Steve laughed once, sharp and humorless.

“You think you’re going down there?” he said. “You’re—you’re wrong. Okay? This ends right now.”

Mike ignored him and starts tying a thick rope to the front of the car.

Dustin walked over, goggles already on his forehead. “Listen, Steve. I get that you’re upset. I really do. But the bottom line is, a party member requires our assistance.”

Steve rubbed his face. “I don’t know what language you’re speaking, but it’s not reality.”

“And,” Dustin continued, undeterred, “it is our duty to provide that assistance.”

Steve turned to Blair like a lifeline. “Please tell me you’re hearing this.”

She hesitated.

Her heart was racing. She looked at the hole. Then at the kids—Mike’s determination, Max’s clenched jaw, Lucas pretending he isn’t scared. Then she looks at Steve. The dried blood near his temple. The way he was unconsciously standing half a step in front of her.

She stepped closer.

“Steve,” she said softly.

She reached up and gently touched near his wound, grounding him. “You heard him.”

He exhaled through his nose.

“I’m going down with them.”

Steve’s head snapped toward her. “What? No. No, absolutely not. Blair, that’s—no.”

Dustin pointed between them. “See, that’s actually perfect.”

Steve glared. “Do not finish that sentence.”

“If Blair goes,” Dustin said, “you’re definitely going. And if you go, then statistically speaking—”

“Stop talking,” Steve said. “Please stop talking.”

Mike’s voice called from the edge. “Rope’s good!”

Mike disappeared into the hole. Max and Lucas follow.

Steve looked back at Blair, desperate. “You don’t have to do this.”

She gave him a small, nervous smile. “You promised to protect us. All of us.”

Steve closed his eyes.

A long breath in. A longer breath out.

“…Damn it.”

He grabbed gloves, a flashlight, a bandana, shoving them on with more force than necessary. Then he looked at her again, serious now.

“You do not leave my side,” he said. “Not for one second. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” Blair replied quietly.

“And if anything goes wrong,” Steve added, “I’m pulling you out myself.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

Steve sighed, defeated, and stepped forward beside her.

Together, they moved toward the edge of the darkness.

Chapter 24: Change

Mike grabbed Will’s drawing with both hands, the paper already wrinkled from being folded and unfolded too many times. The Shadow Monster loomed dark and impossible in crayon and pencil, its shape clawing at the edges of the page.

“The Shadow Monster…” Dustin murmured, his voice dropping automatically, like saying its name too loudly might summon it.

They had all gathered in Will’s room now, crowding the small space, shoulders brushing, nerves tight. Mike passed the drawing around as he spoke, words tumbling out fast, his mind racing ahead of the rest of them.

“It got Will that day on the field,” he said. “The doctors say it’s almost like… a virus. And it infected him.”

Max crossed her arms, thinking hard. “And so this virus, it’s… connecting him to these tunnels?”

“To the tunnels, to the monsters, to the Upside Down,” Mike nodded. “To everything.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Steve cut in, raising a hand. “You’re losing me already.”

Blair stood close to him, arms wrapped around herself. “Just… let him finish, Steve,” she said quietly, though her eyes stayed fixed on the drawing.

Mike took a breath and continued. “This Shadow Monster—it’s inside everything, right? If a vine feels something—like pain—then Will feels it too.”

“And so does Dart?” Lucas asked.

“Yeah,” Mike said. “It’s like Mr. Clarke taught us. A hive mind.”

Steve blinked. “A hive mind?”

“A collective consciousness,” Dustin jumped in eagerly. “A superorganism.”

Mike tapped the drawing. “And this thing—this thing controls it. It’s the brain.”

Dustin’s eyes suddenly widened. “Like the Mind Flayer.”

The words landed heavy. Mike and Lucas exchanged a look—because yeah. That was it.

Steve frowned. Max tilted her head.

“The what?” they said at the same time.

Blair swallowed. “That… doesn’t sound good,” she added softly.

Later, the AD&D Monster Manual slammed onto the kitchen table, the sound sharp in the silence. It lay open to a grotesque illustration as Dustin sat before it like a preacher at the pulpit, everyone in the house now gathered around him.

“The Mind Flayer,” Dustin announced.

Hopper leaned in, squinting at the humanoid shape with its writhing tentacles. “The hell is this?”

“It’s a monster from an unknown dimension,” Dustin explained. “So ancient it doesn’t even know its true home. It enslaves races from other dimensions by taking over their brains using its psionic abilities—”

“Okay,” Hopper cut him off, rubbing his face. “Nothing you’re saying is real. This is a kid’s game.”

“It’s a manual,” Dustin snapped, “and it’s not for kids. And unless you know something we don’t, this is the best metaphor—”

“Analogy,” Lucas corrected.

“—Analogy,” Dustin sighed, “for understanding whatever the hell this is.”

He tapped Will’s drawing again.

Nancy stepped closer. “So… what does it want?”

“To conquer us,” Dustin said simply. “It believes it’s the master race.”

Steve frowned. “Like… the Germans?”

“…The Nazis?” Dustin clarified.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “The Nazis.”

“I guess,” Dustin said. “If the Nazis were from another dimension.”

Blair glanced at Steve. “You really just went there.”

He shrugged helplessly. “I panic.”

The tension spiked again as the plan formed—if the Mind Flayer was the brain, killing it could kill everything it controlled. Theoretically.

“So how do you kill it?” Hopper asked.

“With an undead army,” Dustin began, quickly backtracking at Hopper’s glare. “It’s just a game—”

“So what the hell are we doing then?” Hopper demanded.

“I thought we were waiting for your military back-up” Dustin responds by attacking.

Hopper exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face, already exhausted by everything he was hearing.

“We are,” he said firmly. “We’re waiting for backup.”

Mike shook his head, stepping forward before the words could stop themselves.

“But even if they come—” his voice cracked, but he forced it steady, “how are they going to stop this? You can’t just—” he gestured helplessly, “—shoot this with guns—”

“You don’t know that,” Hopper snapped back. “We don’t know anything—”

“We know it’s already killed everyone in that lab!” Mike shot back, eyes burning. “Everyone!”

The room went silent for a beat.

Lucas swallowed, then added quietly but firmly, “And we know the monsters are gonna molt again.”

Dustin nodded, pushing his glasses up with shaking fingers. “And we know it’s a matter of time before those tunnels reach town.”

Blair felt her chest tighten. She hugged her arms closer around herself, eyes darting from face to face. “So even if help comes,” she said slowly, “it might already be too late.”

Hopper looked at her then, really looked at her, jaw tightening. He didn’t argue.

The weight of it settled over all of them like a fog.

Then Joyce’s voice cut through the silence, low and unwavering. “They’re right. We have to kill it.”

Everyone turned.

Blair watched Joyce with something close to awe. There was fear there—raw and aching—but beneath it was something sharper. Determination.

Joyce’s voice cut through the room, low but fierce. “They’re right. We have to kill it.”

Hopper stepped toward her, his voice softer now, controlled. “Yeah. Me too, okay? Me too. But how do we do that? We don’t actually know what we’re dealing with—”

“No,” Mike said quietly. “But he does.”

All eyes followed Mike’s gaze to Will, unconscious on the couch.

Blair’s throat tightened as she looked at him. She took a small step closer, as if instinct alone could protect him.

“If anyone knows how to destroy this thing,” Mike continued, “it’s Will. He’s connected to him. He’ll know his weakness.”

Max hesitated, then spoke up from beside him. “…I thought we couldn’t trust him anymore. That he’s a spy for the Mind Flayer now?”

Mike thought about that. About the risk. About his best friend.

“…He can’t spy,” he said finally, voice steady, “if he doesn’t know where he is.”

Blair nodded slowly, barely above a whisper. “Then we keep him safe. All of us.”

Steve glanced at her, something resolute settling in his expression. “Yeah,” he said. “That, I can do.”

The plan wasn’t clear. The danger was. And the fear sat heavy in every corner of the room.

But for the first time since the nightmare began, they weren’t just reacting.

They were deciding.

Shared looks pass around the table before everyone starts moving again, like motion finally breaks the spell. Steve and Nancy head toward the shed window, tearing strips of aluminum foil and pressing them against the glass.

Nancy paused mid-movement and glanced sideways at Steve. “…Hey…”

Steve looked over, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

She hesitates, then speaks softer. “…What you did—helping the kids—it was… really cool.”

Steve shrugs, uncomfortable with praise, smoothing the foil with his palm. “…Those little shits are real trouble, you know.”

Nancy lets out a quiet laugh. “Oh, believe me—I know.”

Steve smiled despite himself and went back to taping. Blair was a few steps away, struggling with a stubborn roll of newspaper that won’t stay in place. Steve noticed immediately. He crossed over without a word and pressed the paper flat beside hers, their hands brushing.

“Here,” he murmured. “You have to tape it tighter, like this.”

Blair exhaled a small, nervous laugh. “I swear it hates me. Everything I touch falls apart tonight.”

Steve tears a clean strip of tape with his teeth and hands it to her. “Yeah, well. Bad night to be clumsy.”

She glanced up at him. “Or scared.”

He didn’t joke this time. “That too.”

They work in silence for a moment, close enough that Blair could feel his warmth, steady and grounding. “You okay?” she asked quietly.

Steve nodded, then paused. “I mean… no. But I’m here.”

Blair gave him a small smile. “Me too.”

Across the room, Nancy noticed them. She didn’t look surprised—just thoughtful—and then she smiled softly before turning back to her work.

Soon the shed is unrecognizable. Newspapers, tin foil, trash bags—everything layered over the walls like armor. When the last strip is taped down, the house falls into a deafening silence. Everyone is anxious. Waiting.

Dustin paces back and forth in the kitchen, muttering to himself, hands tugging at his sleeves.

Steve stands near the doorway, swinging the nail bat slowly, practicing his grip. Blair watches him, perched on the arm of a chair. He paused, glanced at her, and gave her a quick wink.

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, shaking her head before standing and moving to sit beside Nancy. Nancy shifted slightly to make room and offered Blair a reassuring look.

Nancy sat curled on the couch, knees hugged to her chest, staring at nothing.

Max sat on the floor, legs bouncing nonstop. She looked up at Lucas, who’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“…If he finds out where we are,” Max said quietly, “will he send those… dogs after us?”

Lucas answered without hesitation. “—He won’t find out.”

Max pressed. “Yeah. But if he does?”

Lucas faltered, just for a second.

Dustin didn’t. “…Judgement day.”

Blair swallowed hard at that and then exhaled slowly. “Well,” she murmured, “that’s comforting.”

Suddenly, the kitchen door flew open.

Hopper strided back into the house, moving fast, eyes wild with urgency. Mike, Joyce, and Jonathan trailed behind him, confused and alarmed.

Dustin spined around. “What—what happened—??”

“I think he was talking,” Hopper said, already grabbing scrap paper and a pen. “—Just not with words.”

He slammed the paper onto the kitchen table and started frantically scribbling dots and dashes, muttering under his breath, trying to remember.

Everyone crowded in, exchanging looks.

Steve frowned. “What is that—?”

“…Morse code,” Dustin, Mike, and Lucas said at once.

Blair’s heart jumped as a flash of memory hit her—Will’s finger tapping against the chair, rhythmic and desperate.

Hopper kept writing. “Dot, dash, dot, pause—dot—”

Finally, he stopped. On the page: …. .-. .

He started translating, writing letters beneath each set.

“H.” “E.” “R.” “E.”

“Here,” Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Max breathed together.

Hopper looked up slowly, realization crashing into him. “Will’s still in there.”

A beat.

“He’s talking to us.”

Blair felt tears sting her eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth, relief and fear colliding in her chest.

Around her, everyone was frozen—stunned, terrified, and hopeful all at once.

Will wasn’t gone.

Not yet.

The Morse code crackled out of Lucas’s walkie-talkie, which sat propped upright on the kitchen table like it’s the most important object in the world.

Lucas, Dustin, Max, Steve, Blair, and Nancy are huddled so close their shoulders touch. No one breathed normally. Every faint beep felt too loud.

Dustin was the first to move. He grabbed a scrap of paper and a pencil, his hands shaking as he scribbled down the pattern he heard. “-.-.”

Lucas leaned in, eyes flicking between the walkie and an old Morse-code chart spread out on the table with Max holding one corner flat.

“…C,” Lucas murmured.

Nancy immediately wrote a large C on another sheet of paper with a red magic marker. The color looked aggressive. Final.

Another signal crackled.

Dustin wrote again. “---”

Lucas squint. “O.”

More beeps. Faster now. Urgent.

“S.” “E.” “G.” “A.” “T.” “E!”

Nancy wrote as fast as Lucas called the letters, her marker squeaking slightly with each stroke. When she finished, everyone crowded closer.

The message, written in bold red letters, stared back at them:

CLOSE GATE

For a second, no one spoke.

The meaning sinked in all at once.

Then—

The phone suddenly rang, sharp and violent in the silence.

Everyone jumped. Blair let out a small gasp, her hand flying to Steve’s arm without thinking. Steve stiffened instantly, bat coming up, eyes scanning the room.

“Shit—” Dustin blurted out.

The phone kept ringing.

Dustin lunged forward, ripped the receiver off the hook, and slammed it back down.

Silence.

Heavy, horrible silence.

They all stared at the phone.

Then—

“NOPE,” Nancy snapped. She strided forward, grabbed the phone, and ripped it straight out of the wall, tossing it across the room. It skidded along the floor and hit the cabinet with a dull thud.

Finally—silence again.

Everyone was stranded frozen, breathing hard.

Max swallowed. “…Do you think he heard that?”

No one answered.

They all knew the answer.

Steve forced a breath, trying to sound calm. “…It’s just a phone. He could be anywhere—right?”

No one looked at him.

Then—

A distant howl echoed through the house.

Blair’s head snapped up. “…Did you hear that?”

“Oh God,” Dustin whispered. “Oh God, oh God—”

Steve stepped in front of Blair without thinking, tightening his grip on the bat, positioning himself between her and the dark hallway. Blair’s eyes darted around the room, fear written plainly on her face now. She pulled her pistol free, finger hovering close to the trigger, not quite touching it.

Hopper stepped forward, voice sharp and commanding. “Back in the house. NOW.”

As Jonathan, Joyce, and Mike hurried inside, Hopper moved fast to the junk pile, digging through it until he found the hunting rifle and a box of cartridges.

The kids are crowded near the window.

“Away from the windows!” Hopper barked. “Away from the windows!”

They scramble back as Hopper shoved the rifle toward Jonathan. “Can you use this?”

Jonathan hesitated, panic flashing across his face.

“Can you use it?” Hopper pressed.

“I can,” Nancy said immediately.

Hopper turned, surprised, then tossed her the rifle without another word. He grabbed his M.P. assault rifle, slinged it over his shoulder, and cocked it just as another demodog roar echoes—closer now.

Blair pulled Dustin behind her instinctively, placing herself between him and the sound. Her jaw was tight, eyes wide.

Everyone readied themselves.

A shriek, ear-shattering, right outside.

Max spined in a circle. “Where are they? Where are they?!”

The sounds came from everywhere at once—left, right, behind them—confusing, terrifying.

Nancy whispered, “…What are they doing?”

Then the story unfolded through sound alone.

A demodog yelped in pain—then silence. Another roared—attacking—then silence again.

A demodog crashed through the living room window, glass exploding everywhere. Everyone screamed as it hit the floor and slid across the room, coming to a stop against the TV console.

Silence.

The creature didn’t move.

Its neck was twisted at an impossible angle.

Dead.

No one breathed.

Dustin finally broke the silence. “Holy… shit.”

Max swallowed hard. “…Is it dead?”

Steve didn’t lower his bat. He stayed exactly where he was, planted in front of Blair, eyes locked on the dark beyond the broken window, ready for whatever comes next.

Hopper approached the fallen Demodog carefully, boots crunching over broken glass. He nudged the creature with his foot.

Nothing.

It didn’t twitch. It didn’t breathe.

Dead.

A collective breath was released—short-lived.

Because then—

Footsteps.

Human footsteps.

Every head snaps toward the front door.

The bolt unlocked on its own.

Weapons rose again instantly—Steve’s bat lifting, Nancy tightening her grip on the rifle, Blair raising her pistol despite the tremor in her hand.

The chain slided free.

The door inched open.

Eleven.

In her new punk clothes. Hair slicked back. Blood slipped from her nose.

Time seemed to slow.

Weapons lower one by one.

Steve exhaled shakily, his shoulders finally dropping as relief crashed into him. He reached for Blair’s hand and squeezed it, grounding himself. Blair squeezed back just as tightly, her chest finally loosening now that the nightmare outside has a face—and that face is safe.

Eleven locked eyes with Hopper.

Shock. Pain. Something unspoken.

Mike pushed forward through the crowd.

“…El?”

Eleven nodded once.

That was all it took.

Mike pulled her into his arms, holding her like she might disappear again if he lets go. She clutched his jacket, real and solid, and for a moment the world stopped.

Everyone else watched, stunned.

Max leaned toward Lucas and Dustin, whispering, awed, “…Is that…?”

Lucas and Dustin nodde, speechless.

When Mike finally pulled back, tears streaked his face.

“I—I never gave up on you,” he said, voice breaking. “I called you. Every night. Every night for—”

“Three hundred fifty-three days,” Eleven said softly.

Mike freezed. “…You heard?”

She nodded. Her eyes shone. “I heard.”

“You were there?” he whispered. “Listening?”

“Yes.”

Mike laughed through tears, then frowned, confused and hurt. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me you were okay?”

Eleven hesitated.

A voice cut in.

“…Because I wouldn’t let her.”

Mike turned sharply.

Hopper stepped forward, studying Eleven’s clothes, her hair, the blood.

“What is all this?” he demanded. “Where have you been?”

Eleven snapped back, hurt flashing. “Where have you been?”

Mike’s eyes widened as realization slammed into him.

“You’ve been hiding her,” he said slowly. “You’ve been hiding her this whole time.”

Hopper didn’t deny it.

The room filled with stunned silence.

“Holy shit,” Dustin muttered.

Mike stared at Hopper, anger building like a storm.

Hopper sensed it. “…Let’s talk. Alone.”

Mike didn’t respond, but his clenched jaw said everything.

Elsewhere, Dustin and Lucas rushed Eleven, hugging her at the same time.

“We missed you,” Lucas said.

“Yeah,” Dustin added quickly. “Like—pretty much every day.”

Eleven smiled shyly. “I missed you too.”

Dustin grinned—and she startled.

“…Teeth?” she asked.

Dustin lighted up. “Oh! Yeah! You like my pearls?”

He made an exaggerated growling noise. “GRRRR!”

Lucas rolled his eyes.

“…Eleven?”

Max stepped forward, nervous but hopeful. “I’m Max. I’ve heard… a lot about you.”

She offered her hand.

Eleven looked at it.

Considers.

Then walked past her without a word.

Max lowered her hand, stung.

Before the moment can harden—

Blair stepped forward.

She didn’t hesitate.

She wrapped Eleven in a careful, genuine hug. “We missed you,” Blair murmured. “So much.”

Eleven stiffened—then relaxed into it, just a little.

Blair pulled back with a soft smile.

Her eyes drifted to Jonathan, who stood nearby, rigid, eyes glued to Will.

She approached him quietly.

“Jonathan,” she said gently.

He looked up, exhausted. “I should’ve been there,” he whispered. “I should’ve protected him.”

“You did,” Blair said firmly. “You never stopped fighting for him. That matters.”

He shaked his head. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if he’s—”

“He will,” Blair said, voice warm but certain. “Will is stronger than this. And so are you.”

Jonathan swallowed hard.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” she added softly. “Not anymore.”

His eyes finally soften. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Meanwhile, Eleven walked to the kitchen table, staring at the red letters:

CLOSE GATE

Joyce sat beside her.

“You opened it before,” Joyce said gently.

Eleven winced. “…Yes.”

“If we got you back there,” Joyce asked, voice trembling, “could you… close it again?”

We pushed in on Eleven’s face.

Fear.

Guilt.

Then resolve.

She nodded.

Hopper paced the room as the plan took shape, rubbing a hand over his face. For the first time since this all started, he didn’t look angry or stubborn—he looked scared.

“And that’s even if we get in there,” Hopper said, voice tight. “That lab is crawling with those dogs—”

“Demodogs,” Dustin corrected automatically.

Hopper stopped mid-step. “What?”

“Demodogs,” Dustin repeated. “Demogorgon dogs. Demodogs.”

Hopper stared at him. “…How is this important right now?”

Eleven stepped forward before the argument could spiral. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I can do it.”

Everyone turned toward her.

“You’re not hearing me,” Hopper started.

“I am,” Eleven said, stronger now. “I’m hearing. I can do it.”

Hopper opened his mouth to argue—but Mike spoke first.

“Even if El can,” he said, eyes flicking between Eleven and Hopper, “there’s another problem.”

All eyes shifted to him.

“If the brain dies,” Mike continued, “the body dies.”

“I thought that was the whole point,” Max said.

“It is,” Mike replied. “But if we’re right—if she closes the Gate and it kills the Mind Flayer’s army…”

Lucas’s face drained of color as he finished the thought. “Will is part of that army.”

Mike nodded once. “Closing the Gate will kill him.”

The room fell silent. Heavy. Suffocating.

Joyce slowly backed into Jonathan’s bedroom. Hopper and the others follow, unsure what she was thinking. Joyce’s eyes move from Will’s pale face to the open window behind him, the curtain fluttering in the cold night air.

A memory flashed through her mind—Will standing outside the bathroom, staring at the tub as the water boiled.

Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “…He likes it cold.”

Hopper frowned. “What?”

“He likes it cold,” Joyce repeated. “Will told me that. And we—we just keep giving it what it wants.”

She strided to the window and slammed it shut, cutting off the cold wind. The others began to understand.

“If this is a virus,” Nancy said slowly, “and Will’s the host—”

“We make the host uninhabitable,” Jonathan finished.

Joyce turned back to them, fear replaced with determination. “Maybe we can burn it out of him.”

The idea hanged there. Dangerous. Desperate. Possible.

“We’d have to do it somewhere he doesn’t know,” Mike said.

“Somewhere far away,” Dustin added.

Hopper’s eyes shifted as realization hit him. He knew exactly where.

Outside, Steve and Nancy rummaged through the junk pile. Blair lingered nearby, listening quietly.

“…You should go with him,” Steve said suddenly.

Nancy looked up, confused. “What?”

“With Jonathan.”

She shook her head. “No—I’m not leaving Mike.”

“No one’s leaving anyone,” Steve said, pulling out a dusty space heater. “I may be a shitty boyfriend, but turns out I’m a pretty damn good babysitter.” He glanced toward Blair. “Besides, I’ve got backup.”

He handed Nancy the heater. They locked eyes.

“It’s okay, Nance,” Steve said gently.

She hesitated. “Steve…”

Steve exhaled, the tension in his shoulders finally giving way.

“Blair’s…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, searching for the right words. “She’s important to them. To the kids.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the porch—toward Blair—before returning to Nancy. “She listens to them. She stays when things get scary. She doesn’t run.”

Blair froze where she stood. Her chest tightens. Her heartbeat grew loud in her ears.

“And…” Steve continued, quieter now, more careful, “she’s important to me.” He swallowed, jaw tightening. “In a way that doesn’t need explaining.”

Blair’s breath catched. Her fingers curled into her sleeves, trying to steady herself. Is he really saying this? Her heart pounded faster, traitorous and hopeful.

Steve looked down for a moment, then backed at Nancy. “So whatever this is—whatever we used to be—it’s not something you need to worry about. Not anymore.”

Nancy watched him closely. Really watched him. She saw it then—not regret, not guilt—but something softer. Something settled.

She smiled, small and sincere. “Okay.”

Relief washed over Steve’s face, subtle but real. He nodded once, as if that single word gave him permission to breathe again.

He turned and walked away before she could say more.

Blair stepped forward, calling after Nancy. “Hey—Nancy, I just wanted to say—”

Nancy turned, smiling warmly. “It’s okay,” she said, kind and sincere.

Blair nodded, words caught in her throat.

As Nancy headed toward the car, Steve gently touched Blair’s shoulder, guiding her back toward the house. His hand rested briefly at her back—protective, grounding.

Nancy climbed in, then looked back once more. Steve and Blair stood on the porch with the kids. They shared a quiet, emotional look.

Then the car pulled away.

Blair, Steve, Mike, Max, Dustin, and Lucas remained on the steps, watching the taillights disappear.

No one speaked.

All they could do now was wait.

Chapter 2: Electric touch (Joe Keery)

“MARÍA GARCÍA AND JOE KEERY: JUST FRIENDS… OR SOMETHING MORE?”

Atlanta has become the center of attention once again, and not only because filming for the highly anticipated second season of Stranger Things seems to be officially underway. This time, all eyes are on two of its young stars: María García and Joe Keery.

Yesterday morning, María García was spotted at Atlanta Airport, where she kindly stopped to take pictures with a young fan despite looking visibly tired after her flight. Witnesses described her as “sweet, approachable, and effortlessly charming,” proving once again why she has quickly become a fan favorite after the first season.

But what truly caught attention wasn’t just her arrival.

Sources confirmed that several cast members — including Finn Wolfhard, Gaten Matarazzo, Natalia Dyer, Charlie Heaton, and Joe Keery — have also arrived in the city over the past few days, strongly suggesting that production for Season 2 has begun.

However, things got far more interesting later that same evening.

The group was seen dining together at a cozy restaurant just outside Atlanta. According to insiders, the atmosphere was relaxed and full of laughter, with the cast clearly enjoying their reunion after weeks apart.

Still, it wasn’t the group dynamic that raised eyebrows — it was the undeniable chemistry between María García and Joe Keery.

“Everyone was joking around,” a source revealed, “but Joe and María were… different. They were constantly next to each other.”

Eyewitnesses claim the two shared multiple private jokes, often leaning in close to whisper and laugh together. At one point, Joe was reportedly seen gently nudging María with his shoulder, earning a playful eye-roll from her — a moment that quickly turned into laughter between them.

“They have that kind of connection,” another source added. “The kind where they don’t even need to say anything. You can just tell.”

The physical closeness didn’t go unnoticed either. From light touches on the arm to spontaneous hugs, their interactions seemed natural… perhaps too natural to be just casual friendship.

And the night didn’t end there.

After dinner, several cast members went their separate ways — but not Joe and María.

According to multiple sources, Joe Keery was seen walking María back to her apartment later that night. The two reportedly continued talking outside her building for a while, laughing and clearly in no rush to say goodbye.

This isn’t the first time fans have speculated about the pair. Since Season 1 aired, viewers have praised their on-screen chemistry — especially considering María’s character’s past connection with Steve Harrington, played by Keery himself.

Now, it seems that chemistry might be spilling off-screen.

Of course, neither María García nor Joe Keery have made any official statements regarding the nature of their relationship. María is also believed to be in a long-distance relationship with a New York-based partner, which only adds more intrigue to the situation.

So, what’s really going on between them?

A close friendship… or the beginning of something more?

For now, all we can do is watch closely — because if this is just the start, Atlanta might be hiding more than just the Upside Down this season.”

María lay on the sofa, her phone resting lightly in her hand as she reread the article for the third time. The living room was quiet, filled only with the soft light coming through the window.

It was the weekend. She didn’t have to be on set until the afternoon.

She let out a small sigh, dragging a hand over her face.

“They really have nothing better to do…” she murmured to herself.

Her sister had been the one to send it.

Of course she had.

María could almost hear Isabel’s voice in her head.

“I told you.”

She shook her head, a faint smile appearing despite herself.

It had just been dinner.

Nothing more.

They had all gone out together, laughing, talking, catching up after weeks apart. Joe had been… Joe. Teasing her, making stupid jokes, bumping into her shoulder on purpose just to annoy her.

And yes, he had walked her home.

But that was normal.

Wasn’t it?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her phone vibrating in her hand.

Henry.

The name alone made her stomach tighten slightly.

She stared at the screen for a second before answering.

“Hi, honey,” she said softly.

There was a small pause on the other end.

“Hey.”

His voice was flat. Distant.

María shifted slightly on the sofa, sitting up a little straighter.

“How was your week?” she asked, trying to sound light.

“Busy,” he replied shortly. “I’ve been working a lot. That’s why I didn’t call.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her.

“I figured,” she said. “It’s okay.”

Another pause.

Then he spoke again.

“I’m not going to be able to visit next week.”

The words hit her immediately.

Her expression fell.

“What?” she asked quietly. “Why?”

“They gave me more work,” he said, as if it was obvious. “I’ve got meetings that day.”

María looked down at her hand, her fingers tightening slightly around the phone.

“Oh…” she murmured.

A small silence settled between them.

“I mean… we can find another time,” he added, not sounding particularly concerned. “It’s not a big deal.”

María swallowed.

“Yeah, of course,” she said, forcing a small smile that he couldn’t see. “We’ll figure it out.”

Another pause.

“But… it’s just…” she hesitated, then continued more softly, “it’s been over a month since we last saw each other.”

Henry sighed on the other end.

“María, it’s really not that serious,” he said. “There are couples who go way longer without seeing each other.”

Her lips pressed together.

“I know, but—”

“You’re overthinking it,” he cut in. “It’s fine.”

That word again.

Fine.

María went quiet.

She stared at the ceiling, her chest feeling a little heavier.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Okay.”

There was a brief silence before Henry spoke again.

“I’ve got to go. I’m busy.”

“Oh… okay,” she said quickly.

She opened her mouth, ready to say something — anything — but before she could—

“I’ll call you later.”

The line went dead.

María stayed still, the phone still pressed to her ear for a second longer.

Then slowly, she lowered it.

She didn’t say I love you.

She didn’t get the chance.

She remained on the sofa, lying back now, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Everything felt… quiet.

Too quiet.

Her mind wandered, uninvited.

Was Isabel right?

The thought made her chest tighten.

Is he not treating me the way he should?

She shifted slightly, pulling one leg closer to her chest.

Or am I the problem?

Her fingers tightened slightly over the fabric of her hoodie.

Am I just… too dependent?

She let out a slow breath.

She didn’t like those thoughts.

They made her feel small.

Uncertain.

And she hated that feeling.

Her phone buzzed again, breaking the silence.

She turned her head slowly and picked it up.

Joe.

Just seeing his name made something in her chest feel… lighter.

Joe: "Hey. Are you alive or still sleeping?"

A small smile appeared on her lips.

María: "Barely alive. I was reading something that made me question humanity."

He replied almost instantly.

Joe: "Let me guess. Internet being dramatic again?"

She let out a soft huff of laughter.

María: "You could say that."

A pause.

Then another message.

Joe: "Hey… do you want to come over? We could have lunch. Just us. Catch up properly."

María stared at the screen for a second.

Her heart did that small, annoying thing again.

María: "Just us?"

Joe: "Yeah. Unless you’re secretly bringing an army with you."

She smiled.

María: "Tempting. But no, it’ll just be me."

There was a small pause before she added:

María: "I’d like that."

A few seconds later—

Joe: "Good. Come around 12?"

María: "Deal."

Joe: "And then we go to set together. Like responsible adults."

She rolled her eyes, smiling.

María: "We are not responsible adults."

Joe: "Speak for yourself. I make great life decisions."

María: "Yeah? Name one."

A pause.

Joe: "...inviting you over for lunch?"

María bit her lip slightly, her smile softening.

María: "Smooth."

Joe: "I try."

She locked her phone, her expression calmer now.

Lighter.

She got up from the sofa and walked to her bedroom.

The quiet still followed her, but it didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

She changed quickly, choosing a simple outfit — jeans, a fitted top, and her long black coat. She fixed her hair, added a bit of makeup to look more awake, more put together.

More like herself.

After grabbing her bag and keys, she stepped out of the apartment and headed to her car.

The drive was short.

Familiar.

She parked a little further from Joe’s building, instinctively reaching for her cap and sunglasses before stepping out.

Just in case.

She walked quickly, keeping her head slightly down, until she reached the entrance.

A few minutes later, she stood in front of his door.

She took a small breath.

Then knocked.

The door opened almost immediately.

Joe stood there, leaning slightly against the frame, a small smile already forming on his lips.

“Hey… stranger.”

María laughed softly, stepping inside.

“Hi.”

She took off her sunglasses, holding them in her hand.

“I’m trying not to be hunted down by paparazzi,” she said, gesturing to the cap. “It’s a new strategy.”

Joe closed the door behind her, amused.

“Yeah?” he said. “I think you’re missing something.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, really?”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah. I’m thinking… a full invisibility cloak.”

María let out a small laugh.

“Perfect,” she said. “Can you get me one by tomorrow?”

“I’ll call my people,” he replied, completely serious.

She shook her head, smiling.

And just like that, the heaviness from earlier felt a little further away.

She left her bag on the hanger by the door, placing her cap beside it before walking further into the apartment.

Joe had already made his way to the kitchen.

She followed him, leaning slightly against the counter as she watched him move around like he actually knew what he was doing.

“So…” she said, tilting her head a little, a playful smile forming on her lips. “What is the chef making today?”

Joe glanced at her over his shoulder, a hint of pride in his expression.

“The chef,” he said, emphasizing the words as he grabbed garlic, “is making an amazing pasta with a very special sauce.”

María let out a soft laugh and walked over to one of the chairs, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other.

“Wow,” she said, pretending to be impressed. “Should I be worried or excited?”

“You should feel honored,” he replied. “I don’t cook for just anyone.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh really? I feel very special now.”

“You should,” he said casually, turning back to the stove.

María watched him for a moment, a small, comfortable silence settling between them. She opened her mouth, about to speak—

“I was going to tell you that Henry—”

Her phone started ringing.

She blinked, glancing down at the screen.

A video call.

From Isabel.

María let out a small huff of amusement.

“She really has the best timing in the world…” she muttered before answering.

As soon as the call connected, the screen filled with a very familiar little face — far too close to the camera.

“Elena!” María’s face lit up instantly. “Hey, princesa.”

Her niece beamed, her nose practically pressed against the screen.

“Tía!” she said excitedly. “I’m making a drawing for you!”

María smiled softly, her whole expression melting.

“Are you?” she said. “I can’t wait to see it.”

Behind her, Joe leaned slightly closer, curious, and peeked at the screen.

“Hey,” he said with a small wave.

Elena froze for a second.

Then her eyes went wide.

“¡Mamá!” she shouted, suddenly running off with the phone wobbling in her hands. “Mum It´s Joe!”

María laughed, shaking her head.

A few seconds later, Isabel appeared on screen, slightly confused at first—until she noticed Joe standing behind María.

Her eyebrows shot up immediately.

“Wait—” she said, looking between them. “I didn’t know you two were together.”

María rolled her eyes, already expecting that reaction.

“We’re not,” she said quickly. “He just invited me over for lunch.”

Joe, meanwhile, leaned closer and, without warning, gently took the phone from María’s hand.

Hi,” he said casually, smiling at Isabel. “How are you?”

María stared at him, completely betrayed.

“Hey—!”

Isabel blinked, then smiled, clearly amused.

“I’m good,” she said, tilting her head slightly as she looked at him through the screen. “I didn’t expect this, though.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Joe replied lightly. “I just kidnapped your sister for lunch.”

Isabel let out a soft laugh.

“She didn’t look like she was resisting,” she teased.

María crossed her arms, pretending to be annoyed as she watched them.

“I’m literally right here,” she muttered.

Joe ignored her again, leaning a little closer to the phone.

“She came willingly, I swear,” he added, raising one hand as if defending himself. “No force involved.”

“Good,” Isabel said, playing along. “Because I was about to call the police.”

“You should,” María said dryly. “Please do.”

Isabel smiled, clearly enjoying the situation.

“So… you’re cooking for her?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Joe glanced briefly at the stove before looking back at the screen.

“I am,” he said. “I’m trying to impress her.”

María scoffed from the side.

“Good luck with that.”

Isabel laughed softly.

“Oh, you don’t need to try that hard,” she said. “She’s very easy to impress.”

“Hey,” María protested.

Joe smiled, amused.

“That’s good to know,” he said. “Any tips?”

Isabel pretended to think for a moment.

“Food helps,” she said. “And attention. She likes attention.”

María rolled her eyes.

“Wow. I love how you’re exposing me right now.”

Joe nodded thoughtfully.

“Okay, noted. Food and attention. I think I can handle that.”

Isabel leaned slightly closer to the camera, lowering her voice just a little, as if sharing a secret.

“And maybe don’t let her overthink too much.”

María’s expression shifted for a brief second.

“Isabel—” she warned.

Joe noticed it, just for a moment, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he softened his tone slightly.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said quietly.

Isabel gave him a small, knowing smile.

“Good.”

There was a short pause, comfortable but loaded with something unspoken.

Then Isabel’s expression turned playful again.

“So,” she added, “are you always this nice to her, or is this a special occasion?”

Joe shrugged slightly.

“I’m always nice,” he said. “She’s the one who’s mean to me.”

María let out a small, offended laugh.

“That is not true.”

Isabel raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know… I kind of believe him.”

“Of course you do,” María muttered.

Joe smiled, clearly enjoying himself.

“She keeps bullying me,” he continued. “I’m just trying to survive.”

Isabel nodded, pretending to be serious.

“That sounds tough.”

“It is,” Joe said. “But I’m managing.”

María shook her head, trying not to smile.

“You’re both ridiculous.”

Isabel laughed again, then looked back at Joe.

“Well,” she said, “take care of her, okay?”

Joe’s expression softened slightly.

“I will,” he replied, more sincere now.

María looked away for a second, her heart doing something strange in her chest.

Isabel noticed, but didn’t say anything.

Instead, she smiled softly.

“Good,” she said.

And just then, Elena’s voice echoed again in the background—

Before the conversation could continue, Elena suddenly reappeared, grabbing the phone again.

“Let me talk!” she insisted.

Now it was Joe holding the phone, crouching slightly so he was at her level.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Elena grinned, clearly excited, her eyes shining as she held the phone a little too close to her face.

“I’m making you a drawing too!” she announced proudly.

Joe’s expression softened instantly, something warm and genuine appearing in his eyes.

“Really?” he said. “That’s awesome. I feel very important now.”

“You are!” she said, nodding with absolute certainty.

María watched the scene from her chair, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“You’re stealing my niece,” she said, though her voice lacked any real annoyance.

Joe ignored her completely, his attention fully on Elena.

“What are you drawing?” he asked gently.

“A house,” she said. “And you… and my tía.”

Joe smiled, a small, fond smile.

“That sounds perfect.”

Elena adjusted the phone, thinking for a second.

“And a sun,” she added. “Because it’s happy.”

Joe nodded seriously.

“Well, then it’s going to be the best drawing ever.”

She giggled.

“I’m going to send it to you,” she said, as if it were the most important mission in the world.

“I’ll be waiting for it,” he replied. “I’ll put it on my wall.”

Elena gasped, her mouth opening in surprise.

“Really?!”

“Of course,” Joe said. “Right in the middle. So everyone can see it.”

She looked extremely pleased with that answer.

“And when I visit you, I’ll see it?” she asked.

Joe didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” he said. “You can check if I kept my promise.”

Elena squinted slightly, as if evaluating him.

“Okay…” she said slowly. “But don’t lie.”

Joe placed a hand over his chest, pretending to be deeply offended.

“I would never lie about something that important.”

María let out a quiet huff from the side.

“He’s lying,” she said.

Joe glanced at her briefly.

“I’m not,” he said, then looked back at Elena. “You can trust me.”

Elena nodded, satisfied.

“Okay. Then I’ll make it very pretty.”

“I’m sure you will,” Joe said softly.

She smiled again, then leaned even closer to the camera.

“Do you like chocolate?” she asked suddenly.

Joe blinked, caught off guard, then smiled.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I like chocolate too.”

“That means we’ll get along very well,” he replied.

Elena giggled again.

“And toys?” she continued.

“I like toys too,” Joe said, playing along. “Especially the cool ones.”

“I have many,” she said proudly. “But I don’t share all of them.”

Joe nodded, understanding.

“That’s fair. You have to keep the best ones for yourself.”

She pointed at the screen.

“You can play with me if you come.”

Joe’s expression softened even more.

“I’d like that,” he said.

María looked at them, shaking her head slowly, though a small smile betrayed her.

“This is unbelievable,” she murmured.

Elena ignored her completely.

“And you have to bring chocolate,” she added firmly.

Joe laughed softly.

“Deal. I’ll bring a lot of chocolate.”

“And maybe a toy,” she said, thinking.

“Okay,” he agreed. “One toy.”

She considered it for a second, then nodded.

“Okay.”

There was a small pause before she smiled again, softer this time.

“I like you,” she said simply.

Joe’s smile turned gentle.

“I like you too, Elena.”

María looked away for a moment, her heart quietly melting, even if she refused to admit it out loud.

“This is unbelievable,” she murmured. “I’ve been replaced in five minutes.”

Joe finally handed the phone back to her, still smiling.

María took it, narrowing her eyes at him before looking back at the screen.

“So that’s it?” she said dramatically. “You replaced me already?”

Elena nodded without hesitation.

“Yes,” she said. “But only if he gives me toys and chocolate.”

María let out a laugh.

“Wow. So that’s all it takes, huh?”

“Yes,” Elena said, completely serious.

María shook her head, smiling.

“Traitor.”

She said goodbye to her niece and her sister, promising to call them later before ending the call.

As soon as the screen went dark, she slowly turned her head toward Joe, narrowing her eyes at him.

“That was not fair,” she said. “You stole my niece.”

Joe didn’t even try to hide his smile.

“I didn’t steal her,” he said. “She clearly chose me.”

María stood up, walking a little closer to him.

“She’s three,” she said. “She can be bribed with chocolate.”

Joe shrugged.

“Then I guess I win.”

She crossed her arms, trying to look serious.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He pointed at the pan, where the pasta was starting to cook.

“That’s why I’m making lunch,” he said. “So you forgive me.”

María looked at him for a second before shaking her head, a small smile escaping anyway.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet,” he replied, glancing at her, “you’re still here.”

She didn’t answer.

But she didn’t leave either.

For a moment, there was only the soft sound of something simmering in the pan.

Then Joe spoke again, more casually.

“What were you going to say before the call?” he asked, not looking at her at first. “About Henry.”

María blinked, as if coming back to reality.

“Oh… yeah,” she said, her voice quieter now. “He’s not coming next week.”

Joe’s hand paused slightly over the pan before he continued stirring.

“That sucks,” he said simply.

María rested her elbows on the table, letting her head fall into her hands.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “But… we’ll find another time.”

Joe glanced at her, studying her for a second.

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he turned the stove down and walked over to her.

Without making a big deal out of it, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her gently into a brief, warm hug. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you will. You’ll find a time that works for both of you.”

María closed her eyes for a second, letting herself relax into it.

“Yeah…” she repeated softly.

Joe let go and went back to the kitchen as if it hadn’t been anything unusual.

But María stayed still for a moment longer before lifting her head again.

“He just… never has time,” she said after a pause.

Joe glanced at her again, listening.

“He didn’t even call me this week until today,” she continued. “And when he does, it’s always short. Like he’s in a hurry to hang up.”

Joe didn’t interrupt.

“He’s always working,” she added, shrugging slightly. “Which, okay, I get it. But… I don’t know.”

She looked at the table, tracing invisible patterns with her finger.

“It just feels like I’m the only one trying sometimes.”

Joe leaned lightly against the counter, crossing his arms.

“Have you told him that?” he asked.

María let out a small, humorless laugh.

“Yeah,” she said. “Or at least I’ve tried.”

“And?”

“He says I’m overthinking,” she replied, rolling her eyes slightly. “That it’s ‘not a big deal.’”

Joe frowned faintly.

“That’s… not great.”

María shrugged again, but there was something tired in the gesture.

“I don’t want to make it a bigger thing than it is,” she said. “Maybe I am overthinking.”

Joe shook his head a little.

“Or maybe you just want your boyfriend to actually show up,” he said.

María looked at him, a small, conflicted smile on her lips.

“Yeah… maybe.”

A quiet settled between them again, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Joe turned back to the stove, finishing up the pasta.

María stood up after a moment, walking over to the counter.

“Okay, at least let me help,” she said, reaching for the plates.

Joe immediately stopped her, gently moving her hand away.

“Nope,” he said. “You’re the guest.”

She frowned.

“And?”

“And that means your only job is to sit down and eat.”

María crossed her arms.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he said easily.

She shook her head, but a smile slipped through anyway as she walked back to her chair.

“Idiot.”

Joe grabbed two plates and started serving the pasta.

A moment later, he placed a glass in front of her and poured some white wine.

María looked at it, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Joe shrugged slightly.

“Special occasion.”

She let out a soft laugh.

“Right,” she said. “Because getting slightly drunk before filming is always a great idea.”

Joe smirked.

“Maybe it’ll improve your performance.”

“Excuse me?” she said, pretending to be offended. “I already give award-winning performances.”

“Sure you do,” he teased.

She smiled, shaking her head.

Joe placed the plate in front of her along with the cutlery, then grabbed his own and sat down.

He reached for the remote and turned on the TV, leaving it on low volume just to fill the silence.

For a moment, they both started eating.

Then Joe glanced at her again.

“So…” he said casually. “Did you see the article?”

María groaned immediately.

“Of course I did,” she said. “My sister sent it to me at eight in the morning.”

Joe laughed.

“That sounds about right.”

“They’re unbelievable,” she continued. “We go out to dinner once and suddenly we’re secretly in love.”

Joe raised an eyebrow, pretending to think.

“Once?” he said. “Wow. I thought we had more history than that.”

María kicked him lightly under the table.

“Shut up.”

He laughed.

“I mean, they said I walked you home,” he added. “That’s pretty serious.”

“Oh yeah,” she said dramatically. “Scandalous behavior. Walking. At night.”

Joe nodded.

“Very suspicious.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling.

“And the way they describe it,” she continued, “like we were whispering secrets all night.”

Joe leaned slightly forward.

“We were whispering secrets,” he said in a low voice.

María narrowed her eyes.

“You were making fun of me.”

“That is my love language,” he replied.

She let out a small laugh.

“They also said we have ‘undeniable chemistry,’” she added, using air quotes.

Joe tilted his head.

“Do we?”

María looked at him for a second, then quickly looked back at her plate.

“I don’t know,” she said lightly. “You tell me.”

Joe smiled slightly, but didn’t push it.

“Well,” he said, “if it means free publicity, I’m not complaining.”

María laughed.

“Yeah, until they start making things up.”

“They already are,” he pointed out.

She sighed, but there was a hint of amusement in it.

“True.”

There was a brief pause.

Then she looked at him again, a small smile playing on her lips.

“But for the record,” she said, “if we ever fake-date for the press, I’m setting the rules.”

Joe raised an eyebrow.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” she said confidently. “I’m in charge.”

He leaned back slightly, smiling.

“I’d like to see that.”

María smiled back.

And for a moment, everything felt easy again.

Chapter 1: Figure you out (Joe Keery)

Chicago felt colder than usual that night.

Or maybe María just wasn’t ready to leave yet.

Outside, the wind pressed softly against the windows, carrying that sharp November chill that made everything feel quieter, slower. Inside the apartment, the warmth wrapped around her like a second blanket.

But not enough.

María sat curled up on the sofa, her legs tucked under a thick blanket, the soft light of the television flickering across her face. She wasn’t really watching it. The sound filled the room, but her mind was somewhere else.

Atlanta.

Tomorrow.

The first day back.

The second season of Stranger Things.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her phone.

She had been trying not to think about it too much. About seeing everyone again. About stepping back into something that had changed her life completely.

About him.

She had talked to Gaten Matarazzo earlier that day. He had been excited, talking fast, telling her about random things that didn’t really matter. She had smiled the whole time.

"I missed you," he had said.

And she had believed him.

That part was easy.

A small laugh escaped her lips as she scrolled through Twitter.

Most of the comments were good. More than good.

People loved her character. They loved the dynamic with Dustin. They loved her.

It still felt strange.

Sometimes, it didn’t feel real at all.

Her thumb slowed down.

There it was again.

Another post.

Another picture.

Another edit.

Her and Joe.

Always her and Joe.

She smiled without meaning to.

Fans didn’t stop. They didn’t care that she had a boyfriend. They didn’t care about reality.

To them, it was simple.

They looked good together.

They fit.

María shook her head softly, almost amused, almost… something else.

She closed Twitter.

Big mistake.

Instagram was worse.

Edits, videos, slow-motion clips from scenes. Comments full of hearts, theories, jokes.

"They’re meant for each other.""You can’t fake that chemistry.""Just date already."

María let out a quiet breath, locking her phone for a second before unlocking it again.

She didn’t know why she kept looking.

Maybe because a small part of her liked it.

That was the problem.

"Don’t tell me you’re reading those again."

María looked up.

Isabel stood there with two plates in her hands, raising an eyebrow.

María smiled slightly.

"I’m not."

"You are."

"I’m not."

"You smile like that only when you are."

María rolled her eyes, but she shifted a little to make space for her.

Isabel handed her one of the plates before sitting down next to her.

The smell of food filled the space between them.

Warm. Familiar.

Real.

Isabel looked at her for a moment before speaking again.

"From one to ten," she said, picking up her fork, "how nervous are you?"

María let out a small laugh.

"Eleven."

Isabel smiled.

"That bad?"

"Worse."

They both started eating, the quiet settling comfortably around them for a few seconds.

Then—

"Did you call Henry?"

The question made María pause for a moment.

"Not yet," she said, trying to sound casual. "I’ll talk to him before I go to sleep."

Isabel’s expression changed slightly.

"And he hasn’t called you?"

María shook her head.

"He’s probably working."

Isabel made a face.

A very clear one.

María sighed.

"I know you don’t like him."

"I don’t."

"I know."

"And I have reasons."

"I know."

There was a small silence.

María looked down at her plate.

"He’s trying," she added quietly. "He’s made mistakes, but… he’s trying."

Isabel didn’t answer.

She just kept eating.

That silence said enough.

So María did the same.

A few seconds later, María noticed it.

That smile.

Slow.

Dangerous.

Too knowing.

She narrowed her eyes.

"I know that look."

Isabel didn’t even try to hide it.

"You do?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"The answer is no."

"I didn’t even say anything."

"You don’t have to."

Isabel leaned back slightly, clearly enjoying this.

"Do you know something about Joe?"

María exhaled sharply.

"There it is."

"So?"

"No," María said, shaking her head. "I don’t."

"Not even a message?"

"No."

"Call?"

"No."

Isabel frowned slightly.

"That’s weird."

"It’s not."

"It is."

"It’s not," María repeated, a little more firmly this time. "He’s probably in Massachusetts. With his parents. His sisters."

"And that means he can’t text you?"

María sighed again.

"Isabel…"

"What?"

"I’m going to see him tomorrow anyway."

"Exactly," Isabel said quickly. "Which is why you should text him before that."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it’s weird."

"It’s not weird."

"It is weird."

"You’re weird."

"Thank you."

Isabel smiled.

"You miss him."

María didn’t answer.

That was enough.

Elena’s laughter filled the room from the other side.

She was sitting on the floor, completely focused on her toys, lost in her own little world.

María watched her for a moment, her expression softening.

"I’m serious," Isabel continued. "You should talk to him."

"I will."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

Isabel gave her a look.

"That’s not what I meant."

María smiled slightly, looking back at her plate.

"I know."

They kept talking for a while longer.

About the show.

About the trip.

About everything and nothing at the same time.

And Joe kept coming back into the conversation.

In jokes.

In comments.

In silences.

When María finished eating, she stood up slowly.

"I’m going to sleep," she said, stretching a little.

Isabel groaned.

"You have to wake up at four. This is your fault."

"You love me."

"I do. That’s why I’m doing this."

María smiled.

She walked over to Elena, crouching down next to her.

"Hey, princesa."

Elena looked up, smiling immediately.

María pulled her into a soft hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"I’ll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay."

She stood up again, walking back to the sofa.

She leaned down and kissed Isabel’s head gently.

"Don’t be late."

Isabel rolled her eyes.

"I won’t."

"You better not."

"I said I won’t."

María smiled one last time before walking towards the guest room.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

She closed the door behind her and sat on the edge of the bed, her phone already in her hand.

Henry.

She hesitated for a second.

Then pressed the call button.

The ringing didn’t last long.

The call ended.

María frowned slightly.

A message appeared almost immediately.

Henry:"Busy. Finishing reports for tomorrow."

María stared at the screen for a second before typing.

María:"You’re going to burn your eyes working like that 😅"

A pause.

Nothing.

She tried again.

María:"I fly tomorrow morning. 4am airport 😭"

Still nothing.

Her fingers slowed down, but she kept typing.

María:"Did you eat at least?"

Seen.

No reply.

Her chest tightened just a little.

She swallowed.

Then typed again.

María:"I miss you"

This time, the answer came.

Short.

Cold.

Henry:"We’ll see each other in a couple of weeks."

María stared at the message.

Something about it felt… empty.

Like talking to a wall.

Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment.

Then she locked her phone.

Slowly.

Carefully.

As if that would make it hurt less.

She lay down, pulling the blanket over her body.

The room was dark now.

Silent.

But her mind wasn’t.

Atlanta.

Tomorrow.

Everyone.

Him.

She closed her eyes.

Trying not to think about the fact that, for the first time in a while—

She would finally see Joe Keery again.

And she didn’t know what that would do to her.

María didn’t remember the exact moment she fell asleep.

One second she was staring at the ceiling, her phone still in her hand… and the next, her eyes were slowly closing, her thoughts drifting somewhere softer.

Warmer.

Without really thinking, her thumb moved across the screen again.

Joe’s name.

She opened the chat.

Old messages.

From before the silence.

From before the two weeks.

Her lips curved slightly.

Joe:"I swear your Spanish is getting worse every day."

María:"It’s because you’re a bad influence."

Joe:"Excuse me??? I’m improving your English."

María:"You literally said ‘expresso’ this morning."

Joe:"That was ONE time."

She scrolled.

Joe:"Are you coming to set tomorrow or are you going to abandon me again?"

María:"I was there yesterday???"

Joe:"That doesn’t count. I need emotional support daily."

María:"You’re dramatic."

Joe:"And you love me for it."

Her smile softened.

Joe:"You did really good today. I mean it."

María:"Don’t get soft on me, Harrington."

Joe:"Too late."

María stared at that last message a little longer than she should have.

Her chest tightened just a little.

She locked her phone, but didn’t move.

Still.

Quiet.

And slowly—

She fell asleep.

The alarm rang too soon.

4:45 a.m.

María groaned, her hand searching blindly for her phone until she finally found it and turned the alarm off.

"God…"

Her voice was rough, still half asleep.

For a second, she didn’t move.

Then she forced herself to sit up, running a hand through her hair.

Her phone lit up again.

A notification.

She blinked, trying to focus.

A message.

From Finn Wolfhard.

Sent hours ago.

Finn:"Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, María :)"

Her expression softened instantly.

She typed back quickly.

María:"Only if you bring me a good coffee ☕❤️"

She smiled to herself and finally stood up.

Everything after that moved fast.

Too fast.

She got dressed quickly, pulling on comfortable clothes, grabbing a hoodie, her long coat, her sunglasses, her cap.

Her suitcase waited by the door.

Ready.

Like everything else.

When she walked into the kitchen, Isabel was already there.

Of course she was.

Sitting at the table, holding a cup of coffee like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

María smiled faintly.

"Morning."

Isabel looked up.

"You look terrible."

"Thank you."

Without a word, Isabel stood up and poured her a cup of coffee.

María took it with both hands, letting the warmth settle into her fingers.

"I’ll drink this and we go," she said.

Isabel nodded before disappearing down the hallway.

A few seconds later, she came back holding Elena, still half asleep, her head resting against her shoulder.

The cold hit them as soon as they stepped outside.

Sharp.

Awake.

Real.

María adjusted her coat, pulling it closer around her body as she walked towards the car.

She placed her suitcase in the trunk while Isabel carefully settled Elena in the back seat.

Everything felt quiet.

Too early for the world to be fully awake.

María got into the passenger seat and turned the music on, very low.

Just enough to fill the silence without waking Elena.

They drove like that.

No rush.

No noise.

Just a comfortable silence between them.

"Call mom and dad," Isabel said after a while, her eyes still on the road.

"I will."

"Tonight."

"I said I will."

Isabel gave her a look.

María smiled slightly.

"I promise."

The airport appeared sooner than María expected.

Time always moved differently when she didn’t want it to.

Isabel parked the car, turning off the engine.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then María opened the door.

The cold felt stronger this time.

Maybe because she was about to leave.

She took her suitcase out of the trunk and turned towards her sister.

They didn’t say anything at first.

They just hugged.

Tight.

Long.

"I’ll text you when I land," María said softly.

"You better," Isabel replied. "Or I’m coming to get you myself."

María laughed quietly.

"I believe you."

She leaned into the car, pressing a gentle kiss to Elena’s head.

"See you soon, princesa."

Elena didn’t wake up.

And just like that—

She was alone.

María pulled her cap down slightly and walked into the airport.

The lights were too bright.

The air too artificial.

She moved through it all slowly, following the signs.

First, she found the check-in area. She showed her ID and got her boarding pass printed. Then she went to drop off her suitcase, watching as it disappeared on the conveyor belt.

That part always made her a little nervous.

Like letting go of something important.

After that came security.

Shoes off.

Coat off.

Bag on the tray.

Phone in another.

She walked through the scanner, trying not to think about how tired she felt.

Once everything was done, she collected her things again, putting everything back together with slow movements.

Then, finally—

The waiting area.

She found her gate and sat down, her headphones already in her ears.

People moved around her, voices mixing together, announcements echoing through the space.

But María stayed still.

Quiet.

The flight passed in a blur.

She was lucky.

No one sat next to her.

She leaned against the window, pressing play.

A familiar song filled her ears.

"You belong with me…"

Taylor Swift.

Soft.

Easy.

Safe.

María closed her eyes.

And this time, sleep came faster.

When she woke up, the plane was landing.

Atlanta.

7:30 a.m.

Everything after that felt automatic.

She followed the rest of the passengers out of the plane, moving through the airport without really thinking.

Signs.

Corridors.

People.

Then baggage claim.

She stood there for a few minutes until her suitcase appeared, grabbing it quickly.

When she finally stepped outside—

That’s when it happened.

A girl.

Young.

Maybe fifteen.

Looking at her.

Smiling.

María smiled back.

The girl hesitated before walking closer.

"Hi… sorry," she said softly. "Can I take a picture with you?"

María adjusted her sunglasses quickly.

"Yeah, of course."

They took a selfie.

The girl looked so happy it made María’s chest feel warm.

"You’re my favorite character," she added.

"Thank you," María said, genuinely.

The girl hesitated again.

"I think Steve should be with you, not Nancy… even if you’re his ex."

María laughed softly.

"I agree."

The girl smiled wider.

Then—

"Are you dating Joe?"

María blinked, caught off guard.

She let out a small, nervous laugh.

"No… I have a boyfriend."

The girl made a face.

"That’s a shame. You have so much chemistry."

María didn’t know what to say.

"Thank you," she managed.

The girl waved and walked away.

María shook her head slightly and got into a taxi.

The driver placed her suitcase in the trunk.

"Where to?"

She gave him the address.

Then she took out her phone.

María → Isabel:"I’m in the taxi. Alive."

A reply came almost instantly.

Isabel:"Good. Don’t disappear."

She smiled and opened another chat.

Henry.

María:"I just landed"

A pause.

Then—

Henry:"Okay. Be careful."

Short.

But still something.

María exhaled softly, about to lock her phone—

When it buzzed again.

Her heart skipped.

Joe.

Joe:"Are you in Atlanta already?"

Her fingers moved faster this time.

María:"Just left the airport. Going home to drop my suitcase"

Joe:"I got here last night"

Joe:"Couldn’t sleep at all"

María:"Why?"

Joe:"Nervous, I guess"

María:"You? Nervous? That’s new"

Joe:"Shut up"

María:"Never"

Joe:"I missed this"

María stared at the screen for a second.

Something soft settled in her chest.

María:"Me too"

She didn’t even realize she was smiling.

When she arrived home, everything felt familiar.

Quiet.

Still.

She left her suitcase in her room and let out a slow breath.

"Home sweet home…"

After a quick shower and a change of clothes—jeans, a simple shirt, her long black coat—she looked at herself in the mirror.

Better.

More awake.

More put together.

The drive felt short.

Too short.

Her hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel as the building appeared in the distance.

The same one.

From last year.

She parked.

Turned off the engine.

And stayed there.

Still.

Her phone in her hand again.

Joe’s messages.

She read them once.

Twice.

Her heart beating faster each time.

"Relax…"

She took a deep breath.

Then stepped out of the car.

"Morning," the security guard said with a smile.

"Morning," she replied.

Inside, everything felt big.

Open.

Warm.

And full of memories.

She saw the Duffer Brothers first.

They smiled immediately.

"María!"

She laughed softly, hugging them both.

"I was starting to miss you."

Then more faces.

Familiar ones.

David Harbour. Winona Ryder.

She greeted them warmly before being introduced to new faces.

Sadie Sink. Dacre Montgomery.

"Hi," María said kindly.

Then—

Natalia.

María walked faster without even realizing it.

She hugged Natalia Dyer tightly.

"Hey… how are you?" Natalia asked softly.

María smiled.

"I almost didn’t want to come back."

"Why?"

"I didn’t want to leave my niece."

Natalia’s expression softened.

"I get that."

She greeted Charlie Heaton next.

And then—

Arms around her from behind.

She laughed instantly.

"Gaten—"

"And me," Finn Wolfhard added.

She turned, hugging them both.

"I missed you."

"We missed you more," Gaten said.

"Did you bring coffee?" Finn asked.

María smiled.

"Did you bring coffee?"

They talked.

Easily.

Naturally.

Like no time had passed.

María felt her eyes sting slightly.

Too much emotion.

Too fast.

"Have you seen Joe yet?" Gaten asked suddenly.

María shook her head.

"No—"

And then she stopped.

Because she saw him.

Across the room.

Joe Keery.

Looking at her.

Like he had been waiting.

He dropped his bag.

Opened his arms.

And smiled.

María laughed softly.

Almost breathless.

And walked towards him.

Then faster.

And then—

She hugged him.

They didn’t let go immediately.

It wasn’t like the others.

It never was.

Joe’s arms wrapped around her a little tighter than expected, one hand resting against her upper back, steady, warm. María felt it instantly, that familiar comfort settling somewhere deep in her chest.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Just breathing.

Just being there.

"Hey…"

His voice came out softer than before, almost lost against her shoulder.

María smiled against his jacket.

"Hey."

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting herself stay there just a little longer than she probably should.

"I missed you," he murmured.

Simple.

Honest.

No jokes this time.

María’s fingers tightened slightly in the fabric of his hoodie.

"I missed you too."

And she meant it.

More than she expected.

Joe let out a quiet breath, almost like he had been holding it in for days.

"You disappeared."

María huffed softly, still not pulling away.

"So did you."

"That’s different."

"How?"

"I had a good excuse."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh really?"

He nodded, trying to look serious.

"Yeah."

"What was it?"

Joe hesitated for half a second.

Then—

"I didn’t have you around to bother."

María laughed quietly, shaking her head.

"That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard."

"It worked."

"It didn’t."

There was a pause.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… full.

They were still close.

Too close.

But neither of them seemed to notice.

Or maybe they did.

"You look tired," Joe said, his voice softer again.

María rolled her eyes lightly.

"Thank you."

"No, I mean—" he smiled a little, almost shy now. "You always look tired, but today is… special."

She narrowed her eyes.

"I just flew across the country at four in the morning."

"Yeah, that explains it."

Another small silence.

Joe tilted his head slightly, studying her face like he was trying to read something she wasn’t saying.

"You okay?"

There it was.

That tone again.

The one that saw too much.

María looked at him for a second.

Then smiled.

"I am now."

Joe’s expression softened.

He didn’t say anything.

But something in his eyes changed.

He finally pulled back, slowly this time.

Like he wasn’t in a rush.

Like he didn’t really want to.

"Good," he said.

And for a second—

It almost sounded like he meant more than that.

Around them, the noise of the room came back again.

Voices.

Laughter.

Movement.

But something between them stayed.

Chapter 23: On and on

The sun was already dipping low in the sky when they reached the junkyard. Rusted cars stretched out like corpses, half-swallowed by weeds and fog, and the air smelled of oil, metal, and something rotten.

Steve lifted his sunglasses, scanning the place with a slow, approving nod. “Yeah,” he said, lips curling into a confident grin. “This’ll do. This’ll do just fine. Good call, dude.”

Dustin practically glowed at the praise.

They walked deeper into the junkyard, boots crunching over gravel and scrap, and then tipped their buckets. Bloody meat slopped onto the ground in wet, unpleasant sounds. Blair tried not to look at it too closely.

“I said medium well!!” a voice shouted from somewhere ahead.

Steve and Dustin looked up at the same time.

Lucas and Max were approaching from the opposite end of the yard. Dustin’s eyes locked onto Max immediately, his breath catching like someone had punched the air out of him.

Steve noticed instantly. He followed Dustin’s gaze, then glanced back at him, understanding clicking into place. “…Who’s that?” he asked quietly.

Before Dustin could answer, Blair leaned closer to her brother, her voice low and curious. “Is that her?” she asked gently. “The girl you like?”

Dustin groaned. “Please don’t say it like that.”

Blair smiled, amused, and then looked at Steve. “I really hope,” she added in a teasing tone, “that you gave him good advice.”

Steve scoffed. “I gave him excellent advice.”

Dustin shot him a look. “Debatable.”

Dustin quickly grabbed Lucas by the arm and dragged him a few steps away, muttering something heated and frantic. Blair watched them go, then turned her attention to Max, who was standing slightly apart, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed by everything.

Blair approached her with an easy smile. “Hey. I’m Blair.”

Max glanced her up and down, then smirked faintly. “Yeah. I know. Billy’s mentioned you. A couple of times.”

Blair blinked, surprised. “He has?”

“Mostly while being annoying,” Max added. Then her eyes flicked past Blair—straight to Steve. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Blair laughed softly, shaking her head. “No. He’s my ex.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Ex?”

“And he’s with Nancy now,” Blair added quickly, almost automatically. “Or… was. I think. It’s complicated.”

Max tilted her head, studying Steve again. “Huh. Because he hasn’t stopped looking at you since we got here.”

Blair didn’t answer. She just looked away.

A loud clap broke the moment.

Steve was striding toward Dustin and Lucas, clapping his hands sharply. “HEY, DICKHEADS!” he shouted. “How come the only people helping me are that random girl and Blair? We lose light in forty. Let’s go.”

Lucas and Dustin exchanged a look.

“LET’S GO!” Steve barked again, clapping once more.

Dustin muttered, “God, you’re like this because you’re not with Blair anymore.”

Steve stopped mid-step and shot him a warning look. “Watch it.”

The work began.

Max and Blair passed scrap metal up through the bus window to Lucas. Lucas hammered it into place with frantic efficiency. Steve poured gasoline in a wide ring around the meat heap, the sharp smell burning Blair’s nose.

She followed him as he dragged a gas trail back toward the bus. “You okay?” Steve asked quietly.

Blair forced a grin. “Peachy. Just casually waiting to be eaten by interdimensional nightmares.”

He huffed out a breath, unconvinced.

When the ladder was secured and everyone climbed inside the bus, the world seemed to shrink. It was dark, cold, claustrophobic. Metal groaned as Dustin paced.

Steve flicked his lighter on and off. Max watched him, then asked, “You really fought one of these things before?”

“Yeah,” Steve said simply.

“And you’re a hundred percent sure it wasn’t a bear?”

Dustin snapped, “Don’t be an idiot.”

Max rolled her eyes and climbed the ladder. Steve leaned toward Dustin and murmured, “That’s good. Show her you don’t care.”

“I don’t,” Dustin insisted.

Blair turned sharply toward Dustin, her expression hardening in a way that immediately silenced him.

“You don’t talk to her like that,” she said firmly. “Not to Max, not to anyone. I don’t care how nervous you are.”

Dustin opened his mouth, then closed it again, suddenly very interested in the floor of the bus. “I was just—”

“I know,” Blair cut in, softening just a little. “You’re scared. You’re embarrassed. But that doesn’t give you the right to be rude.”

Dustin sighed, shoulders slumping. “…Sorry.”

Blair nodded, accepting it, and then slowly turned her head.

Her eyes landed on Steve.

And before he could react—

She smacked the back of his head lightly.

“And you,” she added, pointing a finger at him, “stop encouraging him.”

Steve yelped softly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ow. Hey—what did I do?”

Blair stared at him. “You winked.”

“That was motivational!” Steve protested. “I was trying to help.”

“By teaching him to act like he doesn’t care?” she shot back. “That’s not advice, Steve. That’s emotional repression with good hair.”

Dustin snorted despite himself.

Steve dropped his hand, frowning. “Okay, first of all—rude. Second, I didn’t tell him to be a jerk.”

“No,” Blair replied calmly, “you just made him think that being distant is attractive.”

Steve scoffed. “It kind of is.”

Blair raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

He hesitated.

“…Sometimes.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Steve said, smirking slightly, “you dated me.”

Blair rolled her eyes. “And look how that turned out.”

For a brief second, something unspoken flickered between them—old habits, old feelings, words that stayed trapped in their throats.

Dustin cleared his throat loudly.

“So… should I apologize to Max again, or—”

“Yes,” Blair said immediately.

Steve sighed. “Yeah, kid. You should.”

Dustin nodded, glancing toward the ladder. “Okay. I’ll—yeah. I’ll do that.”

He paused, then added, “Also… for the record? I wasn’t cranky. I was emotionally compromised.”

Steve blinked. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Steve leaned closer to her and muttered, “You didn’t have to hit me.”

“I absolutely did,” Blair whispered back. “And don’t pretend you don’t know why.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue—then stopped.

“…Fair,” he admitted quietly.

Blair shook her head, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips, as the fog pressed closer around the bus.

“Can you two just kiss and get rid of the tension already?” Dustin snapped.

Blair shot him a death glare.

Then—

A noise.

They all froze.

Dart.

A sudden noise cut through the stillness of the junkyard.

It was faint at first—metal shifting, something scraping against rust—but it was enough.

Dustin froze. Steve froze. They looked at each other at the exact same time.

“Did you hear that?” Dustin whispered.

Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Dart.

They rushed to the side of the bus, crouching, peering through a small gap in the scrap-metal barricade. Fog crept along the ground, thick and crawling, making everything beyond a few meters feel unreal.

“You see him?” Dustin asked urgently, squinting so hard his eyes hurt.

Steve shook his head. “No. I don’t see—”

Dustin spun toward the ladder. “Lucas?! What’s going on?!”

Above them, Lucas was already frantically scanning the junkyard, binoculars pressed to his face. His breathing was fast, uneven.

“Lucas?” Dustin called again, panic creeping into his voice.

“Hold on—!” Lucas snapped, sweeping left… right… left again.

For a terrifying second, there was nothing.

Then Lucas stiffened.

“I’ve got eyes,” he said. “Ten o’clock—TEN O’CLOCK—behind the fence!”

Steve and Dustin shifted their gaze, following the invisible line Lucas had drawn with his words. Through the fog, past the skeletal outlines of cars, they finally saw it.

A silhouette.

Dog-like. Too still.

Dustin swallowed. “What’s he doing…?”

Steve frowned. “I have no idea.”

They watched through the narrow gap, barely breathing. Dart didn’t move. Didn’t growl. Didn’t advance.

He just stood there.

Steve lowered his voice. “He’s not taking the bait. Why’s he not taking the bait…?”

Dustin hesitated. “Maybe he’s not hungry?”

Steve exhaled slowly. “…Or maybe he’s sick of cow.”

The words barely left his mouth before something shifted in his expression—decision hardening behind his eyes. He reached for the bat.

Dustin’s head snapped toward him. “What are you doing?”

Steve didn’t answer. He grabbed the lighter from his pocket and tossed it to Dustin. Then he turned toward the bus door.

Blair shook her head immediately, stepping in front of him. “Steve. No. Don’t.”

He stopped inches away from her.

“It’s fine,” he said quietly.

“It’s not,” she replied, her voice tight. “You don’t have to do this.”

He lifted a hand and gently cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her skin in a way that felt painfully familiar. His voice softened. “I’ll be okay.”

She searched his face, fear written all over hers.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Just get ready.”

Before she could argue again, he stepped out into the darkness.

Max dropped back down into the bus, eyes wide. “What’s he doing?”

Dustin watched Steve move through the fog, heart pounding. “…Expanding the menu.”

From the bus, they watched as Steve reached the meat heap. He waved his bat overhead, forcing confidence into his stance.

“Hey, buddy,” he called out. “Human’s better than cat, I promise—”

Max stared. “…He’s insane.”

Dustin didn’t even look at her. “…He’s awesome.”

Blair clenched her jaw. “What he is is an idiot.”

Steve kept waving, taunting, until—

Movement.

Dart stepped out from behind the fence.

Steve tensed instantly, every instinct screaming at him to run.

Because this wasn’t Dart anymore.

This was Stage Four.

Even half-hidden by fog, it was terrifying—huge, the size of a Great Dane, muscles bulging unnaturally beneath slick skin. Mucus dripped from its jaws as they flexed and twitched.

Steve tightened his grip on the bat and held his ground.

Dart slunk forward, one slimy paw at a time.

“STEVE! GET OUTTA THERE!” Lucas yelled from above.

“I’M A LITTLE BUSY HERE!” Steve shouted back.

“THREE O’CLOCK! THREE O’CLOCK!”

Blair didn’t wait to see what that meant.

Her fear snapped into action. She pushed past Dustin and Max and jumped out of the bus.

“Blair, no!” Dustin yelled, grabbing for her.

She shook him off, pulling the gun from her waistband as another demodog stepped out from behind a car.

Then another.

“It’s a pack,” Dustin breathed. “Oh God—oh no—”

He leaned out of the bus. “STEVE! BLAIR! ABORT—ABORT!!”

Steve turned just as Dart’s face peeled open and it released a war cry that echoed through the junkyard.

The monsters charged.

Steve ran.

He vaulted onto a fallen fridge, flipped over a demodog by pure instinct, and sprinted back toward the bus.

“Blair!” he shouted. “What are you doing out here?! Get back inside!”

She fired, covering him. “Move!”

He grabbed her arm mid-run and shoved her toward the bus. “Inside. Now.”

She stumbled in just as Steve leapt after her.

Dustin slammed the doors shut as a demodog crashed into the barricade.

The bus rocked violently.

“HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT—” Dustin yelled.

“Are they rabid or something?!” Max screamed.

Steve threw scrap metal at the door. “They can’t get in—”

A claw punched through the barricade.

Steve smashed it with his bat.

Dustin screamed into the walkie, voice cracking. “IF ANYONE IS OUT THERE—MIKE, WILL, HOPPER—ANYBODY—WE’RE IN THE OLD JUNKYARD AND WE ARE GOING TO DIE—!”

Dust fell from the ceiling.

Max looked up just as a demodog lunged into the hatch, roaring inches from her face.

“That’s no dog,” she whispered in horror.

“Outta the way!” Steve shouted.

Blair stepped in front of the kids, gun raised, hands shaking but steady enough.

Steve leapt forward, bat raised. “COME GET THIS!”

The demodog hesitated.

Then it cried out—a guttural sound that echoed through the fog.

The others answered.

And just like that… they were gone.

Silence fell.

Steve stepped outside first, scanning the fog.

“They’re going somewhere,” he murmured.

Then he turned to Blair, grabbing her shoulders, checking her arms, her face.

“You okay?”

She nodded—and before she could speak, he pulled her into a tight hug.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered fiercely. “Don’t ever put your life on the line like that.”

She clutched his jacket, voice shaking. “You don’t get to do it alone.”

He exhaled, forehead resting against hers. “…Fair.”

They decided not to push their luck.

No one said it out loud, but the unspoken agreement settled over them as they began to walk away from the junkyard, leaving the fog, the blood, and the echoes of monsters behind. The three kids moved ahead in a loose line—Dustin in front, Lucas tense beside him, Max a step behind—while Steve and Blair followed a few paces back.

For a while, no one spoke.

Steve kept glancing sideways at Blair, like he was afraid she might vanish if he didn’t keep her in sight. Blair stared at the ground, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, breathing slowly, trying to calm the tremor still running through her hands.

Lucas was the one who finally broke the silence.

“And you’re positive that was Dart?” he asked, not looking back.

Dustin nodded emphatically. “Yes! He had the same exact yellow pattern on his butt.”

Max frowned. “He was tiny two days ago.”

“Yeah,” Dustin said. “He’s molted three times now.”

Steve blinked. “Malted?”

Dustin shot him a look. “Molted. Shed his skin to make way for new growth. Like hornworms.”

Max’s face paled slightly. “When will he molt again?”

Dustin hesitated. “It’s gotta be soon. And when he does, he’ll be full-sized. Or close to it. And so will his friends.”

Steve exhaled. “—And then they’re gonna start eating more than cats.”

Lucas stopped dead.

“Cats?” he repeated slowly. “Dart ate a cat?”

Dustin froze, then turned around too fast. “What—no?”

Steve winced. “What are you talking about, dude? He ate Mews—”

Dustin’s glare could’ve killed him. “Steve—”

Max’s head snapped toward them. “Mews? Who’s Mews?”

Steve, already regretting everything, shrugged. “Dustin’s cat—”

“STEVE,” Dustin snapped.

Lucas stepped closer, anger flashing across his face. “I knew it. You kept him—!”

Dustin threw his hands up. “What—no!! Dart—he missed me—so he—he came back home—”

“Bullshit!” Lucas shot back.

“I didn’t know he was a Demogorgon, okay?!” Dustin yelled.

“So you admit it?!” Lucas pressed.

“Guys,” Max interrupted sharply, “who cares? We have to go—”

“I care!” Lucas said. “He put the party in jeopardy. He broke the rule of law—”

“So did you!” Dustin fired back.

Lucas scoffed. “What?”

“You told a stranger the truth!”

Max spun on him. “A stranger?!”

Before it could escalate further, Blair stepped between them, shoulders tense, eyes blazing despite the fear still lingering in them. “Hey. Enough,” she said firmly. “All of you. Yelling at each other isn’t going to fix any of this.”

Max threw her hands up. “I’m not a stranger!”

“I know,” Blair said quickly, turning to her, softer now. “And that’s not what this is about.”

Dustin ran a hand through his curls, frustrated and scared. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said defensively. “I just—everything’s messed up and I was trying to protect everyone.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Dustin said defensively. “I just—”

Steve stopped walking.

Something had caught his attention. The argument faded into the background as he slowly turned toward the trees, eyes narrowing.

He heard it then.

A distant roar.

“Guys,” Steve said, low at first. “Guys.”

They kept arguing.

“Guys!” he snapped louder.

Everyone turned.

They heard it too.

The sound of monsters.

Steve’s grip tightened on the bat. Without another word, he bolted toward the woods, shoving through branches.

“Steve—!” Blair called, instinctively following a step before stopping herself.

Dustin took off after him. Then Lucas.

Max stood there, baffled. “Hey! Why are we headed toward the sound?! Hello?? Hello?!”

She cursed and ran after them.

Steve burst out of the trees, cresting a hill like something out of an old movie. The kids scrambled up behind him, Dustin bent over, gasping for air.

They all stared down into the valley below.

Dark. Empty.

Lucas lifted his binoculars, scanning. Then he lowered them slowly.

“…They were going back home.”

A chill passed through them all.

They kept walking until the looming shape of the laboratory emerged ahead—and then a voice rang out.

“Who’s there? Who’s there?!”

A dark figure appeared over the slope.

Steve stepped forward, bat raised.

“Steve?” Nancy’s voice followed. “Blair?”

The kids came into view behind them.

“Steve? Dustin? Blair?” Jonathan echoed.

“Nancy?” Steve said.

“Jonathan?” Blair added, disbelief clear in her voice.

Nancy rushed toward Steve. “What are you doing here?!”

Steve frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for Will and Mike.”

Dustin’s eyes went wide as he stared at the lab. “They’re not in there, are they?”

Nancy and Jonathan exchanged looks.

“We’re not sure—” Nancy began.

“Why?” Jonathan asked.

A roar echoed from inside the lab.

Electricity surged through the building, lights flickering on floor by floor.

“The power’s back!” Nancy said.

Jonathan sprinted to the security booth and slammed the button. Nothing.

“What the hell?!”

“Let me try,” Dustin said, shoving past him. He slammed the button again.

Nothing.

“Son of a—” He hit it again.

The gate swung open.

“I GOT IT! HEY! I GOT IT!”

Nancy turned serious fast. “Jonathan and I are going in. You all stay here.”

Blair nodded and sank down against the fence, finally letting herself sit. Her hands shook uncontrollably now.

Steve noticed immediately. He sat beside her without a word.

Dustin hovered nearby, watching.

Steve gently took Blair’s hands in his. “Hey. Look at me,” he said softly. “It’s going to be okay.”

Her breath hitched. Tears spilled before she could stop them. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I am so scared,” she whispered.

“I know,” Steve murmured, holding her steady. “But you’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She closed her eyes, clinging to his jacket, as the night pressed in around them and the lab doors swallowed Nancy and Jonathan whole.

Without really thinking about it, Steve took her hands in his and began to massage them slowly, thumbs tracing gentle circles over her knuckles, grounding her. Blair let out a quiet breath, her fingers curling slightly around his. She didn’t pull away.

For a few seconds, the world shrank to that small, fragile bubble between them.

And then Dustin ruined it.

He cleared his throat loudly. Once. Twice. Then leaned halfway into their line of sight, squinting dramatically. “Wow,” he said, deadpan. “I mean, I knew almost dying together really brings people closer, but this is next-level.”

Blair opened one eye. Steve froze mid–hand massage.

“What?” Steve said quickly. “She was—she’s—her hands were cold.”

“They were not cold,” Dustin said. “They were romantic.”

Blair snorted despite herself and opened her eyes fully. “Dustin, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to personally throw you out a window.”

Dustin gasped, clutching his chest. “See? She’s threatening violence now. Steve, you’re corrupting her.”

Lucas glanced over, brow furrowed. “What are you even talking about?”

Dustin pointed at them like a prosecutor in court. “Observe. Hand-holding. Eye contact. Emotional support. Classic pre-makeout indicators.”

Steve dropped Blair’s hands like they were on fire. “Okay, no. No, that’s not—”

Blair raised an eyebrow, amused. “Pre-makeout indicators?”

Max crossed her arms, eyes flicking between them with growing interest. “Wait. Is something happening here?”

“No,” Steve and Blair said at the exact same time.

Dustin grinned. “Wow. In sync too.”

Blair leaned back and shot Steve a sideways look. “You’re really bad at this, you know.”

“At what?” Steve asked.

“At pretending you’re not panicking,” she said lightly.

Before he could answer, Max’s expression suddenly shifted. Her eyes narrowed, attention snapping past them toward the road.

“Guys,” she said sharply. “Guys.”

Everyone turned just in time to see headlights speeding toward the gate.

“What the—” Lucas started.

A car tore past them without stopping.

“Was that—?” Dustin squinted. “Jonathan?”

Before anyone could process that, another set of headlights flew into view.

Hopper’s blazer skidded to a stop right in front of them.

“Let’s GO!!!” Hopper barked.

Lucas blinked. “What happened—??”

“LET’S GO!!!”

No one argued. The kids piled into the back. Steve slid in beside Blair, instinctively placing himself between her and the door. She was still holding his hand, fingers tight now, and even though he knew he shouldn’t—knew Nancy was out there, knew everything was complicated—he didn’t let go.

Blair leaned forward slightly. “Hopper?” she asked. “What happened?”

Hopper met her eyes in the rearview mirror, his face grim. “There are problems.”

That was all he said before peeling away.

The Byers’ house was quiet in the worst possible way.

They filed inside, Steve staying close behind Blair, one hand hovering at her back like he could shield her from whatever waited inside. In the living room, Will lay unconscious on the couch, pale and still. Jonathan knelt beside him, voice breaking as he apologized over and over, brushing Will’s hair back with shaking fingers.

Nancy stood behind Jonathan, her hand on his shoulder. He took it without looking away from his brother.

Steve watched them from the doorway. Something twisted in his chest.

Then his gaze drifted to Blair.

She was sitting on a chair nearby, eyes fixed on Will and Jonathan, worry etched into every line of her face. When she finally looked up, she caught Steve staring. For a second, neither of them moved.

Blair tilted her head slightly, a silent question: Are you okay?

Steve forced a small smile and nodded.

Hopper slammed the phone down in the kitchen, fury and exhaustion written all over him. The kids hovered nearby, shaken and quiet.

“They don’t believe you, do they?” Dustin asked softly.

“We’ll see,” Hopper muttered.

Mike looked stricken. “We can’t just sit here.”

“We stay here. We wait for help,” Hopper said, already walking away.

Mike clenched his jaw.

Blair stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. “Mike,” she said gently. “I know it feels wrong. But Hopper’s right.”

Mike shook his head. “You didn’t see Bob die.”

Blair swallowed. “No. But I saw what those things can do. And charging in without a plan? That’s how we lose more people.”

Mike hesitated, then looked down. “I just—hate this.”

“I know,” Blair said softly. “So do I.”

The kitchen fell quiet.

Later, Mike picked up one of Bob’s puzzle games, talking about him in a low voice. The kids listened, subdued.

“…We can’t let him die in vain,” Mike said finally.

“What do you want to do?” Dustin asked.

Mike’s eyes lifted, sharp now. “His army. If we stop him—maybe we stop his army too.”

Steve frowned. “What?”

Blair felt a chill run through her as realization dawned.

Mike met their eyes. “If we take down the Mind Flayer… all of this ends.”

No one spoke. But for the first time since the junkyard, the fear shifted—into something sharper.

Resolve.

Chapter 22: I think he knows

Blair was sitting on the cold kitchen floor, her back pressed against the cabinets, knees drawn to her chest.

The pill bottle felt heavier than it should have in her hands.

She stared at it like it was something foreign—like it didn’t belong to her, like it hadn’t been hers to open. The cap lay beside her on the tiles. A few pills had rolled away, resting near the leg of the table.

She didn’t know how many she’d taken. She hadn’t counted.

Her hands were shaking now, fingers numb, the room tilting just slightly to the left. Her head felt thick, cottony, like her thoughts were swimming through fog. Every sound seemed too loud—her own breathing, the faint hum of the fridge, the ticking clock on the wall.

In. Out.

She forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply, pressing her palm flat against the floor to ground herself.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

Her chest hurt—not sharp pain, but pressure. Like something heavy was sitting right on her ribs.

Tears slipped down her cheeks silently, one after another, dripping onto her jeans.

“Not again,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please… not again.”

She couldn’t believe this was happening. That they were here again. Monsters. Secrets. Fear curling in her stomach like a living thing.

Last year had almost destroyed them.

And now—now it was starting all over.

If El were here, Blair thought bitterly, hugging herself tighter, this wouldn’t feel so impossible. Eleven would know what to do. She always did. She would fix it.

But Eleven was gone.

Her brother had shoved the demogorgon into the shed with shaking hands and wild eyes, talking too fast, saying something about reinforcements before bolting out the door.

And Blair had been left behind.

Alone with her thoughts. Alone with the fear.

Her vision blurred again, and she swiped angrily at her face, smearing tears across her skin.

“I can’t do this,” she murmured. “I can’t—”

Voices.

Her head snapped up.

Two voices—muffled, just outside the house.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

Blair scrambled to her feet, nearly slipping, dizziness crashing over her like a wave. She grabbed the counter to steady herself, wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, and forced her breathing to slow.

The front door opened.

“Blair?”

Dustin stood there, clutching an absurdly bright bouquet of red roses. His curls were damp with sweat, his face pale beneath the freckles.

Beside him—Steve.

Steve Harrington, gripping his nail-studded bat like it was an extension of his arm.

Dustin’s eyes widened the second he saw her. “Whoa. Hey—are you okay?”

Steve didn’t hesitate.

He crossed the distance in three strides, his expression softening instantly. He lifted a hand, gently brushing his thumb beneath her eye, wiping away a tear she hadn’t realized was still there.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Blair swallowed hard and nodded once. “I’m fine.”

Steve searched her face, clearly unconvinced.

She met his gaze, forcing steadiness into her voice. “Let’s just… finish this.”

Dustin looked between them, eyes narrowing slightly, the way they always did when he was about to say something unnecessary. Then he stepped forward and shoved the bouquet into Blair’s arms.

“I ran into Steve on the way here,” he said quickly. “Figured… you know. Backup.”

He paused. Looked at the two of them again. Really looked.

“…Also,” he added, lowering his voice just a bit, “I figured if the world is ending again, might as well bring emotional backup too.”

Blair blinked. “Emotional—what?”

Dustin shrugged. “You know. Him.” He pointed vaguely at Steve. “Your… personal crisis Harrington.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably, jaw tightening. “I’m standing right here.”

“Exactly,” Dustin said, nodding. “See? Works already.”

Blair snorted despite herself, hugging the roses awkwardly. “Dustin—”

“What?” he said innocently. “I’m just saying, every time one of you shows up, the other one isn’t far behind. It’s like a law of nature. Gravity. Demogorgons. Steve-and-Blair.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “That’s not a thing.”

“Oh, it’s very a thing,” Dustin replied.

Blair muttered. “That’s not comforting.”

“I don’t know where the others are,” Dustin continued, suddenly more serious. “No sign of them anywhere.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Same here.”

Dustin squinted at him. “You came armed.”

Steve lifted the bat slightly. “I came prepared.”

“For monsters,” Dustin clarified. Then smirked. “Or awkward emotional situations.”

Blair’s cheeks warmed. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Oh, I can stop,” Dustin said. “But I just want it on record that if we die today, I called it. The unresolved tension. The meaningful eye contact. The fact that Steve showed up with flowers—”

Steve sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Dustin. Focus.”

“I am focused,” Dustin insisted. “Focused on survival. And closure. Preferably in that order.”

Blair shot Steve a look. “You okay?”

Steve hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Just… let’s deal with the monster first. Then we can—” He gestured vaguely. “Talk about whatever this is.”

Dustin clapped his hands once. “Great! Monster first. Emotional trauma later. Classic us.”

He pointed toward the back of the house. “Shed’s still back there, right?”

Blair nodded, setting the bouquet down carefully on the table. “Yeah.”

Dustin watched her do it, then leaned closer to Steve, lowering his voice just enough to be annoying.

“For the record,” he whispered loudly, “if one of you dies, the other one is going to be devastated. Just saying.”

Steve shot him a look. “You’re not helping.”

Dustin smiled, satisfied. “I know.”

Then Blair turned toward the back door.

“The shed’s out back,” she said. “Come on.”

Steve followed immediately.

The shed loomed at the edge of the property, dark and silent.

Dustin and Steve slowed as they reached it.

Dustin swallowed. “This is it.”

Steve tilted his head, listening.

“…I don’t hear shit,” he muttered.

“He’s in there,” Dustin said firmly.

Steve tapped the door with his bat.

Nothing.

He hit it harder.

Still nothing.

“I swear,” Steve said tightly, “if this is some Halloween prank, you’re dead. You got a key for this thing?”

Dustin dug into his pocket, fingers trembling. He hesitated before handing it over.

“…Just,” he said quietly, “make it quick.”

“Key,” Steve repeated.

Dustin passed it to him.

Steve unlocked the door. It creaked open slowly.

Steve stood frozen, bat raised.

Nothing happened.

Dustin squinted. “He must be further down there. I’ll stay up here—in case he tries to escape.”

Steve exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. He turned to Blair. “You stay up here too. Please.”

Before she could answer, Dustin added, “Yeah. I’ll stay. You shouldn’t—”

“No,” Blair said immediately.

Both of them turned to her.

“I’m not letting you go down there alone,” she said, voice shaking but firm.

Steve hesitated. Then nodded once.

He started down the steps.

Blair followed instantly, grabbing his hand.

He squeezed back without looking at her, subtly shifting so his body was in front of hers—protective, deliberate.

The stairs creaked under Steve’s sneakers.

It was dark. Too quiet.

Steve reached the bottom and flipped the switch.

A fluorescent light buzzed to life, flickering weakly.

Steve stepped forward, eyes narrowing.

He knelt.

Blair felt her stomach drop.

A heap of dead skin floated in a puddle of mucus.

Steve lifted it with his bat. The skin unfolded.

Big.

Really big.

“Oh God,” Blair whispered.

Steve’s skepticism drained away, replaced with real fear.

“…The hell?” he murmured.

Above them, Dustin’s voice echoed, tight with panic. “Steve? Blair? What’s going on?”

No answer.

Seconds stretched.

Then Steve reappeared at the stairs. “Get down here.”

Dustin rushed in, eyes immediately locking on the skin.

“Oh Jesus—”

“Over here,” Steve said.

He pointed to the far wall.

A massive, mastiff-sized hole gaped in the concrete.

“…No way,” Dustin breathed. “No way.”

Dustin knelt to inspect it.

Blair stayed pressed to Steve’s side, still holding his hand.

Steve didn’t let go.

Not for a second.

The three of them stood in the shed for a moment longer, the flickering light buzzing overhead, the dead skin still hanging from Steve’s bat like a warning they weren’t ready to face yet.

Dustin was the first to break the silence.

“…Okay,” he said slowly, straightening up. “Hear me out. Giant interdimensional lizard thing that’s clearly growing? Terrifying. Horrible. Very rude of it.”

Steve glanced at him. “Get to the point.”

“My point,” Dustin continued, “is that it’s late, we’re exhausted, and none of us are in peak ‘monster-hunting’ condition. So maybe—just maybe—we don’t go crawling through murder tunnels tonight.”

Blair exhaled shakily. “Morning would be better.”

Steve nodded, relief mixing with worry. “Yeah. Daylight. Clear heads.”

Dustin snapped his fingers. “Exactly. Look at us, making smart decisions. Growth.”

Then he turned to Steve, grin slowly spreading across his face.

“So,” he added casually, “since it’s late… why don’t you just stay over?”

Steve blinked. “What?”

Dustin wiggled his eyebrows. “You know. Sleep here. For safety.” He leaned in closer and stage-whispered, “And because Blair gets nightmares. And you’re very good at… comfort.”

Blair groaned. “Dustin.”

“What? I’m being practical,” he said, then shot Steve a wink. “Plus, I’ve seen you two. You already act like an old married couple.”

Steve scoffed. “We do not.”

“Oh please,” Dustin said. “You literally showed up with a bat and flowers. That’s boyfriend behavior.”

Steve muttered, “I was invited.”

Blair crossed her arms, trying—and failing—not to smile. “You’re impossible.”

Dustin stepped back toward the ladder. “Anyway. I’m going inside before something in here decides to eat me. You two… sort things out.” He paused, pointing between them. “Preferably with less staring.”

Then he climbed out of the shed, humming to himself.

Silence settled again.

Steve realized then that Blair was still holding his hand.

Her fingers were warm. Steady now.

She noticed too.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she loosened her grip and pulled her hand away.

“I—” she started, then stopped. “You can… come inside. I’ve got clothes you can borrow.”

Steve nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. Okay.”

She turned and walked out first.

Steve stayed behind for a moment.

The shed felt smaller now. He leaned the bat against the wall and ran a hand through his hair, heart pounding—not from fear this time, but from everything else. The kiss. The flowers. The way she’d held his hand like it was instinct.

I’m not done, he thought. Not with her.

Then he followed her inside.

Upstairs, Blair was pulling fresh sheets over the bed when Steve appeared in the doorway.

He hesitated. “I can sleep on the floor. I don’t want to make things… weird.”

She glanced at him. “Steve.”

Before she could finish, Dustin popped his head in.

“Oh my God,” he said dramatically. “Don’t be stupid. You’ve slept in the same bed more times than—” He paused. “—than I’ve failed math. Which is saying something.”

“OUT,” Blair snapped, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him.

Dustin dodged it easily. “If I hear weird noises, I’m blaming you, Harrington.”

“Goodnight, Dustin,” Steve said flatly.

Dustin grinned. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the demodogs bite.” And vanished.

Blair laughed, shaking her head. She climbed into bed and looked at Steve expectantly.

He joined her a moment later.

They lay facing each other, a careful distance between them.

Blair hesitated. “The flowers…”

Steve closed his eyes briefly. “They were for you. To… make up for the other night. For the kiss. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.”

Her heart sped up. “I—”

“They’re your favorites,” he added quietly. “I remembered.”

She nodded, voice soft. “Thank you.”

“I know,” he said.

They fell quiet after that.

Blair drifted off first.

Steve watched her long after, memorizing the gentle rise of her chest, the way her hair fell across her cheek, the peace she only seemed to find when he was near.

Eventually, sleep claimed him too.

Morning light filtered through the curtains.

Blair woke up warm.

Confused.

Then she realized—Steve’s arms were around her, protective and gentle, like they’d always been.

She didn’t move.

The door burst open.

“RISE AND SHINE,” Dustin announced. “We’ve got a monster to hunt.”

Blair groaned. “Dustin, I swear to God—”

She sat up, hair a mess, glaring daggers. “If I die today, it’ll be because you woke me up like that.”

Steve laughed softly behind her.

Dustin smirked. “Worth it.”

And just like that, the day began.

Dustin’s voice echoed from downstairs, sharp and impatient. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” he shouted. “And if you two take more than five minutes, I’m starting without you.”

Blair rolled her eyes while Steve let out a quiet laugh. When the door closed, the room filled with an awkward silence. They turned their backs to each other almost instinctively and began to get dressed. The air felt too thick, too full of things neither of them knew how to say. Steve pulled on his jeans and hoodie quickly, hands moving faster than his thoughts. He finished first.

Without thinking too much about it, he turned slightly—and froze.

Blair’s back was still bare.

His breath caught painfully in his chest. Her skin was exactly as he remembered it, pale and warm, scattered with the same tiny moles he used to trace with his fingers when they were together. His mind betrayed him instantly, flashing images of kisses pressed along her spine, of her soft laughter when he lingered too long. His heart started pounding so hard he thought she might hear it.

Steve turned away immediately, facing the wall like it was the safest thing in the world.

When Blair finished dressing, she turned toward him, unaware of the moment she’d just caused. “You ready?” she asked softly.

Steve nodded without turning around. “Yeah.”

“Wait outside for a second,” she said.

He did, stepping into the hallway and dragging in a slow breath.

Inside the room, Blair knelt by her bed, lifted a loose floorboard, and took out the pistol hidden underneath. She slipped it into the waistband of her pants, adjusted her shirt to hide it, then headed downstairs.

In the kitchen, Dustin was aggressively adjusting his walkie headset, clearly annoyed. Lucas stood across from him, arms crossed, looking confused and slightly alarmed.

“Well, well,” Dustin said when he noticed Blair and Steve, his mouth curling into a grin. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

Lucas opened his mouth. “Sorry, my stupid sister—”

“Yeah, yeah, while you were busy with family drama,” Dustin interrupted, “Dart grew again, escaped, and—minor detail—he’s a baby Demogorgon now.”

Lucas stared at him, completely stunned. “Wait… what?”

“I’ll explain later,” Dustin said quickly, already pulling on a pair of bright yellow dish gloves. “Just meet me, Steve, and Blair at the old junkyard.”

Lucas blinked. “Wait. Steve?”

“And bring your binoculars and your wrist-rocket,” Dustin continued.

“Steve Harrington?” Lucas insisted.

Steve slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s move.”

“Just be there. Stat,” Dustin said, pressing the button on the walkie. “Over and out.”

He turned back to Blair and Steve, who were standing close without quite touching. Blair broke the moment first. “We need to lure Dart,” she said firmly. “He won’t just show up on his own.”

“With what?” Dustin asked.

Blair didn’t hesitate. “Food.”

Dustin practically bounced. “Meat.”

At the butcher’s, Blair and Steve ordered far more meat than should have been reasonable. Dustin stayed in the car, watching through the window like a kid waiting for candy. Steve carried the bags out and dumped them into the trunk along with his spiked bat, the gas can, the yellow gloves, and the buckets.

As they drove toward the forest, Dustin leaned forward between the seats. “I know a place,” he said confidently. “Old junkyard. Lots of places to hide. Dart will love it.”

Blair nodded immediately. “If you think it’ll work, I trust you.”

Dustin smiled, then turned his attention to Steve. “So,” he said casually, “how’d you sleep? Because you looked really comfortable this morning. Like… Blair-glued-to-your-chest comfortable.”

Blair groaned. “Dustin.”

Dustin glanced sideways at Steve with a grin that promised trouble. “You drool,” he added casually.

Steve shot him a look. “I do not.”

“Oh, you absolutely do,” Dustin said, nodding to himself. “Like, full commitment. Mouth open. Zero shame.”

“That is a lie,” Steve replied. “I sleep like a normal person.”

Dustin snorted. “Normal people don’t make little choking noises and clutch pillows like they’re life rafts.”

Steve scoffed. “I was congested.”

“You were not congested,” Dustin shot back. “You were having a dream.”

Steve stopped walking. “I was not.”

“I have witnesses.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Name one.”

Dustin didn’t even hesitate. “Me. Also the blanket. It was soaked.”

“That was sweat,” Steve said weakly.

“From what, wrestling yourself?” Dustin grinned wider. “Because let me tell you, you were smiling.”

Blair turned around. “Okay, I don’t want details, but I also kind of do.”

Steve groaned. “Please don’t encourage him.”

Dustin pointed at Steve triumphantly. “See? Guilty reaction.”

“I am begging you to stop talking,” Steve muttered.

“Nope,” Dustin said cheerfully. “You were all protective and cozy and had your arm around my sister like—” he gestured vaguely, “—like one of those stupid romance movies Mom watches.”

Steve’s ears turned red. “She was cold.”

Blair crossed her arms. “I wasn’t cold.”

Dustin snapped his fingers. “Boom. Case closed.”

Steve rubbed his face. “I hate both of you.”

“Liar,” Dustin said. “You love me. Especially when I catch you drooling in your sleep.”

“I did not drool.”

Dustin leaned closer. “Blink twice if the pillow can testify.”

Steve shoved him lightly. “Shut up. Now.”

Dustin laughed, jogging ahead. “Just saying—best sleep of your life, right?”

Steve didn’t answer, but Blair caught the small smile he tried—and failed—to hide.

Steve glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “I will abandon you in the forest.”

They parked near the trees and pulled on the yellow gloves. The smell of raw meat hit them instantly as Steve grabbed the first bucket and began tossing chunks onto the ground while walking forward. Dustin followed, mimicking him enthusiastically.

Steve broke the silence. “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You kept something you knew was probably dangerous just to impress a girl you’d just met?”

Blair stopped walking and turned slowly to Dustin, raising an eyebrow. “You did what?”

Dustin winced. “Okay, that’s grossly oversimplifying it.”

“Why would any girl like some nasty slug?” Steve continued.

“An interdimensional slug,” Dustin corrected. “And because it’s awesome.”

Steve sighed. “You’re trying way too hard.”

“Well, not all of us have your stupid perfect hair,” Dustin snapped.

“It’s not about the hair,” Steve said. “The trick with girls is acting like you don’t care.”

Blair scoffed. “That’s terrible advice.”

Steve glanced at her. “Worked on you.”

She rolled her eyes, cheeks warming.

“Even when you do care?” Dustin asked.

“Especially then,” Steve replied. “Drives them crazy.”

Dustin frowned. “Okay… then what?”

“You wait until you feel it.”

“Feel what?”

Steve tossed more meat onto the ground, then glanced ahead at Blair, silently asking for a moment alone with her brother. Blair caught it and walked a little faster, pretending not to hear.

“It’s like before a storm,” Steve said quietly. “You can’t see it, but the air feels… charged. Like electricity.”

Dustin’s eyes widened. “Sexual electricity.”

“Exactly.”

“And then you kiss her?”

“Slow down, Romeo,” Steve said. “Some people want bold. Others need slow. Careful. Like a ninja.”

Dustin thought about it. “What type is Blair?”

Steve didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was softer. “Blair’s different. She feels everything deeply. When she lets someone in, it actually means something.”

Blair’s heart skipped, even from a distance.

“She’s special,” Dustin said. Then he smiled sweetly. “And if you hurt her again, I will absolutely kill you. Lightly. With a shovel.”

Steve snorted. “Fair.”

“I think this girl’s special too,” Dustin added.

Steve shot him a look. “You’re not falling in love, are you?”

“What? No.”

“Good. You’re too young for heartbreak.”

They walked in silence for a moment before Steve sighed. “Screw it. Fabergé.”

Dustin blinked. “What?”

Steve launched into the explanation about shampoo, conditioner, Farrah Fawcett spray. Dustin listened like it was sacred wisdom.

“You tell anyone,” Steve warned, “you’re dead.”

“Totally,” Dustin said.

Blair turned to check if they were done whispering behind her. She caught Dustin grinning at her like he knew something she didn’t, and before she could ask, he picked up the pace, almost skipping ahead, deliberately putting distance between himself and Steve.

Blair slowed down instead, letting Steve fall into step beside her. The forest was quiet except for the crunch of leaves and the wet sound of meat hitting the ground as they tossed it along the path.

She glanced at him sideways, lips curling into a knowing smile. “So,” she said lightly, “what were you two talking about back there?”

Steve didn’t look at her. He focused very hard on scooping another handful of raw meat from the bucket and flinging it ahead of them. “Nothing.”

Blair hummed. “Funny. Because Dustin looked way too proud for it to be nothing.”

Steve shrugged. “He’s always proud. It’s his default state.”

She laughed softly and nudged him with her elbow. “Come on. You can tell me.”

“Nope.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Not even a hint?”

Steve finally looked at her, jaw set. “Absolutely not.”

Blair slowed again, forcing him to stop too. “Steve,” she said, dragging out his name, “you were back there whispering like a pair of middle-school girls. You don’t get to pretend it was nothing.”

He sighed, clearly battling with himself. “It was… educational.”

Her smile widened. “Educational how?”

He pointed his bucket forward. “Eyes on the demogorgon bait.”

She ignored him. “Was it about me?”

Steve froze for half a second. Just long enough.

Blair noticed. Of course she did. “It was about me.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Okay—maybe partly. But I’m not discussing it.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he said, flustered now, “some conversations are… classified.”

She laughed. “Classified. Wow. That bad, huh?”

Steve shot her a look. “Drop it.”

She studied his face—how tense he was, how his ears were turning red—and suddenly something clicked. Her smile turned slow and mischievous.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Oh.”

Steve’s stomach dropped. “Don’t.”

She tilted her head. “Did you give my little brother advice?”

“No.”

“About girls?”

“No.”

“About hair?”

Steve groaned. “Stop talking.”

Blair laughed openly now. “Oh my God, you did.”

“I said drop it.”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Did you seriously coach Dustin on romance?”

“I will leave you here,” he warned.

She grinned wider. “Did you tell him your secrets, Harrington?”

He muttered, “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

She stopped walking, turned fully toward him, eyes sparkling. “Very well,” she said sweetly. “Fabergé.”

Steve went completely still.

Slowly, painfully, he turned to look at her. His face flushed red. “He told you.”

“No,” Blair said innocently. “But you just did.”

He stared at her, horrified. “I am going to kill him.”

She laughed and took a step back toward Dustin, calling over her shoulder, “Four puffs, right? The same routine as always”

“BLAIR.”

She was already walking faster now, catching up to her brother, still smiling to herself.

Steve stood there for a second longer, mortified, bucket of meat hanging from his hand, before groaning and trudging after them—absolutely never forgiving Dustin Henderson.

Chapter 21: Love can't break the spell

The music was louder now—not because Blair had turned it up, but because the world felt softer, fuzzier around the edges. The empty vodka bottle rolled slightly as Blair nudged it with her foot, laughing for no real reason.

Steve was sitting on the floor across from her, legs crossed, head tilted back against the bed.

“Do you think,” Blair said suddenly, squinting at him, “that if dogs could talk, they’d be really judgmental?”

Steve blinked. “…What?”

“Like,” she continued seriously, “they see everything. They’d totally judge us.”

Steve laughed, the sound loose and unguarded. “You are so drunk.”

She gasped, offended. “I am emotionally open.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It is tonight.”

She leaned forward, poking his knee. “You’re not fun anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sitting on your floor drinking vodka with you.”

“Hm.” She considered this. “Okay. You’re medium fun.”

Steve grabbed the half-full bottle and took a sip. “You used to say I danced like a confused dad.”

“And you still do,” Blair said cheerfully. Then she stood up so fast she wobbled.

Steve shot to his feet immediately. “Hey—”

“I’m fine,” she said, grabbing his wrist for balance. Her fingers lingered. “But this song is illegal to listen to while sitting.”

She tugged him closer. “Dance with me.”

“Blair—”

“Steve,” she said softly, smiling up at him. “Please.”

He gave in. He always did.

They swayed at first, awkward and laughing, but Blair moved closer, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Steve’s hands settled at her waist without thinking—warm, familiar, like muscle memory had been waiting for permission.

She spun under his arm, laughing, then stumbled back into him. He caught her easily, her back against his chest.

For a second, neither of them laughed.

They sang along to the chorus, badly, faces too close, foreheads nearly touching. Steve turned her again, slower this time, careful, like he didn’t want the moment to break.

When they finally collapsed onto the bed, it felt inevitable.

Steve followed her up, sitting beside her. His arm slid behind her back, pulling her just close enough that he could feel her breathing.

The music faded into background noise.

Blair turned to face him.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

Steve looked at her like he was already losing her.

He lifted a hand, fingers trembling just a little, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His thumb lingered against her cheek.

“I need to say something,” he said.

Her smile faltered. “Steve…”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know I shouldn’t. But if I don’t say it now, I never will.”

He took a breath.

“I think I’m still in love with you.”

Blair froze.

He kept going, words spilling out like he’d been holding them back for years.

“I tried to convince myself it was just history. That it was easier to move on. That loving you was something I’d already done and finished.” His voice softened. “But I didn’t. I just learned how to live with missing you.”

Her chest tightened.

“I think about you all the time,” he admitted. “In stupid moments. In quiet ones. When I’m with someone else and I shouldn’t be comparing—but I do. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair to Nancy. It’s not fair to you.”

He cupped her face now, both hands, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he didn’t hold on.

“But you’re still you,” he whispered. “And I still feel like this when I look at you. Like I’m home and terrified at the same time.”

Blair let out a breathy laugh, overwhelmed. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” he said softly. “But this isn’t the vodka.”

He leaned closer, voice low, earnest. “I’ve tried to move on. I really have. And I care about Nancy—I do. But every time I’m with you, it’s like… everything else fades. Like you’re the thing I keep circling back to, no matter how far I walk.”

Blair swallowed. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said. “I think about you when I shouldn’t. I compare everyone to you. And it’s not fair—to Nancy, or to you, or to me—but it’s true.”

He leaned in, slow, giving her time to pull away.

She did—just barely. Enough to break the moment.

“Steve,” she said softly, “we can’t.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because we already had our time,” she said. “And it was good. But it ended for a reason.”

“I don’t believe that,” he whispered.

“I do,” she replied, even as her heart betrayed her. “And even if I still care about you—” she did, painfully “—we’re better like this. Friends.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to be just your friend.”

“And I don’t want to be the thing that ruins your life,” she said gently.

He leaned in again. “You won’t.”

She leaned in too, voice barely a breath. “You’re wasting your time with me.”

“Then let me waste it,” he said.

He leaned in, slow, hesitant, giving her time.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she grabbed the front of his shirt, fingers curling tight like she needed something solid to hold onto.

Their kiss was gentle at first—uncertain, almost reverent. Steve’s hands stayed on her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks, like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go.

Blair melted into it.

God, she had missed this.

She kissed him back harder, like she’d been waiting for permission. The past rushed in—comfort, warmth, the way he always felt right.

Steve deepened the kiss slightly, careful, like he was savoring it. Blair’s heart raced, her body leaning into his without thinking.

For a moment, nothing else existed.

Then reality crashed in.

Blair pulled back, breath shaky, eyes glossy.

“No,” she whispered. “Steve… no.”

His hands fell slowly from her face. “Blair—”

“We shouldn’t have done that,” she said, voice breaking just a little. “It’s not fair.”

“To who?” he asked quietly.

“To her,” Blair said. “And to us.”

She swallowed. “You’re with Nancy. You love her.”

“I—” He hesitated.

“And that’s the problem,” she said gently. “You shouldn’t be confused.”

She shifted away slightly, putting space between them. “You should fight for her.”

Steve fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know if I can.”

Blair lay beside him, staring up too. “You can.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted. “My head’s a mess. I care about her, yeah. But you’re… everywhere. You always have been.”

Her chest ached.

Blair lay down beside him, staring up too. “Then you need to figure that out.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I just wish it didn’t hurt this much.”

The music kept playing.

Neither of them moved.

And both of them knew that kiss would haunt them long after the vodka wore off.

The room was quiet again, the music reduced to a low hum that felt more like a heartbeat than a song.

Steve was still sitting close, too close to pretend nothing had happened. His hands rested uselessly in his lap, fingers twitching like they didn’t know what to do without her face between them.

He swallowed.

“Can I…?” His voice came out rougher than he expected. “Can I kiss you again?”

Blair’s breath caught.

She opened her mouth to answer—maybe to say no, maybe to say something she’d regret—

But Steve leaned in anyway.

The kiss was brief. Softer than before. Almost desperate.

And then he pulled away abruptly, like the moment had burned him.

He reached for the bottle without looking, lifting it to his lips and taking a long swallow. The alcohol burned on the way down, grounding him.

Blair stared at him for a second—then grabbed the bottle herself and drank too, wincing slightly as she lowered it.

Neither of them laughed this time.

“Are you… staying?” she asked quietly. “Tonight.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. If that’s okay.”

She hesitated only a second before nodding back.

She slipped under the covers, turning onto her side, facing away at first. Then she spoke, voice muffled by the pillow.

“We should be friends,” she said softly. “That’s… that’s what’s best.”

Steve didn’t answer.

Instead, he moved closer, carefully, like he was asking permission with every inch. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently against his chest.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing her in.

Blair froze.

Her body went still, every thought scrambling—this was too familiar, too dangerous.

But then his grip loosened slightly, like he was holding her without expecting anything back.

Slowly, Blair lifted her hand.

Her fingers threaded into his hair.

She stroked it gently.

Steve exhaled shakily against her skin, eyes closing.

Okay, he thought. Friends.

But his mind was already racing.

He’d be patient. Careful. Better. He’d make her laugh. Make her feel safe. Make her remember.

He’d make her fall in love with him again.

Blair’s breathing evened out, her hand still tangled in his hair as sleep finally claimed her.

Steve stayed awake longer.

Just holding her.

Just memorizing this.

And when he was sure she was asleep, he whispered into the quiet—

“I love you.”

The words stayed between them.

Sometime deep into the night, Blair’s breathing changed.

At first it was subtle—uneven inhales, a slight tension in her shoulders. Then came the sounds. Soft whimpers, broken words trapped behind clenched teeth.

“No— no— please—”

Steve stirred instantly.

He blinked awake, disoriented, the room still dark, music long since faded into silence. Then he heard it again—her voice, cracked with fear.

“Blair,” he whispered, already sitting up. “Hey—hey, you’re okay.”

She thrashed suddenly, gasping as if she’d been pulled out of deep water. Her eyes flew open, wide and unfocused, tears spilling freely.

“It was—” Her voice broke completely. She shook her head, hands curling into his shirt. “It was right there.”

Steve didn’t ask questions. He just moved.

He pulled her into his chest, arms wrapping around her firmly, grounding her. One hand cradled the back of her head, the other rubbing slow, steady circles along her back.

“You’re here,” he murmured softly, over and over. “You’re safe. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

She sobbed against him, fingers gripping him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. Steve rocked her gently, cheek resting against her hair.

Minutes passed. Maybe more.

Her breathing slowly evened out, the tension draining from her body little by little as his touch stayed constant—gentle, patient, unwavering.

When she finally pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes were red and glassy.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head immediately. “No. I just… I don’t want to.”

“That’s okay,” he said without hesitation. “You don’t have to.”

She leaned forward again, curling into him, arms slipping around his torso. Her head rested over his heart.

Steve tightened his hold just slightly, careful not to trap her, only to reassure.

They stayed like that.

And eventually, sleep found them again.

Morning came softly.

Steve woke first.

For a moment, he didn’t move—afraid that even breathing too deeply might break the spell. Blair was asleep against him, face relaxed, lashes resting against her cheeks.

He studied her like she was something fragile and rare.

The gentle curve of her nose. The way her lips parted slightly in sleep. The constellation of freckles across her cheek, the faint mole near her jaw he’d always noticed but never dared mention.

His chest ached.

He sighed quietly, full of something he didn’t have a name for anymore.

Carefully—so carefully—he slipped out from under her arm and stood, pulling on his shoes. He moved slowly, like the room itself might tattle on him if he wasn’t careful.

Still, the mattress shifted.

Blair stirred.

Her eyes opened immediately when she didn’t feel him beside her.

Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with a soft smile.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

She pushed herself up slightly. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna run home,” he said gently. “Change. Grab some stuff. It’s early.”

“Oh,” she murmured.

He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead—brief, tender, careful.

“I’ll see you at school.”

He turned toward the door.

“Steve?”

He stopped and looked back.

They held each other’s gaze for a second—quiet, searching. Blair’s eyes were asking something she didn’t quite know how to say.

Was everything okay?

Steve smiled, easy and familiar.

“Don’t worry,” he said lightly. “Still friends. I promise.” Then he added, with a crooked grin, “Even if you kick in your sleep.”

She let out a small laugh, relief loosening her shoulders. “Liar.”

“See you in class,” he said.

And then he was gone.

Blair lay back against the pillow, breathing in.

His scent lingered—soap, clean cotton, something unmistakably Steve. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting it settle in her chest.

Then she got up.

Downstairs, Claudia was already in the kitchen, coffee in hand.

“I saw Steve leave,” she said casually, but her smile was anything but casual.

Blair grabbed a mug. “Yeah. He stayed over.”

Claudia raised an eyebrow. “I noticed.”

Blair hesitated, then sighed. “Nothing happened. I mean—things happened. But not like that.” She rubbed her face. “It’s complicated.”

Claudia leaned against the counter. “It always is with him.”

Blair eventually glanced toward the hallway. “Where’s Dustin?”

“Already gone,” Claudia replied. “Said he had important things to do.”

Blair snorted. “Of course he did.”

She ate something quickly, grabbed her bag, and headed out.

At school, the absence was noticeable.

No Nancy. No Jonathan.

It felt strange.

Classes passed quietly. She spotted Robin between periods and stopped to talk, laughing about something dumb, grateful for the normalcy.

Then Billy appeared.

Robin clocked him instantly.

“I’m gonna… go,” she said, already backing away. “Good luck.”

Billy smirked as she left. “Your friends always run.”

“Maybe they just have better instincts,” Blair replied, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

Billy laughed under his breath and took a step closer, invading her space just enough to be deliberate. “You look tired.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Original.”

“Hey, I’m observant.” His eyes swept over her face slowly. “Dark circles. Messy hair. That distant look like you’re somewhere else.”

“Or,” Blair said dryly, “I’m a student. At a school. In the morning.”

“Long night, then,” Billy said, undeterred.

She hesitated just a fraction. “Yeah. Long night.”

His grin sharpened. “Sounds interesting.”

“Not the way you think.”

“That’s a shame.” He leaned one shoulder against the lockers, still far too close. “I like interesting.”

Blair crossed her arms. “You like whatever feeds your ego.”

“Ouch.” He placed a hand over his chest in mock pain. “Hurts when you’re right.”

She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. “What do you want, Billy?”

“To talk.” His tone softened—not much, but enough to be noticeable. “Is that a crime?”

“With you? Usually.”

He chuckled. “Relax. I’m not trying to steal you away or anything.”

“Good,” she said quickly. “Because—”

“Because you’re already taken?” he cut in, eyes flicking over her expression.

Blair stiffened. “Because I don’t need that kind of trouble.”

Billy tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle. “Funny. You don’t look like someone who avoids trouble.”

“And you don’t look like someone who minds his own business.”

“Fair.” He smirked again. “So. Who kept you up all night?”

She met his gaze evenly. “None of your business.”

“That’s a yes, then.”

She sighed. “You always do this?”

“What, ask questions?”

“No. Act like you already know the answers.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping. “Most of the time, I do.”

Blair held his gaze, refusing to back away. “Careful, Billy. You might start believing your own hype.”

He straightened, laughing. “Maybe. Or maybe you like that I don’t pretend.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re exhausting.”

“Yet here you are,” he said lightly. “Still talking to me.”

The bell rang, loud and abrupt.

Blair stepped around him. “Class.”

He watched her go, then called after her, voice carrying just enough: “Try to get some rest, Blair. Long nights catch up with people.”

She didn’t turn around—but she felt his eyes on her all the way down the hall.

And somewhere across the school, Steve Harrington was walking to class, thinking about the way she’d fit against him in the dark.

Still friends.

For now.

Classes finally let out, the halls emptying in a rush of lockers slamming and voices overlapping. Blair stepped outside, squinting against the afternoon light—and then she saw him.

Steve was leaning back against his car, arms crossed, one foot propped casually against the bumper. Like he’d been there a while. Like he’d been waiting.

Her shoulders loosened without her meaning them to.

“Hey,” he said when he noticed her, pushing himself upright.

She smiled, small but genuine. “Hey. You stalking me now, Harrington?”

“Only on weekdays,” he replied easily. “How were classes?”

“Boring. Long. Billy wouldn’t stop talking.” She paused. “You?”

He grimaced. “Training sucked. Coach’s in a mood. Billy was worse.”

“Shocking,” Blair deadpanned.

Steve huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, he guards like it’s personal. Like I personally ruined his life.”

“Did you?”

“Not that I know of.” He shrugged. “But if I did, I don’t remember it.”

They stood there a moment, the noise of the parking lot filling the space between them. Comfortable. Almost too comfortable.

“So,” Blair said lightly, rocking back on her heels. “You look… alive. Guess that’s a win after this morning.”

“Barely,” Steve replied. “But yeah. Still breathing.”

She studied him for a second, then asked more carefully, “Have you… seen Nancy? Or Jonathan? I didn’t see either of them all day.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. Just a notch—but she noticed.

“No,” he said shortly. “Heard they left yesterday. Like… left-left. Haven’t come back, apparently.”

“Oh.” Blair blinked. “That’s… weird.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes dropping to the pavement. “That’s one word for it.”

Silence stretched. Heavy this time.

“Well,” Blair said eventually, forcing a smile, “I should probably head home. Homework and all that thrilling stuff.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

She hesitated, then stepped closer and bumped his arm lightly with hers. “See you tomorrow, okay?”

He smiled, softer now. “Yeah. See you.”

She waved and walked away, resisting the urge to look back.

At home, Blair went straight to her room, tossing her bag onto the bed. She’d barely kicked off her shoes when she heard it—a strange thumping sound. From Dustin’s room.

She frowned.

“Dustin?” she called, walking over and knocking lightly. “You okay?”

There was a scramble inside. Something hit the floor.

Before she could try the handle, the door flew open just enough for Dustin’s head to poke through.

“DON’T COME IN,” he said loudly.

She blinked. “What—?”

“I’m—uh—naked,” he blurted.

She recoiled instantly. “Oh my God—Dustin!”

He slammed the door shut.

Blair stood there, staring at the wood, unease crawling up her spine. “…I didn’t need to know that,” she muttered, backing away.

Something felt off.

She returned to her room, trying to shake the feeling as she sat at her desk and opened her notebook. But she couldn’t focus. The house felt tense, like it was holding its breath.

A few minutes later, her door creaked open.

“Blair, honey?” her mom asked. “Have you seen Mews?”

Blair looked up. “No. I thought she was with you.”

Claudia frowned. “She usually is.”

Before Blair could respond, Dustin’s door opened down the hall.

“I’ll help look,” Blair said quickly, standing.

Claudia raced back into the house, purse clutched in one hand.

“Dusty, baby—” she said breathlessly. “You sure she’s not in your room?”

Dustin held up a finger, silencing her. He was on the phone.

“Uh huh. Uh huh. Right. Thank you, Mr. McCorkle, thank you so much—you’re a real lifesaver—”

He hung up and turned to his mom.

“Alright. Good news—”

Claudia straightened instantly. “They have her?!”

“No,” Dustin said. “But they saw her. Wandering near Loch Nora.”

Claudia’s face crumpled. “How did my poor baby get all the way out there?”

“Lost, I guess? They’re gonna look. I’ll stay here in case they call again.”

Claudia nodded, blinking back tears. She grabbed her purse and hurried out the door.

The second it closed, the air changed.

Dustin’s shoulders sagged. The confidence drained from his face, replaced with something raw and frightened.

Blair stepped closer. “Dustin?”

He turned to her—and whatever she saw in his eyes made her stomach drop.

“I need to tell you something,” he said quietly. “Something important.”

Her heart began to pound. “…Okay,” she replied. “What is it?”

And deep down, she already knew—whatever he was about to say, nothing was going to be the same after.

@cherryrulestheworld @nosebeers

Chapter 20: Delete ya

Morning came softly.

Blair was still asleep, warm and heavy against Steve’s chest, her head tucked right over his heart like it had always known where to rest. One of his arms was wrapped around her back, the other bent beneath his head, fingers slowly tracing absent-minded patterns along her spine. He’d been awake for a while now, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing.

She looked peaceful. Too peaceful for someone who usually woke up tangled in nightmares.

His thoughts drifted—unwanted, persistent—to Dustin’s voice from the day before. She’s been weird lately.Headaches. Dizziness. Chest pain.

Steve’s jaw tightened slightly. He sighed through his nose, thumb pausing between her shoulder blades. He didn’t like not knowing. Didn’t like that she carried things alone. Didn’t like that he might’ve been the last person she’d tell.

But reality nudged in anyway.

School.

He shifted just enough to glance at the clock on his nightstand and groaned quietly. “Damn it,” he murmured.

Carefully—so carefully—he lowered his chin and brushed his lips near her hair. “Blair,” he said softly. “Hey. We’ve gotta wake up.”

She stirred immediately, like she’d been waiting for his voice. With a quiet, sleepy sound, she burrowed closer instead, sliding her face into the hollow of his neck.

“No,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “I don’t wanna wake up.”

Steve smiled despite himself. His free hand slid to her hips without thinking, thumbs resting there familiarly. “We have class.”

She shifted again, cheek rubbing against his skin. “Five more minutes.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “You used to say that every morning.”

“Mmm,” she replied, already half-gone again.

He should’ve said no. He knew that.

Instead, he sighed. “Five minutes.”

She inhaled deeply, almost unconsciously, like she was anchoring herself to his scent. Steve froze for half a second, then relaxed, arm tightening just a little around her.

Those five minutes vanished instantly.

“Okay,” he said at last, gently. “Time’s up. We’re seriously gonna be late.”

She groaned, face scrunching up. “You’re mean.”

“Oh, don’t start,” he warned, amusement creeping into his voice.

Too late.

He moved suddenly, fingers digging into her sides. “Tickle attack.”

She shrieked, laughing immediately, squirming beneath him. “Steve— stop— stop— I swear—”

He rolled them without effort, ending up above her, pinning her gently to the mattress as his hands continued their assault. She thrashed, breathless with laughter, hands pushing uselessly at his chest.

“I’m begging you,” she gasped. “Please— mercy—”

“Say you’re awake,” he demanded.

“I’m awake! I’m awake!” she cried.

He stopped.

The sudden stillness was louder than the laughter had been.

They froze like that—him braced above her, her hands still curled in his shirt. Their faces were inches apart. Close enough that Steve could count her lashes. Close enough that her eyes flicked down to his mouth… then back up again.

The air felt thick. Charged.

Slowly, deliberately, Steve lifted one hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His knuckles brushed her cheek, gentle, reverent.

“Get changed,” he said quietly, stepping back before either of them could do something stupid. He smiled—soft, familiar—and turned toward the door. “I’ll be downstairs.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Blair dropped her head back onto the pillow and exhaled shakily.

For the first time in weeks—months—she realized something strange.

She hadn’t slept with the light on. She hadn’t had nightmares.

All because she’d slept in Steve Harrington’s arms.

Her chest tightened—not with pain.

With something else.

She dressed quickly, still slightly dazed, and met him downstairs a few minutes later.

“I should probably go home,” she said, fidgeting. “Change properly.”

Steve didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll drive you.”

Her heart picked up speed. She nodded.

In the car, he glanced at her. “How’s the hangover?”

She shrugged, staring out the window. “Head hurts a bit. I’ll survive.”

Steve nodded, but his fingers didn’t loosen on the steering wheel. He waited a beat, then another, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“Dustin told me about the dizziness,” he said finally. “And the pain.”

Blair went still.

Her shoulders tensed, her jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. She let out a slow breath. “He shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I’m not mad,” Steve said quickly. “I’m just… worried.”

Silence filled the car, thick and uncomfortable. The hum of the engine was the only thing keeping it from swallowing them whole.

“How long has it been going on?” he asked softly.

She hesitated, then answered, “A long time.”

Steve’s grip tightened. He glanced at her, really looked at her this time—the way her fingers kept fidgeting in her lap, the faint exhaustion under her eyes.

“What kind of pain?” he asked.

Blair swallowed. “Sometimes it’s sharp. Right here.” She pressed her palm lightly to her chest. “Other times it’s just pressure. Like I can’t get a full breath. And then there’s the dizziness. Everything goes fuzzy, like I might black out.”

“That’s not nothing,” Steve said quietly.

“I know.”

He took a breath. “Did you see a doctor?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

Relief flashed across his face—brief, hopeful—before she continued.

“He said it was stress,” she added. “Post-traumatic stress, actually. That my body’s still stuck in survival mode.” She gave a hollow little laugh. “Gave me pills. Told me to rest. To relax.”

Steve frowned. “And it helped?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “It dulls it sometimes. But it doesn’t stop it.”

The car slowed at a red light. Steve stopped completely, then turned toward her, resting his arm against the seat.

“And you believed him?” he asked gently.

Blair looked down at her hands. “I wanted to. Because if it’s just stress, then it means it’ll go away eventually. And I don’t have to think about anything worse.”

Steve exhaled slowly. “And do you think it’s just stress?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“I think…” she started, then stopped. “I think something still feels off. And that scares me more than the pain.”

Steve nodded, understanding settling in his eyes. “So you kept it to yourself.”

She shrugged. “Everyone’s already carrying so much. Barb. Nancy. Everything that happened last year.” Her voice softened. “I didn’t want to add myself to the list of things to worry about.”

“You don’t get to decide that alone,” he said—not harshly, just honest. “Especially not when it’s your chest.”

She glanced at him. “You sound like my mom.”

“Good,” he said. “She’s usually right.”

That earned a small smile from her.

The light turned green and Steve drove on, slower now.

“Look,” he said, quieter, “I’m not saying the doctor’s wrong. Stress can mess you up bad. But if it keeps happening, or if it gets worse… you tell someone. Me. Another doctor. Anyone.”

She nodded. “I will.”

He studied her for a second, then added, “And for the record? You’re not weak for this. Or broken. You’ve been through hell.”

Blair leaned her head back against the seat. “I’m just tired of hurting.”

“I know,” he said softly.

They pulled up in front of her house.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “For listening. And not treating me like I’m made of glass.”

Steve smiled faintly. “I don’t think you’re fragile. I think you’re stubborn. And scared. And really bad at asking for help.”

She laughed quietly. “That obvious?”

“Only to people who care.”

Her heart beat a little faster at that—but not from pain this time.

And even though the ache in her chest hadn’t disappeared, it felt less suffocating now.

Because she wasn’t alone anymore.

He nodded once, jaw set—but he didn’t push. Instead, he smirked. “You talked all night, by the way.”

Her head snapped toward him. “I did not.”

“Oh, you did,” he said calmly. “Didn’t stop.”

She squinted. “What did I say?”

“Nice try.”

“Steve.”

“Not happening.”

Blair frowned, turning toward him. “Steve. You can’t just say that and then not explain.”

He huffed out a laugh, short and nervous. “Trust me. You don’t want the details.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“It’s self-preservation,” he corrected quickly.

She tilted her head, studying him. “Did I embarrass myself?”

He shook his head. “No. You embarrassed me.”

He kept his eyes on the road, jaw tightening just a fraction as her question lingered in the air.

Because suddenly he wasn’t in the car anymore.

He was back in his bedroom. The weight of her on top of him. The way his hands had gone to her back automatically, muscle memory kicking in before his brain could catch up. The way she’d shifted, restless, trying to get comfortable—completely unaware of the effect she was having on him. The warmth. The closeness. The very real problem his body had decided to announce at the worst possible moment.

Steve cleared his throat and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

“Yep.”

She smiled, slow and mischievous despite the headache. “Now you definitely have to tell me.”

He glanced at her, then back at the road, heat creeping up his neck. “Blair.”

“Steve.”

“You were drunk,” he said carefully. “And comfortable. And very… mobile.”

She blinked. “Mobile?”

He sighed. “You moved a lot.”

A beat.

Then her eyes widened, realization flickering behind them. “Oh.”

He didn’t look at her. “Yeah.”

A grin tugged at her lips. “Was that… a problem?”

He swallowed. “Let’s just say I’m very glad you fell asleep when you did.”

She burst out laughing, then immediately winced and pressed a hand to her head. “Ow—okay—worth it.”

He shook his head, but he was smiling now. “You’re impossible.”

She leaned back, still grinning. “So you’re never telling me what I said, and you’re not telling me what happened.”

“Correct.”

“Coward.”

“Alive,” he shot back. “And hoping to stay that way.”

She laughed again, softer this time, and the tension eased—though his mind stubbornly refused to forget the weight of her, the closeness, or how hard it had been to do the right thing.

Some things, Steve decided, were better left unspoken.

When they reached her house, he followed her inside. Claudia was already in the kitchen, coffee in hand. Her smile turned downright mischievous when she saw Steve.

“Oh,” she said brightly. “Well, isn’t this familiar.”

“Mom,” Blair warned. “Behave.”

Steve chuckled awkwardly.

Blair disappeared upstairs to change—leaving her door open.

Steve shifted his weight, suddenly very aware of how quiet the house felt without Blair there. The smell of coffee hung in the air, warm and familiar, and Claudia watched him over the rim of her mug with a knowing smile that made him clear his throat.

“I always did like you two together,” she repeated, softer now, but no less pointed.

Steve let out a small, nervous laugh. “Uh—yeah. I mean. Blair’s… she’s great.”

Claudia raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what I said.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry. I just—she’s important. To me.”

Claudia nodded, as if that was exactly the answer she’d been waiting for. She took another sip of coffee, then glanced toward the stairs, making sure Blair was still out of earshot.

“She’s had a rough year,” Claudia said. “More than she lets on.”

Steve’s smile faded. “I know.”

“She’s stubborn,” Claudia went on. “Always has been. Tries to carry everything herself, like if she pretends it doesn’t hurt, it’ll just… go away.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “She doesn’t talk about it much.”

“No,” Claudia agreed. “She talks around it. Makes jokes. Changes the subject.” She sighed. “But I see it. The nightmares. The way she startles. The way she holds her chest like she’s bracing for something.”

Steve looked down at the floor. “Dustin mentioned the dizziness. The pain.”

Claudia’s eyes softened. “Then you know she’s scared.”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the refrigerator filling the space. Then Claudia smiled again, lighter this time.

“You make her feel safe,” she said simply.

Steve blinked. “I—”

“I’m not saying it’s your job,” Claudia added quickly. “She doesn’t need saving. But when she’s with you...”

Steve swallowed. He thought of that morning. Of her breathing steady against his chest. Of the light still off.

“I just want her to be okay,” he said.

Claudia smiled into her mug. “So do I.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“Okay, I’m ready—” Blair’s voice carried down, and then she appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, tugging on the sleeve of her jacket.

And right behind her—

“Whoa.”

Dustin stood there, backpack slung over one shoulder, staring between them like he’d just walked in on a crime scene.

“Why is he here?” he demanded, pointing at Steve.

Blair froze. “Dustin—”

Steve lifted a hand awkwardly. “Hey, man.”

Dustin squinted. “Why do you look… comfortable?”

Blair groaned. “Oh my God.”

Claudia laughed. “Good morning to you too, Dusty.”

Dustin ignored her. “Did you sleep here?”

Steve choked. “No!”

Blair shot him a look. “Dustin!”

“What?” Dustin said. “It’s a valid question!”

Claudia waved a hand. “Relax. He just brought your sister home.”

Dustin’s eyes widened. “You went to a party.”

Blair sighed. “Yes.”

“With him.”

“Kinda.”

Dustin crossed his arms. “I knew it.”

Steve tried to defend himself. “Nothing happened.”

Dustin leaned closer. “That’s exactly what people say when something happened.”

Blair grabbed Steve’s wrist. “We are leaving. Now. Before you say something you’ll regret.”

Dustin blinked at the contact, then smirked. “Wow. Bold.”

“Shoes. Coat. Go,” Blair muttered, dragging Steve toward the door.

Claudia called after them, amused, “Don’t be late!”

Dustin shook his head, watching them go. “This house is exhausting.”

Blair had one hand on the doorknob and the other firmly wrapped around Steve’s wrist when Dustin’s voice cut through the air.

“WAIT.”

They both froze.

Blair closed her eyes for half a second, already tired. Steve sighed, shoulders dropping, like a man accepting his fate.

Dustin jogged over, backpack bouncing against his back. “Can you take me to school too?”

Blair turned slowly. “You have a bus.”

“Yeah, but the bus smells like feet and broken dreams,” Dustin replied. “And this is clearly a car situation.”

Steve glanced at Blair. Blair glanced at Steve.

They both knew they’d already lost.

“Fine,” Blair muttered. “Get in.”

Dustin grinned like he’d just won the lottery. “Yes.”

They piled into the car—Steve in the driver’s seat, Blair in the passenger’s, Dustin climbing into the back and immediately leaning forward between them, far too close for comfort.

The engine started.

They didn’t even make it to the end of the street.

Dustin began casually. “Did you guys have fun last night?”

Blair stared straight ahead. “Define fun.”

Steve cleared his throat. “It was… a night.”

“So,” he said, leaning forward between the seats, chin resting on the headrest. “Important question.”

Blair shut her eyes. “Oh no.”

Steve exhaled through his nose. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

Dustin ignored him. “Where did you sleep last night, Blair?”

Her eyes flew open. “Excuse me?”

“In your bed?” Dustin continued. “On the couch? On the floor like a Victorian child with a fever?”

Steve’s hands tightened just a little on the steering wheel.

Blair shifted in her seat. “I slept… fine.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

She groaned. “At Steve’s.”

There it was.

Steve’s jaw set, eyes fixed on the road.

Dustin’s eyebrows shot up. “At Steve’s,” he repeated slowly. “Interesting.”

“Dustin,” Blair warned.

“Okay, follow-up,” he said, undeterred. “Did you sleep in separate places, or—”

“We slept,” Blair cut in quickly, “like normal people sleep.”

Dustin smiled. “Together.”

Steve cleared his throat. “She had nightmares.”

Dustin blinked. “Oh.”

Blair shot Steve a look—half grateful, half embarrassed.

“So,” Dustin said after a beat, softer. Then immediately: “So you slept in the same bed.”

Steve didn’t answer.

Blair muttered, “Yes.”

Dustin slapped the back of Steve’s seat. “Wow.”

Steve winced. “Do not hit the car.”

“Sorry,” Dustin said, then grinned. “I just didn’t expect this on a Tuesday.”

Blair crossed her arms. “Can you please stop narrating my life like it’s a documentary?”

“Nope,” Dustin said. “This is prime content.”

Steve glanced sideways at Blair. She was staring out the window now, cheeks faintly pink.

Dustin noticed that too.

“So,” he continued casually, “are you guys, like… a thing again?”

“No,” Blair said immediately.

Steve answered at the same time, “We’re just—”

They stopped.

Dustin’s grin widened. “Just what?”

Steve pressed his lips together. “Helping each other.”

“Mmm,” Dustin hummed. “Sure.”

Then he leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now… speaking of ‘options,’ Blair… I may have… helped a little.”

Blair raised an eyebrow. “Helped how?”

Dustin grinned. “I got you a date.”

Steve’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, jaw clenching. “…Excuse me?”

“I signed you up,” Dustin continued, completely unfazed by Steve’s panic. “Totally harmless, super nice guy. Funny, smart… and he apparently has a thing for people who can handle a little chaos. So naturally, I thought of you.”

Blair blinked at him. “You… did what?”

“Set you up,” Dustin said, leaning back like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Date’s Friday night. I figured it was time someone else got to experience your… awesomeness.”

Steve groaned, gripping the wheel tighter. “Dustin—”

“Relax, Harrington,” Dustin said, waving him off. “It’s a good guy. Totally normal, harmless. No strings attached. You can chill.”

Blair exhaled slowly, disbelief written all over her face. “You… didn’t just decide my love life for me.”

“Think of it as a friendly nudge,” Dustin said. “A very, very good nudge.”

Steve muttered under his breath, “She doesn’t need this…”

“She does,” Dustin replied cheerfully. “And so do you, sometimes.”

Blair turned toward Steve, smirking slightly, a mischievous glint in her eye. “See? Someone cares about my love life.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “…I do care,” he said quietly, but Dustin just smirked, clearly satisfied with the tension he’d stirred.

Steve’s voice hardened slightly, though he tried to keep it casual. “Wait—what kind of guy is this?”

Blair laughed, leaning back in her seat. “Dustin tells me he’s nice. That’s all I need.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed in the rearview mirror. “Nice? That’s it? That’s your measure?”

Blair shot him a look, amused. “What, Harrington? Jealous?”

Steve blinked, stiffening. “…No. Not jealous.”

“Uh-huh,” Blair said, voice dripping with playful skepticism. She leaned a little closer, still smirking. “Sure, Steve. Totally not jealous.”

Dustin snickered, clearly delighted. “Ohhhh, this is great. The Harrington jealousy face. Classic.”

Steve groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not jealous. I just… don’t like surprises.”

Blair grinned, leaning closer, letting her hand brush lightly against his arm. “Well, maybe some surprises aren’t so bad,” she teased softly. Her eyes sparkled, half daring him to argue.

Steve’s hands tightened again on the wheel. “…I just don’t like the idea of someone else… being there for you like I am.”

Blair’s smile softened, just a little, though the playful tone stayed. “Steve… relax. It’s just a date. And it’s not like it changes anything.”

Dustin leaned back, hands behind his head, smirking. “Oh, it changes everything. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Steve shot him a warning look. “Dustin—”

“Nope,” Dustin said firmly. “I live for this. You two are giving me prime content, and I will take it.”

Blair laughed quietly, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Dustin said, grinning wider. “But you love it.”

Steve exhaled slowly, staring at the road but feeling Blair’s gaze linger on him. He knew he couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at his lips when she looked at him like that—half teasing, half challenging, and a little… intoxicating.

And somewhere deep down, he realized he didn’t want her to go on that date—not really. Not when he still wanted to be the one she laughed with, the one who caught her when she tripped over nothing, the one she trusted enough to fall asleep beside.

Blair, sensing the tension, smiled faintly to herself, enjoying the subtle chaos she’d created. Dustin, meanwhile, reclined triumphantly in the back seat, clearly pleased with the drama he’d stirred between them.

The car was quiet for a moment, the only sounds the faint hum of the engine and their breaths, each of them caught in the unspoken tension that lingered longer than any words could explain.

The moment Steve pulled into the school parking lot, Dustin was already unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Alright!” he announced, far too cheerfully. “I have very important things to do.”

Blair frowned. “At eight in the morning?”

“Yes,” Dustin said solemnly, then grinned. “Very important. Extremely important. World-changing, even.”

Steve barely had time to cut the engine before Dustin shoved the door open.

“Bye!” Dustin called, already jogging backward. “Think about what I said! Both of you! Reflect! Grow!”

“Dustin—” Steve started.

Too late.

Dustin turned and took off at a full sprint toward the building, backpack bouncing wildly, nearly colliding with a trash can on the way.

Blair watched him go, then burst out laughing.

Steve shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “He is… so weird.”

“The weirdest,” Blair agreed, shrugging. “But you get used to it.”

They sat there for a second, the laughter fading into something softer. Quieter.

Blair turned toward him, resting her elbow on the door. “Hey.”

Steve looked at her. “Yeah?”

She tilted her head, studying his face—then smirked. “I’m not going on any date.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I was messing with you,” she said lightly. “I just wanted to see your face.”

Steve stared at her for half a second longer than necessary.

Then he exhaled. Deeply. His shoulders relaxed like he’d been holding his breath for miles.

“Oh,” he said. “Good.”

Blair’s smile widened. “You looked like you were about to fight someone.”

“I was,” he muttered. “Mentally. Several people.”

She laughed, leaning closer. “You were jealous.”

“I was not.”

“You were.”

“I was concerned,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Sure,” Blair said, amused. “Concerned with a clenched jaw and white knuckles.”

Steve glanced down at his hands, realizing they were still gripping the steering wheel. He forced himself to loosen them.

“…Okay. Maybe a little.”

She softened at that. “Relax. There is no mysterious nice guy. Just me being annoying.”

“I noticed,” he said dryly. Then, quieter: “I’m glad.”

Blair held his gaze, something warm flickering between them—until it faded, reality settling in like a slow ache.

Her smile faltered.

“…Why didn’t you pick up Nancy this morning?”

The question hung there.

Steve’s expression shifted immediately. The ease drained out of him, replaced by something heavier.

“I needed space,” he said after a moment. “And so does she.”

Blair frowned. “Is she still mad?”

“She was last night,” he replied. “Really mad.”

He swallowed. “She said… everything was bullshit. Us. The parties. The pretending. She said she didn’t know if she loved me.”

Blair’s chest tightened. “Steve…”

“I don’t even know if we’re together,” he admitted. “I walked away because I didn’t know what else to do.”

Before Blair could answer, the school bell rang—sharp and loud, slicing through the moment.

Students flooded past the car.

And then—

“Hey, sweetheart!”

Blair looked up just in time to see Billy Hargrove strolling by, sunglasses on, that smug grin firmly in place. He gave her an exaggerated wink.

Steve’s jaw tightened instantly.

Billy laughed to himself and kept walking.

Steve watched him go, eyes dark. Then he looked back at Blair.

“…Please tell me your fake date wasn’t with that idiot.”

Blair snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“Good,” Steve muttered. “Because I don’t think I could handle that.”

She studied him, heart beating faster—not from fear, not from nerves.

From him.

“I should go,” she said softly.

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

But neither of them moved right away.

For a moment, they just sat there—two people caught between what they were, what they had been, and what they were pretending not to feel.

Then Blair smiled faintly. “Try not to fight anyone today.”

He smirked back. “No promises.”

She opened the door, then paused. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“…I’m glad I slept at your place.”

So was he.

He didn’t say it.

But the look in his eyes did.

Classes passed without anything remarkable happening.

Too normal, actually.

Blair sat through first period tapping her pen, half listening, half waiting to accidentally catch sight of Nancy in the hallway. She didn’t. Not in English, not in History, not even during the crowded break between classes. Part of her felt relieved. Another part felt uneasy, like something unfinished was hovering just out of reach.

By the time lunch ended, she remembered.

Steve had practice.

The thought settled warmly in her chest. She debated it for a whole thirty seconds—then grabbed her bag and headed toward the gym.

The gym echoed with sneakers squeaking and voices shouting.

High school boys were split across the court.

Shirts versus skins.

Steve was shirts.

Billy—of course—was skins.

Blair leaned against the bleachers, arms crossed, watching. Steve moved easily across the court, focused, jaw set. Sweat darkened his hair slightly, and she hated how natural it felt to look for him first.

Billy guarded Steve closely. Too closely.

Almost pressed against him.

Steve dribbled, trying to shake him.

Billy leaned in, voice low but sharp enough to carry.

“Harrington, right?” Billy said, smirking as he crowded Steve’s space. “I hear you used to run this school. That true?”

Steve tried to cut left. Billy slid with him easily, shoulder brushing his, too close on purpose.

“King Steve,” Billy went on, voice low and taunting. “That’s what they used to call you?”

Steve clenched his jaw. “Maybe you should stop talking—and play.”

Billy chuckled, eyes sharp. “Relax. Just curious how a king ends up playing defense like he’s got something on his mind.”

Steve pushed forward again, harder this time.

“And you know,” Billy added casually, “I met someone interesting last night. Real interesting.”

Steve didn’t look at him, but his grip on the ball tightened.

“Funny thing,” Billy continued, almost conversational now. “She didn’t look like someone who likes being told what to do. Or who belongs to anyone.”

Steve snapped his head toward him. “Keep her out of this.”

Billy’s grin widened. “Ah. So it is her.”

He leaned in as Steve tried to pivot away. “Brunette. Pretty. Beautiful legs.”

Steve shoved past him. “Shut up.”

Billy laughed softly. “Hit a nerve, huh?”

Steve made a sharp break toward the basket—

Billy stole the ball cleanly, spinning away from him with ease.

As he sprinted cross court, he called back over his shoulder, “Careful, Harrington. Kings don’t usually like sharing the throne.”

He scored the layup smoothly.

The gym erupted.

Billy high-fived Tommy H., then turned just long enough to wink at Steve—slow, deliberate.

Steve bent forward, hands on his knees, breathing hard. His face burned—not just from the play, but from the words.

And then his expression shifted as he saw—

Nancy.

She looked pale. Unhappy. Out of place.

She lifted a hand slightly, motioning for Steve to come over.

Steve straightened immediately.

“Sub,” he muttered to a teammate, already heading off the court.

Billy watched him go, amused.

Then his eyes shifted.

To Blair.

His grin returned.

Billy jogged over, rolling his shoulders like he owned the place. “Well, look who decided to show up.”

Blair arched an eyebrow. “Do you always flirt mid-gym class, or am I special?”

He laughed. “Little of both.”

He glanced toward the doors where Steve and Nancy were now talking in low voices. “You left the party early.”

“So did you,” Blair replied lightly.

“Yeah,” Billy said. “But I noticed you were gone first.”

She shrugged. “Wasn’t feeling it.”

“That’s a shame,” he said, stepping a little closer. “You disappeared right when things were getting interesting.”

Blair tilted her head. “Interesting how?”

Billy’s smile turned slow. Intentional. “Let’s just say I didn’t get to finish our conversation.”

She met his gaze, unflinching. “You mean the part where you were trying very hard to impress me?”

He chuckled. “Was it working?”

“Debatable.”

Billy laughed again, clearly enjoying himself. “You always this difficult?”

“Only with people who assume too much.”

“Ouch,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

She smiled faintly. “You’ll survive.”

His eyes flicked briefly back to Steve, then returned to her. “You and Harrington still a thing?”

Blair’s stomach tightened—but she kept her tone casual. “Why do you care?”

“Just curious,” Billy said. “You don’t look like someone who likes being second place.”

Her eyes sharpened. “Neither do you.”

For a moment, something charged passed between them—then Billy grinned again, all charm.

“Guess we’ll see who wins,” he said lightly.

Blair crossed her arms. “This isn’t a competition.”

Billy leaned in just enough to be annoying. “Everything is.”

Before she could answer, the whistle blew.

Practice resumed.

Billy jogged backward toward the court, calling over his shoulder, “Try not to vanish next time, okay, sweetheart?”

Blair rolled her eyes—but couldn’t ignore the way Steve glanced toward her from across the gym, jaw tight, eyes dark.

She looked back at him.

Held his gaze.

And whatever was happening between them—whatever they weren’t saying—felt louder than the noise of the gym itself.

Steve came back into the gym with his jaw tight and his shoulders tense, the echo of raised voices still ringing in his ears. Sweat clung to his hair, his shirt sticking to his back. He barely registered the noise of the game restarting—until he saw Billy.

Billy was laughing, walking backward toward the lockers, spinning the basketball on one finger. Blair stood a few feet away from the bleachers, arms crossed loosely, posture casual. Too casual.

Billy leaned in just enough to say something in her ear.

Steve’s stomach twisted.

Blair smiled—polite, controlled—and stepped back. Billy shrugged, clearly unbothered, and headed off, shooting her one last look over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

Steve exhaled sharply through his nose.

Blair noticed him then.

One look at his face told her everything. His eyes were darker than usual, jaw clenched like he was holding something back. She didn’t approach right away. She waited—letting the whistle blow, the players shuffle off, the noise die down.

When practice finally ended, Steve grabbed his bag and headed straight for her.

Up close, he smelled like sweat and gym soap, hair damp, chest still rising a little too fast.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, voice flat. “After classes.”

Blair blinked. “Steve—are you okay?”

He was already turning away.

“I’ll be outside,” he added, not looking back.

She watched him go, a knot forming in her chest.

Great.

The rest of the day passed strangely. Blair sat through classes barely listening, her eyes drifting to empty seats. No Nancy. No Jonathan. It felt wrong—like something important was happening just out of reach.

By the final bell, she was restless.

She headed to the parking lot and found Steve leaning against his car, arms crossed, staring at nothing. A few spaces away, Billy was laughing with a girl Blair didn’t recognize, her hand already on his arm. They climbed into his car.

Billy glanced over.

Caught Blair’s eye.

And winked.

Again.

Blair rolled her eyes but smiled back anyway, more amused than anything.

Steve noticed.

His jaw tightened.

Blair walked over. “Hey.”

Steve nodded once. “Get in.”

The car ride was… tense.

Not angry. Just quiet in a way that pressed against Blair’s ribs. Steve’s knuckles were pale around the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road like if he blinked too long, everything would spill out.

She waited. Counted three stop signs.

Then sighed. “Okay. Talk to me.”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Nancy,” she added softly.

That did it.

Steve swallowed. “She said she doesn’t love me.” His voice was flat, but his chest rose sharply. “Or… she didn’t say she did. Which is basically the same thing.”

Blair’s fingers curled in her lap. “Steve…”

“She said everything was bullshit,” he continued. “Us. Barb. Me pretending nothing happened.” He scoffed quietly. “I think that hurts more than if she’d just yelled.”

Blair nodded slowly, heart heavy. “I’m really sorry.”

Silence fell again. Thicker this time.

Then Blair shifted in her seat, an idea forming—reckless, familiar, very her.

“So,” she said lightly, “hypothetically… if someone wanted to forget today ever happened…”

Steve glanced at her. “…No.”

She smiled anyway. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“I know where this is going.”

She leaned back dramatically. “Just saying. Alcohol exists. And I’m very good company.”

He exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. “You’re terrible.”

“I prefer ‘supportive.’”

They reached a red light.

Blair turned her head, studying him. “Can we stop at the store?”

Steve hesitated. Then nodded. “Fine. But I’m not getting drunk with you.”

She grinned. “We’ll see.”

The light turned green.

As the car moved forward, Blair rested her head against the window, watching the world blur past. Her heart was still racing—not from fear, not from pain.

From everything unsaid.

From Steve beside her. From what had almost happened. From what still lingered between them, unresolved and very much alive.

He sighed, turning the wheel toward the corner store.

“…You’re a bad influence.”

Blair leaned back in her seat, satisfied. “Yeah,” she said. “But I’m your bad influence.”

And for the first time since practice ended, Steve almost smiled.

Chapter 19: Wood

Blair stood in the middle of her bedroom, arms crossed, staring at the disaster spread across her bed.

Clothes everywhere. Dresses, skirts, tights, jackets. A whole identity crisis made of fabric.

Dustin lay flat on his back on the mattress, hands folded on his chest like he was attending a very dramatic funeral. His proton pack rested against the wall, abandoned for the moment.

“So,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “What are we panicking about exactly?”

“I am not panicking,” Blair replied, holding up a black dress against herself and squinting at the mirror. “I am… evaluating.”

“Uh-huh,” Dustin said. “You’ve been ‘evaluating’ for forty-five minutes.”

She dropped the dress. “It’s a party.”

“Yes. A Halloween party. With costumes. That’s the whole point.”

“I know that,” she snapped, then sighed. “I just don’t know what I want to be.”

Dustin rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. “Is this about the costume… or is this about Steve?”

She pretended very hard not to hear that.

Instead, she grabbed another hanger. “What about this?”

Dustin’s eyes widened.

It was short. Very short. Tight. Definitely not something he’d ever seen his sister wear before.

“Whoa,” he said. “Okay. New information unlocked.”

Blair frowned. “What?”

“I just—” He gestured vaguely. “I didn’t know you owned clothes like that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Dustin, I'm a teenager, not a nun.”

“Still,” he muttered. “Feels illegal.”

She laughed, tossing a pillow at his face. “Stop being dramatic.”

He caught it. “I’m serious. If you wear that, someone’s going to die.”

“Relax,” she said. “It’s just a dress.”

“A dangerous dress.”

She smirked. “Good.”

Dustin squinted at her. “You talked to Steve again, didn’t you.”

“Nope.”

“You totally did.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You’re glowing in a suspicious way.”

She shoved another dress at him. “Opinion. Now.”

He examined it. “This one says ‘I’m mysterious.’ The other one says ‘I’m about to ruin someone’s life.’”

She paused. “…Which one’s better?”

He stared at her. “You’re impossible.”

Eventually, after much commentary and one dramatic declaration of “I will disown you if you pick that,” Dustin slid off the bed.

“I’m leaving before this gets weird,” he said. “Mike, Will, and Lucas are waiting. Prime candy-collecting hours.”

“Bring me the good stuff,” Blair called after him.

He pointed at her. “If I don’t get at least three chocolate bars, I’m telling Mom you almost wore that.”

She laughed. “Go!”

Once alone, Blair stood in front of the mirror again.

She chose the dress Dustin had labeled life-ruining—a tight, black leather mini-dress, paired with boots and a toy whip. Simple. Effective.

Catwoman.

Very 80s. Very unapologetic.

She took her time with her makeup. Dark eyes. Red lips. When she finally stepped back, she barely recognized herself.

Still unsure, she grabbed her jacket and headed downstairs.

Claudia was in the living room, curled up on the recliner with Mews purring against her side.

She looked up.

Oh.

“Well,” Claudia said slowly. “Someone’s planning to commit a crime.”

Blair groaned. “Mom.”

“Are you trying to impress someone?”

“No.”

“Because it’s working.”

Blair laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t need to impress anyone.”

Claudia smiled knowingly. “Sure. Not even… Steve?”

Blair’s face fell. “Absolutely not.”

“Mmm,” Claudia hummed. “Pity. He’s very handsome.”

“Mom.”

“Be careful tonight,” she said gently. “And call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Outside, the night felt colder than she expected.

Every sound made her heart jump. A rustle of leaves. A car passing too fast.

Her chest tightened.

It’s nothing, she told herself. No monsters. Just people.

She reached Tina’s house and stepped into chaos.

Music. Lights. Costumes everywhere.

She grabbed a cup of punch—strong, sweet—and headed toward the backyard.

That’s when she saw him.

Billy.

Leather jacket. No shirt. Beer everywhere.

Cheers erupted as he finished a keg stand, stumbling upright like a victorious gladiator. Beer dripped down his chin, his laugh loud and careless.

Then he saw her.

Billy’s grin slowed, sharpened. His eyes dragged over her deliberately, unapologetic.

Blair felt it like a challenge.

She didn’t look away.

Carol stumbled over, already half gone, slurring something about Blair’s costume being “hotter than hell.” Blair smiled politely, took a slow sip of her punch, barely listening. Her attention kept drifting back to Billy—leaning against the patio railing now, watching her like he already knew exactly how this would end.

When she slipped back inside for another drink, weaving through bodies and music, she felt it before she heard it.

Someone close. Too close.

“Well,” Billy drawled behind her, voice low and lazy, “took long enough, sweetheart.”

She turned, eyebrow raised, amused rather than startled. “Do I know you?”

He smiled wider, teeth bright, confidence bordering on reckless. “Not yet.”

She looked him up and down, pretending to consider. “That so?”

“Trust me,” he said, stepping closer, invading her space just enough to make it intentional. “You’d remember if you did.”

She took another sip of punch, unfazed. “Wow. That line ever work?”

“Depends,” he replied smoothly. “You smiling?”

She realized she was.

“Maybe,” she said. “But I haven’t decided if that’s pity or interest.”

Billy laughed, genuine and loud. “I like you already.”

“Careful,” Blair said. “You don’t even know my name.”

“That’s the fun part.” His gaze flicked briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Yours?”

She hesitated just a second. “Blair.”

“Billy,” he said, like it was a promise. “And you don’t look like someone who plays it safe, Blair.”

She leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “You don’t look like someone who survives long.”

“Guess we’ll find out,” he shot back.

They were standing too close now. Heat. Noise. The world narrowing to the space between them.

That’s when Blair saw them.

Steve and Nancy, stepping through the front door in matching Risky Business outfits—laughing, easy, familiar.

Her smile faltered for half a second.

Billy noticed.

He followed her gaze, then looked back at her, something sharp flashing behind his grin. “Is that a problem?”

She straightened, lifting her chin. “Nope.”

“Good,” he said, clearly enjoying this now. “Because I hate competition.”

Blair smirked, turning away to grab another cup. “Then you’re at the wrong party.”

As she moved, Billy’s eyes stayed on her—interested, dangerous, already deciding how far he could push.

And Blair, cup in hand, felt the tension coil tighter in her chest—not fear. Something much worse.

Her stomach flipped.

Tommy leaned into Billy’s ear, not even trying to be subtle. Whatever he whispered made Billy laugh loud and sharp, like he’d just been handed a gift.

Tommy straightened and, with his usual lack of tact, announced it to half the room. “Dude, you know that’s Harrington’s girl, right?”

A few heads turned. Blair lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug, unfazed. “Was,” she said lightly, taking another sip of punch. “Ancient history.”

Billy’s grin widened. “Hear that? Ancient.”

Steve had already stepped forward, jaw tight. “Back off.”

Billy turned slowly, eyes dragging over Steve with open amusement. “Relax, Harrington.”

Tommy wasn’t done. He threw an arm up like he was presenting a prize. “Looks like we got ourselves a new king in Hawkins!”

A few drunk cheers answered him.

Steve moved closer, voice low now, dangerous in its calm. “I’m serious. Stay away from her.”

Billy laughed right in his face. “What, you own her now?”

Blair closed her eyes for half a second. Idiots. All of them.

Billy stepped forward too, chest out, towering just enough to provoke. “Or you just mad someone else noticed what you couldn’t handle?”

Steve’s hands curled into fists.

That was it.

Blair turned on her heel, already done. “Wow,” she muttered. “Testosterone poisoning.”

She pushed past them toward the kitchen, grabbing another cup and filling it without looking back. Her heart was pounding—not from fear, not even from jealousy. Just exhaustion.

Behind her, voices rose again—Steve sharp, Billy laughing—but Blair tuned it out, lifting the cup to her lips.

She drank.

And decided she deserved at least one night where she didn’t have to babysit boys who thought fighting was flirting

Blair rolled her eyes, grabbed another cup, and followed Nancy into the kitchen.

She drank again. Then danced.

Billy watched from nearby.

The room spun just a little.

Too much punch.

Too much everything.

And for a moment—just a moment—Blair forgot how much it all hurt.

Blair spotted him across the room like a lighthouse.

“Jonathan!” she called, far louder than necessary, weaving her way through bodies and bad costumes. Her face lit up when she reached him, arms spreading like she’d found her favorite person in the world. “There you are.”

Jonathan turned—and froze.

He’d seen Blair in sweaters, in jeans, half-asleep with a book on her chest. He had not seen this.

The dress. The confidence. The very obvious drunken sway.

“Oh,” he said intelligently. Then, blinking, “Wow.”

Blair burst out laughing, tipping her head back. “That’s the face! That’s the face people make when they’re shocked but trying to be polite.”

“I’m not— I mean—” Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck, flustered. “You just— You look… different.”

She leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m drunk, Jon.”

“Yes. Yes, that part is… very clear.”

She poked his chest with one finger. Missed slightly. Tried again. “You’re my favorite person here. Did you know that?”

Jonathan smiled despite himself. “That’s alarming. You should aim higher.”

She laughed again, loud and unfiltered. “I like you because you don’t yell at people or try to fight them like cave men.”

A beat.

“…Is that about Steve?”

“Everyone’s about Steve,” she said dramatically, then waved it off. “But you! You’re safe. You’re like—like a library that gives hugs.”

Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “You are so drunk.”

“I know!” she said proudly. “Isn’t it great?”

His smile softened, but then his eyes drifted past her, toward the front of the house. He watched Steve disappear outside, jaw tight.

“Where’s Nancy?” he asked quietly.

Blair followed his gaze, squinting. “Upstairs, I think. Drinking her feelings.”

Jonathan frowned, concern settling in. He looked back toward the door Steve had gone through, something troubled in his expression.

Blair noticed. Tilted her head. “You worry too much,” she said, patting his arm. “Come dance.”

“No,” he said immediately.

“Come stand near dancing.”

“Also no.”

She grinned. “Your loss.”

Then, without warning, she spun away.

“I’m gonna check on the monk,” she announced.

“The what?”

She was already heading for the door, wobbling slightly, tugging her dress down as it rode up her thighs. “Steve! He’s meditating! Like a monk! With hair!”

Jonathan watched her go, torn between laughter and worry.

Outside, the cold air hit Blair like a splash of water. She giggled, hugging herself as she stumbled toward Steve’s car.

He was sitting inside, eyes closed, hands on the steering wheel, breathing slow and controlled.

She tapped on the window.

Nothing.

She knocked again, harder. “Hey!”

Steve opened his eyes, startled.

Blair grinned through the glass. “Wow. You really committed. I thought you were, like… reaching inner peace or something.”

He rolled the window down. “What are you doing out here?”

She leaned on the door for balance. “Interrupting your monk era.”

He sighed. “You’re drunk.”

She gasped. “How dare you. I am festive.”

Steve looked at her—really looked—and whatever he’d been about to say got stuck somewhere behind concern.

“…You okay?”

She nodded too fast. “Totally. Great. Amazing. Ten out of ten night.”

He didn’t buy it. Not for a second.

But for now, he just shook his head, a small, tired smile tugging at his mouth.

Steve stepped out of the car before Blair could knock on the window again.

“Alright,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “That’s it. I’m taking you home.”

Blair blinked at him, then burst out laughing like he’d just told the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “Nope.”

“Nope?” he repeated.

She shook her head, the world tilting with the motion. “Absolutely not.” Then she turned on her heel and started walking back toward the house, pointing dramatically at the music. “I’m gonna move my ass.”

Steve watched her stagger away, dress riding up, heels betraying her at every step.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, then followed.

Before she could make it three more steps, he caught up, scooped her up without warning, and lifted her off the ground.

Blair yelped. “HEY—!”

She stared down at him, shocked, then delighted. “Wow. Strong. Very caveman of you.”

“Stop wriggling,” Steve grunted.

“I’m not wriggling, I’m vibing.”

He carried her to the car as she laughed uncontrollably, one arm looping around his neck.

“You know,” she said seriously, squinting at him, “if someone saw this, they’d think you kidnapped me.”

Steve opened the passenger door and gently set her inside. “Get in.”

She pouted. “I don’t wanna go home.”

“You’re going home.”

She shook her head so hard her hair smacked her face. “My mom would kill me. Like—ground me until I’m forty. And then resurrect me just to ground me again.”

Steve paused, sighed, then closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

“Fine,” he said once he was in. “Change of plans.”

Her eyes lit up. “Adventure?”

“We’re going to my house.”

“Oh.” She nodded, satisfied. “I like that house. It smells like hair spray and poor decisions.”

He started the engine.

They drove in silence for about ten seconds.

Then Blair gasped. “Steve.”

Another pause.

“…Why aren’t you with Nancy?”

Steve’s jaw tightened, just slightly. He kept his eyes on the road.

“We fought,” he said.

Blair leaned back in her seat, squinting at the ceiling. “Like… a cute fight or a ‘throw things and cry’ fight?”

“The second one.”

“Oh.” She nodded, then giggled. “Those are my favorite.”

He glanced at her. “You’re laughing.”

“I laugh when I’m uncomfortable,” she explained cheerfully. “And when I’m drunk. And when people are sad. It’s a flaw.”

Steve huffed despite himself.

“I don’t even know if we’re still together,” he added quietly.

Blair went silent for a beat.

Then she smiled—soft, unfocused, drunk. “Well,” she said gently, “that sucks.”

“Yeah.”

She turned her head toward him, studying his face like it was fascinating. “You look like a kicked puppy.”

“Thanks.”

“A handsome kicked puppy,” she corrected. “With very good hair.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

She beamed. “You love it.”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he drove, the road humming beneath the tires, Blair humming some off-key song beside him, entirely unaware that for the first time that night—

Steve didn’t feel completely alone.

When the car finally stopped outside Steve’s house, Blair didn’t wait for permission, logic, or gravity.

She pushed the door open, laughter spilling out of her like sunlight, and took off down the road in the opposite direction of the house, her heels clutched uselessly in one hand.

Steve closed his eyes for half a second. Just one. Then he was out of the car.

“Blair!” he called, already exhausted. “Where are you going?”

She slowed just enough to turn around, walking backward now, arms stretched wide like she was balancing on an invisible rope. “I’m letting the night decide,” she announced solemnly. “I go where the wind takes me.”

“The wind is drunk and has terrible judgment,” he shot back, breaking into a jog. “Stop before you fall.”

She laughed and spun again— —and immediately tripped over nothing.

Steve caught her instinctively, arms wrapping around her as he lifted her clear off the ground.

“Okay,” he said through his teeth, breathless. “That’s enough freedom for one night.”

She clung to his neck, giggling uncontrollably. “You keep rescuing me. It’s very heroic. Very knight in shining hair.”

“I’m not a knight,” he muttered, turning back toward the house. “I’m a babysitter.”

She gasped suddenly, eyes widening. “Steve.”

“What.”

“My underwear.”

He stopped walking. Slowly. “What about it?”

“They’re gonna show,” she said, completely serious. “Which is fine. Because they’re sexy.”

His brain short-circuited. “Your— your what?”

She leaned closer, stage-whispering. “They’re red. And they match.”

Steve stared at the front door like it might open on its own and swallow him whole. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you look funny when you panic.”

She burst out laughing again, head dropping onto his shoulder.

Inside, he kicked the door shut with his foot and headed upstairs, carefully ignoring the way her arms tightened around his neck.

“Where are your parents?” she asked suddenly, peering around like she might find them hiding behind a lamp.

“Out of town.”

“Oh.” She nodded thoughtfully. “So it’s just us. And my matching underwear.”

“Please,” he begged. “Please stop talking.”

He carried her into his room and set her down on the bed. She bounced slightly, propping herself up on her elbows, eyes bright and mischievous.

“Do you wanna see them?” she asked. “The underwear. And the bra. They’re a set.”

He grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at her face. “Absolutely not.”

She laughed into the fabric, muffled but delighted.

“You’re way too brave when you’re drunk,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “You say stuff like this sober and you’d combust.”

She slid down under the covers, suddenly cooperative, nodding solemnly like she’d been given an important mission. “Okay. I’ll be good.”

She kicked off her heels dramatically and tucked herself in.

Steve turned away to change, pulling on a T-shirt and sweatpants, giving himself a second to breathe.

“You want something to sleep in?” he asked over his shoulder.

She shook her head. “Nope.”

He turned back—and stopped.

She looked soft and unreal in his bed, hair a mess, makeup slightly smudged, eyes heavy but warm. The party version of her was gone, replaced by something quieter, more intimate.

He swallowed. “You’re unbelievable.”

Then he shook his head, pulled back the covers, and lay down beside her, careful to keep a little space between them.

She immediately closed it.

Rolling toward him until they were face to face.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Lingered. Then lifted back to his eyes.

Slowly, almost absentmindedly, her fingers reached up and traced the small constellation of moles along his cheek, down his jaw, over his neck. Her heart was beating very fast. Her mind told her to stop, but her body acted on its own.

Steve’s breath caught despite himself.

“Blair,” he said softly, forcing his voice to stay steady. “You should sleep.”

His thoughts were doing everything but that.

She nodded… then shifted.

Climbed halfway on top of him, resting her head on his chest, arms wrapping around him like she belonged there.

Steve froze. “—Okay. That was unexpected.”

Then she moved. Just slightly. Settling in.

His entire body went rigid.

She shifted, climbing fully on top of him without any hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Instinct took over before thought could catch up—Steve’s hands slid to her back automatically, palms warm and steady, fingers splayed like he was used to holding her there. Like his body remembered something his head was desperately trying to forget.

She wriggled once. Then again.

Not teasing—just clumsy, unfocused movements, trying to get comfortable. Her knee slid between his legs, her hips shifting as she sighed softly, settling her weight.

Steve sucked in a sharp breath. “Blair,” he warned, voice lower now. “You’re— you’re really not helping.”

She hummed, eyes half-closed, completely unbothered. “I can’t get comfy,” she murmured, adjusting again, her forehead brushing his collarbone. “Your bed is… lumpy.”

“My bed is not—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening as she moved a third time, slower now, searching for the right position.

His hands pressed more firmly into her back, holding her still without meaning to. “Okay. Nope. That’s it. Freeze. You’re frozen.”

She laughed softly against his chest. “You’re very bossy tonight.”

“Blair,” he said carefully, trying to keep his voice steady. “You need to stop moving.”

She let out a sleepy, mischievous laugh, her voice soft and teasing. “There’s something hard and big.”

“Oh my god,” he muttered, his brain short-circuiting.

He quickly placed his hands firmly on her waist, holding her still. “Do not—do not investigate that,” he warned, his voice a mix of panic and exasperation.

She froze for a moment, eyes wide with mock innocence. “Investigate what?” she asked, dragging out the word as if she hadn’t just said it.

“Blair.” He narrowed his eyes, trying to pin her with his gaze. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Her lips twitched into a grin, the corners lifting despite herself. Then, realization hit. Her laughter exploded, bright and unfiltered, shaking her shoulders against his chest. “STEVE!”

“This is not funny,” he said, tightening his grip slightly, his face heating up.

“It kind of is,” she replied, still laughing, leaning closer as if to make the moment even more unbearable for him. “I mean… come on. Look at your face! Red, panicked, all serious—and here I am, on top of you, me, awake, and drunk, probably… very tempting.”

“Do you ever think before you speak?” he groaned, exasperated. “Because sometimes, just sometimes, it’s physically dangerous to my heart rate.”

Her laugh turned into a soft, teasing hum, almost a purr. “Oh, I think, Steve. I think a lot. I think you’re cute when you panic. That’s one of the reasons I’m telling you all these things.”

“Cute?” he repeated, incredulous, looking at her like she had just grown another head. “Cute? You think me panicking is cute?”

She leaned even closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Absolutely. And also terrifying. But mostly cute.”

Steve groaned again, burying his face in his hands for a second. “I don’t even know how to respond to that. You’re—this is insane. Insane. You—you’re insane!”

She laughed, pressing a hand against his chest, still holding him hostage in the most infuriatingly adorable way possible. “Insane? Maybe. But you’re not complaining too much, are you?”

He peeked between his fingers. “I—okay, I am complaining, but—ugh! This is unfair. You’re drunk, and I’m supposed to be in charge, and—”

“And yet here you are, listening to me ramble about my underwear while sitting in disbelief,” she said, her grin softening just a little. “You’re a saint, Steve.”

“I’m not a saint,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m a babysitter. A very, very confused babysitter who should probably go lie down after this.”

She giggled again, this time quieter, almost like she was starting to drift toward sleep. “You’re my favorite babysitter,” she murmured, her voice soft and heavy-lidded, a hint of warmth threading through the teasing.

He groaned. “It’s not my fault. You’re on top of me. In a tight dress. And you’re pretty— you’re you. What did you think would happen?”

She went still, lifting her head to look at him. “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

The teasing drained from her voice, replaced by something softer.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Of course I do,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “You’re smart, and funny, and stubborn, and way stronger than you think. You’re brave in ways most people don’t even notice, and you care about people more than you let on. You light up a room without trying, and you make the world feel softer just by being in it. You’re impossible to ignore, and… and you’re completely yourself, no apologies, no filters. And that’s… that’s incredible.

“I’ve known you for a long time, and I’ve seen so many sides of you—the loud, fearless, ridiculous side that makes me want to run after you before you fall; the silly, teasing side that somehow drives me completely crazy; the quiet, thoughtful side that I only see in moments like this, when no one else is around. And every single one of those sides… every single one… makes me feel like I’m the luckiest person in the world just to be near you.

“You’re the kind of person who makes me think I can be better, even when I don’t want to try. You make me laugh when I want to groan. You make me notice things I’d usually ignore—the small, beautiful parts of the world—and somehow, you do it without even meaning to. And… I don’t know if you realize this, but I… I’ve always cared about you more than I should. More than I probably even know how to handle sometimes.”

He paused, swallowing hard, because the words were heavier than he expected, but they felt right. “And right now, holding you here… seeing you like this… it’s impossible not to feel it. You’re everything, Blair. Everything I never knew I needed and everything I’ve wanted for longer than I can remember. And I think I am still—”

Her breathing evened out.

Her weight relaxed completely against him. She shifted slightly, curling a little closer, resting her head more comfortably on his chest. Her eyes fluttered shut, eyelashes brushing her cheeks, and her lips parted in a slow, even breath.

Steve felt the warmth of her body settle fully against him, small and solid, like she belonged there. She moved just enough to press her forehead gently into his shoulder, her arm draping lazily over his torso, and a soft sigh escaped her lips.

Her body sank further into the mattress, surrendering to sleep. The subtle rhythm of her breathing, slow and steady, reached him. Steve froze for a moment, listening, feeling, and realizing—

She was asleep.

A small, incredulous smile tugged at his lips. Carefully, as if she were the most fragile thing in the world, he let his fingers drift into her hair. He brushed strands gently from her face, tucking them behind her ear, then traced soft, absentminded circles over her scalp.

Her head moved slightly against his hand, nudging into his touch unconsciously. Steve’s movements were slow, soothing, almost reverent, and he stayed like that, awake in the quiet, holding her close, letting her sleep settle fully over both of them.

She smelled faintly of perfume and the night, warm and soft against him. And even though she was asleep, even though she didn’t need him to say it aloud, Steve felt the need to tell her, just in his own mind: she was remarkable.

And he would hold this moment, perfectly still, letting her rest, letting her feel safe, letting her be herself—even in sleep.

Chapter 18: Figure you out

Blair woke to noise.

Not the sharp, echoing sounds that yanked her out of nightmares, but the clatter of drawers, a chair scraping against tile, and her mother’s voice—bright, excited. She blinked, disoriented. The bed beside her was empty.

“Dustin?” she murmured.

No answer.

Her chest felt tight again. A familiar pressure, heavy and unwelcome. Blair sat up slowly, hand pressed against her sternum, breathing carefully until the pain dulled enough to move. She pulled on a sweater, slipped into her slippers, and headed downstairs.

The kitchen looked like a crime scene of joy.

Claudia stood in the middle of it all, camera raised, grinning ear to ear. Mews sat loyally at her feet. And Dustin—Dustin was fully geared up as a Ghostbuster, proton pack humming softly as he struck ridiculous, heroic poses.

“Smile!” Claudia called. “I want to see those teeth! Show me those pearls!”

Dustin lifted the ghost trap and flashed a grin so wide it bordered on painful.

Blair stopped in the doorway, blinking twice. “Wow,” she said dryly. “And here I thought I woke up in my own house.”

Dustin spun toward her. “Behold,” he announced, striking another pose. “Humanity’s last line of defense.”

Claudia squealed and snapped more photos. “Blair, come here! Pose with your brother!”

“I’m not even dressed,” Blair protested, gesturing at her oversized sweater and messy hair.

“That’s fine,” Claudia waved her off. “You’re dressed as a very convincing exhausted civilian.”

Before Blair could escape, Dustin grabbed her arm and hauled her next to him. “Smile,” he ordered.

She sighed. “You owe me.”

The flash went off.

Blair escaped to the coffee machine the second she could, wrapping her hands around a mug like it might steady her. She had just taken a sip when—

DING DONG.

Her stomach sank.

Blair had just wrapped her hands around a warm mug of coffee when the doorbell rang.

Her stomach tightened instantly.

“I got it!” Dustin shouted, already sprinting toward the door, proton pack clanking behind him.

Blair stayed in the kitchen, pretending to focus on her coffee while every nerve in her body leaned toward the hallway.

The door swung open.

Steve stood on the porch, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, hair annoyingly perfect despite the early hour. His eyes flicked past Dustin’s shoulder.

“Uh. Hey, Dusty-bun.”

Dustin scowled. “Do not call me that.”

Steve’s gaze dropped to the proton pack. “Wow. You rob a movie set or something?”

“I’m a Ghostbuster,” Dustin said proudly. “Specifically Stantz. The brains.”

Steve nodded slowly. “Of course you are.”

“So,” Dustin added, blocking the doorway with his entire body, “what do you want?”

Steve tried to lean to the side. Dustin leaned with him.

“Is Blair home?” Steve asked.

“Nope.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You just opened the door.”

“And?”

Steve sighed. “Okay. Is she… available?”

“She’s unavailable,” Dustin said firmly. “Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.”

Steve snorted despite himself. “You rehearsed that, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Steve shifted his weight, the smile fading a little. “How is she?”

Dustin shrugged. “Why?”

“Because I care,” Steve said. “And because last night was weird. She looked like she was in pain, and then she barely talked to me.”

Dustin hesitated, bouncing slightly on his heels. “She’s… been kinda off.”

Steve frowned. “Off how?”

“Like,” Dustin said slowly, “she gets dizzy. And pale. And sometimes she holds her chest like an old man with heartburn.”

Steve’s expression changed completely. “Her chest?”

Dustin winced. “I maybe shouldn’t have said that.”

“When did this start?” Steve asked.

“I dunno. A while ago.”

“Did she see a doctor?”

“Yeah. They gave her pills.”

“For what?”

“For ‘stress,’” Dustin said, making air quotes. “Which sounds fake.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Dustin tilted his head. “Why do you care so much?”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it again. “Because… she matters. Okay?”

Dustin studied him for a long moment. “You know she’s not your girlfriend, right?”

“I know,” Steve said quietly. “That doesn’t mean I stopped worrying.”

The silence stretched.

Dustin swallowed. “She’s in the kitchen.”

Steve took a step forward.

“Nope,” Dustin said suddenly, slamming the door shut.

From inside, Steve’s voice rose. “Dustin! Open the door!”

“No!”

“You can’t just—”

“She’s not ready!” Dustin snapped.

Another pause.

“…Is she really okay?” Steve asked, softer now.

Dustin leaned his forehead against the door. “I don’t think so.”

The words hung there.

Dustin closed the door with more force than necessary and leaned his back against it, breathing out like he’d just survived a mission.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

From the kitchen, Blair lifted her mug slightly. “That was Steve.”

Dustin turned. “Wow. You’re like a psychic or something.”

She didn’t smile. “What did he want?”

Dustin walked back into the kitchen, the proton pack knocking lightly against the doorway. “To see you. Shocking, I know.”

Blair stared into her coffee. “You didn’t have to lie.”

“I absolutely did,” Dustin said, opening the fridge. “You looked like you were going to pass out just from hearing the doorbell.”

She scoffed. “I’m fine.”

Dustin shut the fridge. Slowly. “You say that a lot.”

Blair shrugged. “It’s a versatile sentence.”

He hopped onto a chair, swinging his legs. “You wanna tell me why he was standing on our porch looking like a kicked puppy?”

Her jaw tightened. “We didn’t fight.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She took a careful sip. “Things were just… heavy last night.”

“He’s worried,” Dustin said.

“I know.”

“Like,” Dustin added, “really worried.”

She glanced at him. “Did you tell him something?”

Dustin’s eyes widened. “Define something.”

“Dustin.”

“…Maybe I mentioned that you sometimes look like you’re about to die.”

She stared at him.

“What? You do!”

Blair rubbed her face. “You told him about the chest pain?”

Dustin scratched his neck. “I kind of overheard you last night. I was in my room, trying on the proton pack. The door was open.”

Her shoulders dropped slightly. “You weren’t asleep.”

“Nope. Nearly broke my mirror, though.”

She exhaled. “I didn’t want you worrying.”

“Too late.”

She frowned. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I notice everything,” he said. “I’m a scientist.”

She smiled faintly. “You wear a plastic badge.”

“It’s official merchandise,” he protested.

Her smile lingered, then faded. “I don’t want Steve worrying.”

“He already is.”

“I don’t want to be another thing he has to fix.”

Dustin tilted his head. “He doesn’t fix you. He just… shows up.”

That landed harder than she expected.

She stood, grabbing her bag. “So. The red-haired girl.”

Dustin lit up instantly. “Max.”

“The one who destroyed your ego.”

“She cheated.”

“Sure she did.”

“She definitely did.”

Blair smirked. “You’re obsessed.”

“I’m competitive.”

“You learned that from Steve.”

Dustin gasped. “Low blow.”

She paused, then asked quietly, “Does it bother you?”

“What?”

“That he came for me.”

Dustin thought for a moment. “No. But it bothers me that you pretend you don’t matter.”

Her throat tightened.

“And,” he added, “if he hurts you again, I will destroy him.”

She laughed, softer this time. “You’re a child.”

“I have a slingshot.”

“Fair.”

She opened the door. “Come on, Stantz. We’re late.”

Dustin adjusted his proton pack proudly. “If Max sees me like this, she’s definitely impressed.”

“Or terrified.”

“Same thing.”

As they stepped outside, Blair felt the dull ache return to her chest—quiet, persistent.

She breathed through it.

For Dustin.

For now.

Blair parked the car crookedly, killed the engine, and just sat there for a second.

From across the parking lot, she heard it.

Singing.

Loud. Off-key. Enthusiastic.

“Nuh nuh nuh nuh—who you gonna call—?”

She leaned forward, squinting.

There they were.

Four very small, very serious Ghostbusters marching toward the school like they were about to save the world. Mike and Lucas walked shoulder to shoulder, proton packs bouncing against their backs. Will followed just behind them, adjusting his goggles.

“Ghostbusters!” Will shouted proudly, catching up.

Blair couldn’t help it. She laughed, pushing the door open and stepping out of the car.

Mike turned first. His face lit up instantly. “Blair!”

“Wow,” she said, hands on her hips. “You guys look… extremely professional.”

Dustin beamed. “Right?”

Lucas pointed at Will. “Egon!”

Will grinned. “Venkman!”

They high-fived dramatically, almost dropping their traps in the process.

Blair leaned against her car, watching with fond amusement, when Mike suddenly froze. His smile vanished as he squinted at Lucas’s badge.

“Whoa, whoa—hold on.”

Lucas frowned. “What?”

Mike pointed. “Why are you Venkman?”

“Because I’m Venkman,” Lucas said, like this was obvious.

“No,” Mike snapped. “I’m Venkman.”

He jabbed his own badge. Proof.

Will blinked between them. “Why can’t there be two Venkmans?”

Mike shook his head, horrified. “Because there’s only one Venkman in real life. We agreed on this months ago. I’m Venkman, Dustin’s Stantz, you’re Egon, and—” He turned to Lucas, suddenly very intense. “You’re Winston.”

Lucas scoffed. “Bullshit. I specifically did not agree to be Winston.”

“Yes you did!”

“I don’t think he did,” Will offered carefully.

“No one wants to be Winston, man,” Lucas complained.

Blair raised an eyebrow. “Hey. What’s wrong with Winston?”

Lucas looked at her. “What’s wrong with Winston? He joins the team late, he’s not funny, he’s not even a scientist.”

“But he’s still cool,” Mike argued.

“Okay,” Lucas shot back, “then you be Winston.”

Mike stuttered. “What? I—I can’t—”

“Why not?”

“B-because—”

Lucas smirked. “B-b-because you’re not black?”

“I never said that!”

“But you thought it!”

“Did not!”

Dustin suddenly clapped his hands. “Hey guys—!”

“Did too—!”

“GUYS!”

Everyone froze.

Dustin wasn’t looking at them anymore. He was staring past them, eyes wide.

They all turned.

A school bus had just pulled in.

Students poured out.

Normal students.

Jeans. Jackets. No proton packs. No jumpsuits. No goggles.

Dustin’s voice dropped. “Why is no one wearing costumes?”

Silence.

Blair blinked.

Then burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” she said, pressing a hand to her mouth. “You guys.”

Mike’s face went pale. “It’s… it’s Halloween.”

“Yeah,” Blair nodded gently. “But it’s also Hawkins High.”

Lucas groaned. “We’re gonna get murdered.”

Will looked down at his suit. “Maybe… maybe they’re just late?”

Dustin looked at Blair, genuinely betrayed. “You didn’t tell us.”

She softened instantly, stepping closer and crouching slightly so she was at their level. “Hey. You look awesome. Like—legit awesome.”

Mike hesitated. “We do?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “And if anyone laughs, I’ll personally haunt them.”

Dustin grinned. “With ghosts?”

“With emotional damage.”

Lucas snorted. “Okay, that’s scarier.”

Blair stood, gesturing toward the school. “Come on, Ghostbusters. World’s not gonna save itself.”

As they walked in together, the boys clustered around her instinctively, shoulders brushing her arms, talking over each other at once.

She smiled, chest aching softly—but warmly this time.

Blair spotted Nancy near the lockers, books clutched too tightly against her chest, shoulders drawn inward like she was trying to make herself smaller.

She walked toward her without hesitation.

“Hey,” Blair said softly.

Nancy looked up, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey.”

They stood there for a second, the hallway buzzing around them, until Blair spoke again. “You okay?”

Nancy let out a quiet breath. “I don’t know. I thought I was. And then last night just… messed with my head.”

Blair nodded slowly. “The Hollands?”

“Yeah.” Nancy swallowed. “They’re so hopeful. And I just kept thinking—what if we’re wrong? What if we made it worse?”

“You didn’t,” Blair said firmly. “You couldn’t have known.”

Nancy shook her head. “That doesn’t make it stop hurting.”

Blair hesitated, then reached out and squeezed her hand. “I know.”

Nancy glanced at her. “You didn’t look great either.”

Blair gave a half-smile. “Guess none of us are winning any awards for emotional stability this week.”

That earned a small laugh from Nancy, fragile but real.

They started walking down the hallway together. As they did, Blair felt it before she saw it—that familiar prickle at the back of her neck.

She glanced up.

Across the hall, leaning lazily against a locker, was the blond guy from the parking lot. Billy. His eyes dragged slowly over her, unapologetic, assessing.

Then he winked.

Blair stiffened.

“Oh no,” she muttered.

Nancy followed her gaze. “Is that—?”

Before Nancy could finish, Blair hooked her arm through hers. “Nope. Absolutely not. Come on.”

She steered them toward their classroom, not looking back.

Classes passed in a blur.

By the time Blair found herself in the study hall, the noise of the school had dulled into something distant and heavy. She sat at a table, notebook open but untouched, staring at the same sentence over and over again.

She stood when the bell rang, slinging her bag over her shoulder—

And suddenly, a hand wrapped around her wrist.

“Hey.”

Before she could react, Steve gently but firmly pulled her aside, guiding her into an empty room and closing the door behind them.

“Steve—” she started.

“I just want to—”

“I’m sorry.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth before he could finish.

She dropped her gaze to the floor, shoulders slumping. “About last night. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. That wasn’t fair.”

Silence.

Then Steve exhaled.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

She felt his fingers under her chin, lifting her face just enough to make her look at him. His touch was careful. Gentle.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Really.”

Her throat tightened. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he interrupted softly. “You were overwhelmed. Anyone would be.”

He didn’t mention the dizziness. Or the pain. Or the things Dustin had almost said.

Blair didn’t mention them either.

They stood there for a moment, the air between them thick with things left unsaid.

“You don’t have to apologize for having a bad night,” he said. “You’re allowed to lose it sometimes.”

Her heart skipped in a way she absolutely did not approve of.

“Careful,” she murmured. “You’re dangerously close to sounding mature.”

He smirked. “I contain multitudes.”

That got a small smile out of her.

They stood there for a beat too long.

Then Steve cleared his throat and took a step back, hands lifting in surrender. “Okay. New topic before this gets… weird.”

Blair raised an eyebrow. “Before or after you dragged me into a private room?”

He blinked. “Wow. When you put it like that, I sound like a creep.”

She shrugged innocently. “Just saying. The optics aren’t great.”

Steve laughed under his breath. “Relax. If I wanted to be inappropriate, I’d at least wait for a broom closet.”

She snorted. “Wow. Classy.”

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

They shared a grin, the tension easing just enough.

Steve cleared his throat, stepping back just enough to give them both space. “So,” he said, lighter. “Important question.”

She blinked. “What?”

“What are you dressing up as for Tina’s party?”

Blair huffed a small laugh. “I’m not.”

Steve frowned. “Not… at all?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can. Everything that’s happened—I’m tired, Steve. It feels wrong to pretend things are normal.”

He studied her carefully. “You don’t have to pretend.”

Her breath hitched, just barely.

“Steve,” she said quietly, “that’s kind of the problem.”

He tilted his head. “How so?”

“If I go,” she continued, “I’ll have to deal with loud music, drunk people, bad costumes—”

“Hey,” he interrupted. “My costume’s going to be great.”

She smirked. “That’s debatable.”

“And,” she went on, “people asking questions. Staring. Acting like nothing ever happened.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Or you could show up, steal the good snacks, judge everyone silently, and leave early.”

She looked at him. “That’s… oddly tempting.”

“See?” He smiled. “I know you.”

She eyed him. “Since when?”

“Since you hit me with a book in sophomore year.”

“You deserved that.”

“Probably.”

A pause.

Steve shifted, his tone lighter—but not careless. “Also… I’d like you there.”

Her stomach flipped.

“Why?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Because parties are better when you’re around.”

She searched his face. “That’s not a very convincing argument.”

He smirked. “Okay. Fine. Because if you don’t go, I’ll be stuck talking to idiots all night.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“Please,” he said dramatically. “Save me.”

She laughed, really laughed, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he replied, “you’re still considering it.”

She met his eyes again. “You really want me there?”

He hesitated just a second too long. “Yeah. I do.”

Her heart gave an uncomfortable twist.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

Steve smiled, relieved. “That’s all I’m asking.”

They walked out of the room together, careful to leave space between them—but not too much.

And neither of them noticed Billy watching from the end of the hall, a crooked smile playing on his lips.

Chapter 17: Everything has changed

Blair took longer than usual choosing a dress.

Not because she cared how she looked—she didn’t, not really—but because standing still made her chest ache. A dull pressure sat behind her ribs, pulsing slowly, like a warning she couldn’t silence. She leaned one hand against the edge of her bed, breathing through it, waiting for the pain to settle enough to move again.

It didn’t fully go away. It never did.

She chose a simple blue dress in the end. One she had worn before. One that no longer meant anything, she told herself. She slipped it on, fixed her hair mechanically, avoided the mirror once her heart started to beat too fast for no reason at all.

A car horn sounded outside.

Blair flinched.

She grabbed her coat and headed downstairs, one hand brushing her chest as if she could physically keep her heart from misbehaving.

At the front door, her mother looked up from the couch. “You look nice. Where are you going?”

“To have dinner,” Blair said, reaching for her shoes.

“With who?”

“With Steve and Nancy. We’re… going to see Barbara’s parents.”

Her mother’s eyebrows lifted. A knowing, almost mischievous smile spread across her face. “Oh. Steve.”

“Don’t,” Blair warned, already blushing. “Please don’t make that face.”

“I didn’t say anything,” her mother said innocently.

“You didn’t have to.”

Her mother laughed softly. “Drive safe.”

Blair slipped outside before the teasing could continue.

Steve leaned over to open the door for her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replied, climbing in beside Nancy.

Nancy turned and smiled weakly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Blair said automatically.

The car pulled away.

The ride was quiet. Too quiet.

Blair twisted her fingers together in her lap, over and over, unable to stop. Steve caught her reflection in the rearview mirror more than once, his brow subtly furrowing. Nancy stared out the window, distant, silent.

No one said a word.

When they arrived, Nancy and Steve stepped out first. Blair followed, slower.

The house was unfamiliar. Too neat. Too empty.

A FOR SALE sign stood in the yard.

Nancy froze.

Steve noticed immediately. He took her hand, squeezing gently.

“Hey.”

Nancy blinked. “What?”

“It’s going to be okay,” he said softly. “It always is.”

Blair stood beside them, hands tucked into her coat sleeves. “We’re here together,” she added quietly.

Nancy nodded, taking a deep breath. Then—

DING DONG.

Mrs. Holland opened the door with a flustered smile.

Inside, Blair’s eyes drifted to the walls.

Photos of Barb. Laughing. Smiling. Alive.

Her heart stuttered painfully.

Dinner was laid out: a bucket of KFC, sides, a bottle of Dr. Pepper.

It felt… heavy.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t cook,” Mrs. Holland rambled. “I was going to make that baked ziti you guys like, but then—oh my God, it’s five already!”

“It’s fine,” Nancy said quickly. “Really.”

“I love KFC,” Steve added.

Blair nodded. “Me too.”

An awkward pause.

Nancy cleared her throat. “We, uh… saw the ‘For Sale’ sign.”

The Hollands exchanged a look.

“We hired someone,” Mrs. Holland said brightly. “A man named Murray Bauman.”

Blair stiffened slightly.

“Investigative journalist,” Mr. Holland added.

“He’s taking Barb’s case,” Mrs. Holland said, beaming. “We’re going to find her.”

Hope filled the room.

And dread filled Blair.

Her hands started to shake. She slid them under the table, pressing them against her thighs, breathing shallowly.

This was too much.

“…Is that why you’re selling the house?” Nancy asked quietly.

Hope. Desperation.

Nancy stood abruptly. “Excuse me—I’ll be right back.”

Steve took another bite of chicken. “Finger-lickin’ good.”

Blair stared at the table, vision swimming.

Steve glanced at her. Noticed the tremor in her shoulders.

“You okay?” he murmured.

She nodded. Lied.

Nancy returned moments later. “We—we should go.”

Goodbyes blurred together.

Outside, Blair didn’t move.

Steve touched her shoulder. “Blair.”

She looked up, startled, realizing they were waiting.

In the car again.

Silence.

The engine hummed beneath them, steady and indifferent, as if nothing had happened. As if the night hadn’t cracked something open inside all three of them. Streetlights passed in slow intervals, washing the interior in brief flashes of orange and shadow.

Blair sat in the back seat, her coat still on, hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her chest hurt. Not sharply yet—not enough to give her away—but the pressure was there, deep and heavy, like someone pressing a fist against her sternum from the inside.

Steve watched her through the rearview mirror.

She hadn’t said a word since they left the Hollands’ house. Had barely moved. Her gaze was fixed on nothing, unfocused, distant. Too still.

Nancy stared out the window, jaw tight, eyes glassy. The reflection of passing houses flickered across her face. She didn’t wipe away the tears that finally spilled; she didn’t acknowledge them either.

Steve slowed the car as they pulled up in front of the Wheeler house.

Nancy reached for the door handle but hesitated.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Her voice was thin. Fragile.

Steve turned toward her immediately. “Hey. You don’t have to be.”

“I do,” she replied. “I shouldn’t have—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I just… I need to go inside.”

Steve nodded. He leaned over and kissed her gently, lingering longer than usual, as if grounding himself. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Nancy got out of the car without looking back.

The door closed softly.

And suddenly, it was just the two of them.

The silence changed.

Steve didn’t start driving right away.

Blair felt it immediately—the shift, the weight of his attention. Her shoulders stiffened. Her heart skipped, then beat faster, painfully so. She swallowed, willing it to slow down.

Steve rested his hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. “Blair.”

She didn’t answer.

“Blair,” he repeated, softer this time. “I know something’s wrong.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

She closed her eyes for half a second. Bad idea. The world tilted slightly when she opened them again. “Can we not do this right now?”

He turned in his seat, fully now, concern etched deep across his face. “You were shaking back there. You barely ate. You’ve been quiet all night. And now you won’t even look at me.”

“I’m just tired,” she said. The words came out sharper than she meant. “It was a long day.”

Steve didn’t buy it. He never did.

“You don’t get tired like this,” he said carefully. “You look like you’re in pain.”

Her fingers dug into her palms.

For a moment, she almost told him. Almost let the truth spill out—the pills, the doctors, the fear that her own heart was turning against her.

But the pressure in her chest flared suddenly, cruel and intense, stealing the breath from her lungs. She hissed quietly, pressing her forearm against her ribs, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

He did.

“Blair—”

“Please,” she snapped, panic edging into her voice now. “Just—just take me home.”

Steve hesitated. “We can talk. Just us. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I am alone,” she said, too fast. Too honest. “And I’m fine with that.”

The lie hurt almost as much as her chest.

Steve searched her face, clearly torn, then slowly nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

He turned the key.

The rest of the drive passed in suffocating quiet. Blair stared at her hands, focusing on her breathing, counting each inhale, each exhale. The pain crept higher, sharper now, blooming beneath her breastbone.

By the time they stopped in front of the Henderson house, she was barely holding herself together.

Steve cut the engine. “Blair—”

“Don’t,” she said, opening the door too quickly. The movement sent a spike of pain through her chest. She sucked in a breath, dizzy, seeing spots.

She stepped out anyway.

“Blair, wait,” Steve called, getting out of the car. “What did I do? I don’t understand—”

She turned back, eyes blazing, voice trembling. “You didn’t do anything. That’s the problem. Just—just stay out of my business, okay?”

And before he could say another word, she ran.

Steve stood there, frozen, watching her disappear inside. He stayed longer than he should have, eyes fixed on the house, replaying every second, every look, every missed sign.

Finally, he shook his head, whispered a quiet “damn it”, and drove away.

Inside, Blair shut the door behind her and locked it.

The sound echoed too loudly in the quiet house.

She leaned her forehead against the wood for a moment, breathing hard, chest tight, heart still pounding like it was trying to break free of her ribs. The pain hadn’t left. If anything, it had followed her inside, settled in, made itself at home.

Her hands were shaking.

She stumbled into the kitchen, barely turning on the light, and went straight to the cabinet above the sink. She didn’t bother with water. Didn’t bother counting.

Three pills. Dry.

They scraped down her throat, bitter and wrong. She gagged, coughed once, pressed her hand to the counter until the wave passed.

Then her legs gave out.

She slid down slowly until she was sitting on the cold linoleum floor, back against the cabinet, knees pulled to her chest. The chill seeped through her dress, grounding and unforgiving.

Her chest hurt.

God, it hurt.

She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly, trying to remember how to breathe normally. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. That’s what the doctor had said. That’s what everyone said. Like breathing could fix a heart that felt like it was failing her.

Her thoughts spiraled, dark and relentless.

What if this is it?What if one day I don’t get back up?What if the pain doesn’t fade next time?

The idea didn’t scare her the way it should have.

That terrified her.

Tears slid down her cheeks, silent, hot. She wiped them away angrily, as if offended by her own weakness.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered to the empty kitchen.

Tired of pretending. Tired of smiling. Tired of being the strong one who made it out alive.

Everyone else talked about moving on. About things being normal again. About the monsters being gone.

But they weren’t gone. They had just changed shape.

Now they lived in her chest. In her dreams. In the way every sudden noise made her flinch. In the way she slept with the light on like a scared child, because the dark felt too much like the Upside Down.

She pressed her palm over her heart, feeling its uneven rhythm, counting the beats like they might slip away if she didn’t watch closely.

Please, she thought, not sure who she was begging. Just stop hurting.

For a horrible moment, another thought crept in—quiet, dangerous.

Maybe it would be easier if it did.

She sucked in a sharp breath, shaking her head, forcing the thought away. No. No, she couldn’t think like that. Not when Dustin existed. Not when he still needed her. Not when she had promised herself she’d protect him from the world turning ugly.

Her breathing slowed gradually as the medication began to dull the edge of the pain. The crushing pressure eased into a deep ache instead, still there but less overwhelming.

She stayed on the floor anyway.

Because standing felt like too much.

Because the silence was safer than facing anyone else.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. Time blurred.

When she finally pushed herself up, her legs were stiff, her head heavy. She rinsed her mouth at the sink, caught her reflection in the dark window—pale, hollow-eyed, older than she should have been.

Get it together, she told herself. Just get through tonight.

She turned toward the hallway—and froze.

A noise.

Soft. Fabric rustling. A door creaking.

Her heart jumped, pain flaring again, until—

“Blair?”

Dustin’s voice.

She exhaled shakily, relief crashing over her so hard it almost hurt more than the fear.

She wiped her face quickly and walked down the hall, stopping at his door.

She knocked once, then opened it.

Blair leaned against the doorframe, still catching her breath, when she finally took in the full picture.

Dustin Henderson. Ghostbuster. Protector of humanity.

The proton pack was slightly crooked, one strap hanging lower than the other. The jumpsuit was clearly a size too big, the sleeves bunching up at his wrists. The goggles were perched on his curls like an afterthought.

He struck a pose anyway.

“Well?” Dustin asked, hands on his hips. “Be honest.”

Blair blinked at him.

Then she laughed.

Not a polite laugh. Not a careful one. A real one that surprised even her, bubbling up from somewhere deep in her chest and loosening something tight inside her.

“Oh my God,” she said, pressing a hand to her mouth. “You look like you’re about to trip over your own proton pack and sue the Ghostbusters for workplace hazards.”

Dustin gasped, deeply offended. “Excuse you. This is state-of-the-art equipment.”

She stepped into the room, circling him slowly like an inspector. “State-of-the-art? Dustin, one wrong move and that thing is taking you down like a turtle on its back.”

He turned with her, trying to keep his stance serious. “That’s why I’ve been training.”

“Training,” she repeated skeptically.

“Yes,” he nodded solemnly. “I’ve watched the movie four times. Twice today.”

Blair snorted. “Impressive. Truly elite preparation.”

Dustin grinned, then suddenly lifted the toy blaster and aimed it dramatically at an imaginary threat near the closet.

“Ma’am,” he said in a deep, fake voice, “please step aside. This ghost is extremely dangerous.”

She raised her hands. “Oh no. Not again.”

He made a loud pew-pew-pew sound with his mouth, overdoing it until he almost lost his balance.

“Careful,” Blair warned. “The world needs you alive.”

He steadied himself and looked at her seriously. “You think?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. Who else is gonna save us when things get weird again?”

Dustin beamed at that, then squinted at her. “Hey.”

Her smile faltered slightly. “Hey.”

“You okay?” he asked, lowering the blaster. “You look… squishier than usual.”

“Squishier?” she repeated.

“Yeah. Like when you hug a pillow that’s tired.”

She laughed softly and ruffled his hair. “That’s the worst description I’ve ever heard.”

“So that’s a yes,” he said, pointing at her.

Blair sat down on the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. “I’m just… tired, Dust.”

He shrugged. “That’s okay. Ghostbusters get tired too. It’s in the lore.”

She looked up at him. “It is?”

“Yeah,” he said confidently. “They just don’t show it in the movies because it would ruin the vibe.”

She smiled at that. A small, real one.

Dustin climbed onto the bed beside her, fiddling with one of the straps. “Do I look cool enough to scare the ghosts?”

She tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. Maybe if you add a dramatic catchphrase.”

His eyes lit up. “Like what?”

She leaned in conspiratorially. “Like… ‘Don’t cross the streams, idiot.’”

He burst out laughing. “That’s terrible.”

“Accurate, though.”

He suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her tight without warning.

Blair froze for half a second—then melted into it, holding him back just as firmly, burying her face in his curls.

“You smell like plastic and glue,” she murmured.

“Authenticity,” he said proudly into her shoulder.

They stayed like that for a moment. Quiet. Safe.

Dustin pulled back and looked at her seriously. “You’re gonna come tomorrow, right?”

“Of course.”

“Even if you’re tired?”

“Especially if I’m tired.”

He nodded, satisfied. “Good. Ghostbusters need support staff.”

She smiled, standing up and poking his chest lightly. “Get some sleep, hero.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As she turned to leave, Dustin called after her, “Hey, Blair?”

She looked back.

“You’re my favorite person,” he said casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her chest tightened—but this time, not from pain.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “You’re mine too.”

She turned off the light for him, closing the door gently behind her, carrying that warmth with her down the hallway like a shield.

For tonight, it was enough.

Chapter 16: It's nice to have a friend

The car rattled softly as Blair drove toward the high school, one hand on the steering wheel, the other drumming lightly against it in rhythm with the radio. Morning light filtered through the windshield, pale and harmless-looking, as if nothing bad had ever happened in Hawkins.

Dustin sat in the passenger seat, backpack at his feet, staring out the window with a suspicious squint.

“I still can’t believe that guy,” he said suddenly.

Blair smiled faintly. “Which one? You’re going to have to narrow that down.”

“You know exactly which one,” Dustin replied, turning to her. “Keith. The human rash.”

She laughed. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Nope. Not ever,” he said proudly. “First of all, the audacity. Second of all—” he gestured dramatically “—trying to get a date with my sister in exchange for arcade intel? That’s like… villain behavior.”

Blair shook her head, amused. “It wasn’t that dramatic.”

“It was absolutely that dramatic,” Dustin insisted. “I had to physically block him. Like a knight. With a shield. Except my shield was my body.”

“You’re very brave,” Blair teased.

“I know.” He nodded once, then frowned. “Also, just so we’re clear, if you ever do go on a date, it’s not going to be with someone like that.”

“Oh?” Blair glanced at him. “And who exactly is qualified, according to you?”

Dustin straightened in his seat, clearly prepared, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. “Okay. First: he has to be smart. Not, like, fake-smart. Actually smart. The kind of smart that doesn’t brag about it.”

“Uh-huh,” Blair said, amused.

“Second: he cannot be gross. No weird smells. No chewing with his mouth open. No—” he shuddered “—licking his fingers in public.”

“That’s a very low bar,” Blair said.

“Third,” Dustin continued seriously, “he has to be nice. Like… actually nice. Not pretending to be nice just to get something.”

Blair nodded. “That one’s fair.”

Dustin wasn’t done. “Fourth: he has to treat you right. Like, hold doors, ask if you’re okay, notice when you’re tired.”

Blair smiled softly. “You’ve really thought this through.”

“I have,” Dustin said firmly. “And fifth—this is important—he should bring you flowers. Real ones. Like roses.”

Blair blinked. “Roses?”

“Yeah,” Dustin said, shrugging. “Like Steve used to. Remember? He brought you roses multiple times.”

Blair’s smile faltered just a bit. “Steve’s with Nancy.”

“I know,” Dustin said quickly. “I’m not saying Steve. I’m saying the flowers part. The effort. The respect.”

Blair looked out the window. “You don’t need someone to bring you roses to be okay.”

“I know,” Dustin admitted. “But it’d still be nice.”

She laughed quietly. “You’re impossible.”

Dustin grinned. “Also, bonus points if he’s brave.”

“Brave?”

“Yeah. Like, if something scary happens, he doesn’t run away.”

Blair raised an eyebrow. “In Hawkins? Good luck.”

“And,” Dustin added, pointing at her, “he has to like you for you. Not because you’re someone’s sister or because you’re… I don’t know. Cool.”

Blair’s chest tightened in a way she didn’t quite understand. “You’re very protective.”

“Obviously,” Dustin said. “You’re my sister. That’s literally my job.”

She reached over and ruffled his hair at the next stoplight. “Well, whoever this hypothetical perfect guy is, he’s going to have a very hard time passing your inspection.”

“Good,” Dustin said, satisfied. “He should.”

She laughed again, shaking her head. “Good luck finding someone like that in Hawkins.”

“I will,” Dustin said confidently. “I’ll interrogate them.”

“I’m sure that’ll go great.”

They pulled into the school parking lot just as the bell rang in the distance. Blair slowed the car—and then noticed it.

A black Camaro.

Her eyes flicked instinctively toward it just as the driver’s door opened.

A tall blond boy stepped out, denim jacket, confident posture, like he knew every eye was on him. Then, from the other side, a red-haired girl jumped down with a skateboard tucked under her arm.

Blair felt it before she realized it.

Billy glanced up.

And looked straight at her.

Then he smirked—and winked.

Blair nearly stalled the car.

“Oh my God,” Dustin muttered, still watching the red-haired girl. “She has a skateboard.”

Blair felt heat rush to her face. “I—uh—what?”

Dustin finally turned to her—and froze. “Why are your cheeks red?”

“They’re not.”

“They are. You look like you’re overheating.”

“I’m fine,” Blair said quickly, opening the car door. “You’re going to be late.”

Dustin narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You okay?”

“Go,” she laughed, shooing him away.

He climbed out, still glancing back at her. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Blair waited until he disappeared into the building before stepping out herself.

That’s when she saw Nancy and Steve pulling in a few spots away. Steve shut off the engine just as Billy walked past them, all swagger and noise. Steve watched him with obvious irritation.

Blair walked over.

“Okay,” Nancy said immediately, eyes following Billy. “Who is that?”

“I was just about to ask you,” Blair replied.

Steve scoffed. “He looks like trouble.”

Nancy smiled faintly. “You say that about everyone.”

“He’s got a Camaro,” Steve added. “That’s a red flag.”

Blair laughed. “You literally drive a BMW.”

“That’s different.”

Nancy glanced between them, amused, then turned serious. “Hey. Just—don’t forget. Dinner tonight. With Barb’s parents.”

Blair’s smile faltered for just a second. “Yeah. I know.”

Nancy squeezed her arm gently. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Blair nodded. Nancy walked off, leaving her alone with Steve.

An awkward beat settled between them.

Steve cleared his throat. “You know… you don’t have to go tonight.”

Blair shook her head. “I do.”

“You don’t owe anyone—”

“I know,” she said softly. “But I still have to.”

Steve nodded, then glanced back toward the parking lot. “So. Camaro guy.”

Blair raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“He looks like an idiot.”

She laughed. “You kind of look like him.”

Steve stopped. “What?”

“Not exactly,” she added quickly. “Just—same vibe. Hair. Jacket. The whole ‘I know I’m hot’ thing.”

He scoffed. “I do not wink at strangers.”

“Give it time.”

Steve smiled despite himself. “You think he’s hot?”

Blair shrugged, heart ticking strangely in her chest. “I think he’s… loud.”

Steve watched her for a moment longer than necessary, then looked away. “Yeah. Loud.”

The bell rang again.

“Guess I’ll see you later,” Blair said.

“Yeah,” Steve replied. “Later.”

She walked toward the building, unaware that Steve watched her go—just a little longer than he meant to.

Classes passed with as much normality as Hawkins could manage these days. Bells rang, chairs scraped against the floor, notebooks snapped shut. For a few hours, the world pretended nothing bad had ever happened.

A bell blared and teens poured out of a classroom in a noisy wave.

Jonathan walked beside Blair, both balancing their notebooks against their chests. They were mid-conversation, voices low, still half stuck in the lesson.

“I swear,” Blair said, frowning at her notes, “if Mr. Renshaw says post-war symbolism one more time without actually explaining it, I’m going to lose it.”

Jonathan smiled faintly. “I’ve got better notes. I can lend them to you later.”

“Please,” she said. “You might actually save my grade.”

They reached the hallway, where TINA was planted near the door, energetic as ever, handing out bright flyers to every passing student.

“Party!” she announced cheerfully.

She handed one to Nancy, then another to Blair. Blair glanced down at it.

TINA’S HALLOWEEN BASH!Bold letters. Impossible to miss.

Nancy’s eyes lit up. “Can I have another?”

“Of course,” Tina said, grinning, and handed her a second flyer.

As Nancy and Jonathan started down the hallway together, Nancy immediately shoved the extra flyer into Jonathan’s hands.

“You’re coming to this.”

Jonathan recoiled slightly, instinctively trying to push the flyer back toward Nancy. “Um—no thanks.”

Blair, who had been reading the bold letters over Nancy’s shoulder, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. You didn’t even look at it properly.”

“I did,” Jonathan said. “It says ‘party,’ which is already a no.”

Nancy crossed her arms. “You are not spending Halloween alone again.”

“I’m not,” he replied quickly. “I’m going trick-or-treating with Will.”

Blair smiled at that. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

Jonathan glanced at her, grateful for the backup—until she added, “But also… you could do both.”

He frowned. “Both?”

“Yeah,” Blair said casually. “You take Will out, make sure he has fun, eats too much candy, the whole big-brother thing. Then you come to the party. You don’t even have to stay long.”

Nancy snapped her fingers. “Exactly. See? Blair gets it.”

Jonathan sighed. “You two are ganging up on me.”

Blair shrugged. “We’re very persuasive when we want to be.”

Nancy leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Jonathan, it’s Halloween. You deserve to do something normal. Just once.”

He hesitated, eyes flicking between them. “Normal isn’t really my thing.”

Blair softened, resting a hand briefly on his arm. “Hey. No one’s asking you to change. Just… show up. Be there. With us.”

He looked at her hand, then at her face. There was no pressure in her expression—just warmth.

“And,” Blair added, smirking slightly, “if it gets unbearable, we’ll leave together and make fun of it all the way home.”

Jonathan let out a small laugh despite himself. “You promise?”

“Scout’s honor,” she said, raising two fingers. “Even though I was never a scout.”

Nancy smiled, victorious. “So?”

Jonathan exhaled. “I’m not agreeing to anything.”

Blair grinned. “That’s the closest thing to a yes you’ve given all day.”

He shook his head, but he was smiling now.

“Gotcha!”

Nancy yelped as Steve suddenly appeared, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He pulled her close, grinning, wearing the unmistakable Tom Cruise sunglasses from Risky Business.

“God,” Nancy laughed, pushing at his chest, “take those stupid things off.”

Steve lowered them just enough to look at her over the frames. “Hey. I missed you.”

“It’s been an hour!”

“Longest hour of my life.”

He kissed her—long enough to make it obvious he knew exactly who was watching.

Blair looked away politely. Jonathan stared at the floor.

Steve finally pulled back as Nancy opened her locker to grab her books. That’s when Steve noticed Jonathan and Blair drifting away together through the crowd.

For reasons he didn’t like examining too closely, Steve felt a sharp, unwelcome pinch in his chest.

Jonathan and Blair moved down the hallway side by side, quieter now. Jonathan’s shoulders were tense, his gaze unfocused.

Blair noticed immediately. She always did.

“You okay?” she asked gently, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Jonathan nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

She didn’t push. Instead, she let the moment pass and shifted the conversation. “So. Have you heard about the new guy?”

Jonathan glanced at her. “The blond one?”

“Apparently his name’s Billy,” Blair said, rolling her eyes. “And apparently he thinks winking at random people is a personality trait.”

Jonathan smiled despite himself. “Did he wink at you?”

“He did,” Blair said, laughing. “I think my soul briefly left my body.”

Jonathan chuckled as they reached her locker. Down the hallway, Billy himself was visible—leaning casually, too confident for his own good.

Jonathan nodded toward him. “You know, you could invite him to the party.”

Blair snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” Jonathan teased. “You’d survive.”

She shook her head, smiling as she opened her locker. “One near-death experience per year is my limit.”

Jonathan laughed softly, standing with her a moment longer before heading off, the noise of the hallway swallowing them both back into the illusion of normalcy.

For now.

Jonathan slung his backpack over his shoulder and nodded toward the opposite end of the hallway. “I’ve gotta run. Will’s probably already wondering where I disappeared to.”

Blair smiled, closing her locker. “Tell him I’ll see him later, okay?”

“I will.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “And… thanks. For earlier.”

She met his eyes. “Anytime.”

They shared a brief, easy smile before Jonathan turned and blended into the moving crowd. Blair watched him go for a second longer than necessary, then exhaled and headed the other way, toward the library. The hallway buzzed with voices, lockers slamming, the familiar chaos of school—normal, almost comforting.

She was halfway there when a familiar voice called her name.

“Blair—hey!”

She turned to see Steve hurrying toward her, weaving through students with that unmistakable Harrington confidence. He looked like he’d been searching for her—hair slightly out of place, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been looking for you,” he admitted, slowing to a stop in front of her. “You disappeared.”

She shrugged lightly. “I was just talking with Jonathan.”

Steve’s jaw tightened for half a second before he smoothed it out. “Yeah. I figured.”

There was a beat of silence, awkward but not hostile.

“So,” Steve said, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, “are you… uh, are you going to Tina’s party?”

Blair raised an eyebrow. “Straight to the important questions, huh?”

He huffed a small laugh. “Guess so.”

“Probably,” she said honestly. “Nancy’s pretty determined.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. That tracks.”

They started walking together without really deciding to, falling into step as the hallway thinned out.

“You going?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, Nancy is. So. Yeah.”

“Right,” Blair said, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Of course.”

Steve glanced at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Just… you sounded very enthusiastic.”

He rolled his eyes. “I am enthusiastic. About… socializing.”

She laughed softly. “Sure you are.”

They walked a few more steps before Steve spoke again, his tone more casual—too casual. “You and Jonathan seem to be hanging out a lot lately.”

Blair looked at him. “We’re friends.”

“I know,” Steve said quickly. “I’m just saying. You’re always with him.”

She stopped walking. Steve noticed and stopped too.

“Is that a problem?” she asked, not accusing—just genuinely asking.

Steve hesitated. “No. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. It’s just weird, I guess. Seeing you with him all the time.”

Blair studied him for a moment. “Steve, Jonathan’s been through a lot. So have I. We kind of… get each other.”

“I get that,” he said. “I do. I just—sometimes it feels like I don’t.”

Her expression softened. “That’s not true.”

He scoffed lightly. “Isn’t it?”

She stepped a little closer, lowering her voice. “You don’t have to compete with Jonathan. There’s nothing to compete over.”

Steve searched her face, clearly trying to read between the lines. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said firmly. “You’re my friend.”

The word seemed to both reassure and sting him.

“Right,” he said. “Friends.”

She smiled gently. “Exactly.”

Another pause. Then Steve forced a grin. “Well. Guess I’ll see you at the party, then.”

“Guess so,” Blair replied. “Try not to look too cool. It’s intimidating.”

He laughed, the tension easing just a bit. “No promises.”

She turned toward the library doors. “I’ll see you later, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he said, watching her go. “Later in the Barb’s parents’ dinner.”

As Blair pushed open the library door, she didn’t look back—but she could feel his eyes on her all the same.

Chapter 15: Clean (Season 2)

It felt like everything had finally gone back to normal.

No monsters lurking in the dark. No gates opening beneath the town. No kids vanishing into thin air.

Dustin laughed again. Ran again. Played D&D in basements and spent his afternoons riding his bike with Mike and Lucas like nothing had ever happened. Nancy was still with Steve. Hawkins hadn’t seen another disappearance, another death, another headline that made people whisper in grocery stores.

Normal.

Or at least, it looked that way.

Because normal now meant Blair slept with a light on.

Normal meant she woke up gasping for air, heart pounding violently against her ribs, tangled in sheets soaked with sweat after dreams she couldn’t remember but felt deep in her bones. Normal meant flinching at sudden noises, at doors slamming, at footsteps behind her.

And the pain.

The pain in her chest had grown worse over the past weeks. A heavy, crushing ache that came and went without warning, like an invisible fist squeezing her heart just a little too tight. Sometimes it struck out of nowhere—when she laughed, when she drove, when she stood still doing nothing at all. Other times it lingered, dull and constant, a reminder she couldn’t ignore no matter how hard she tried.

Her vision would blur without warning. Black spots would dance in front of her eyes, swallowing the edges of the world until everything tilted, until the floor felt too far away and her body simply… gave up.

She had fainted twice.

Once in the kitchen, the sound of a glass shattering as she hit the floor. Once alone in her room, waking up confused, the ceiling spinning slowly above her as her heart hammered painfully in her chest.

The doctor had been calm. Reassuring. Too calm.

Post-traumatic stress, he’d said. Her body was still stuck in survival mode, still acting as if the danger hadn’t passed. He talked about adrenaline, about shock, about how fear could live in muscles and nerves long after the mind tried to move on. He prescribed pills—small, white, harmless-looking things meant to “take the edge off.” For the dizziness. For the headaches. For the chest pain.

They barely helped.

They dulled things, maybe. Took the sharpest corners off the fear. But the pain still came. The tightness still returned. And no pill could quiet the feeling that something deeper was wrong.

Blair knew it was more than that.

She felt it in the way her heart raced when it shouldn’t. In the way her chest ached even on calm days. In the way her body reacted before her thoughts could catch up, as if it remembered something her mind was trying desperately to forget.

Still, she smiled.

She joked with Dustin. Teased the boys. Rolled her eyes and laughed like everything was normal. She became very good at pretending—good at hiding the tremor in her hands, the moments when she needed to sit down, the way she sometimes pressed her palm to her chest just to make sure her heart was still beating.

Nancy helped. More than Blair ever expected.

Some nights they sat on Nancy’s bed or on the floor of her room, talking in low voices while the rest of the house slept. They didn’t always talk about the monster or the blood or the fear. Sometimes they talked about school, about movies, about nothing at all. Nancy understood the silences. She didn’t push. She didn’t pretend everything was okay when it wasn’t. And when Blair’s hands shook, Nancy noticed—quietly handing her a glass of water, changing the subject, staying close.

Jonathan… Jonathan was different.

Somehow, without either of them really meaning to, he had become her safest place.

They spent long hours together—driving nowhere in particular, sitting on the hood of his car, talking in half-finished sentences. With Jonathan, Blair didn’t have to pretend. She could admit she was scared. That she still checked locks twice. That sometimes she woke up gasping for air with her heart trying to tear its way out of her chest.

Jonathan listened. Really listened. He never rushed to fix things or explain them away. He just stayed. Offered quiet understanding, the kind that didn’t need words. They had survived something together, and that created a bond that felt deep and unbreakable.

With him, she felt… steady. Anchored.

With Steve, everything was… fine. Surprisingly fine.

She had accepted it—truly accepted it—that they were better as friends. That whatever had once fluttered painfully in her chest had settled into something calmer, safer. They talked sometimes, hung out now and then. Easy conversations. Familiar smiles. No expectations. No confusion.

The butterflies were gone.

She could finally see him clearly. Not as the boy she had once fallen for in the middle of chaos, not as the person who had pulled her out of danger, not as the reason her heart used to race for entirely different reasons.

It was not her Steve anymore.

Just Steve.

Her friend.

Or so she told herself—quietly, carefully—hoping that if she repeated it enough times, her heart would believe it too.

Now she stood in the Henderson living room, a book tucked under one arm, her car keys dangling from her fingers, waiting for her brother.

Claudia Henderson, relaxed in her recliner with Mews, sprawled across her chest. The TV murmured in the background as a Reporter discussed a murder-suicide and a police chase in Pittsburgh.

“Dusty! Watch it!” Claudia snapped. “You almost hit Mews!”

“Sorry!” Dustin called, already crouching. “Can I check under your cushion?”

Claudia groaned. “Dusty—”

“Mom, this is an emergency! PLEASE!”

She sighed dramatically and stood up. Dustin immediately flipped the cushion off the chair.

His eyes widened.

Two shiny quarters.

“Jackpot!” he yelled. “Love you, Ma!”

He kissed her cheek and sprinted past Blair.

“Hey!” Blair laughed. “You ready, millionaire?”

Dustin grinned. “Always.”

They climbed into Blair’s car, Dustin already pulling out his walkie-talkie as she started the engine.

“Lucas, you copy?” Dustin said. “I’ve got four quarters! What’s your haul?”

Lucas’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Take your puny haul and multiply it by five.”

“Five dollars?!” Dustin yelped. “How—?!”

“While you were scrounging around like a homeless bum, I mowed Old Man Humphrey’s lawn—”

“Old Man Humphrey’s got that kinda cash—?!”

“Just call Mike already. The Palace closes in three hours.”

“You call Mike—”

“I have to shower. From doing real work. Like a man. Over and out.”

Dustin rolled his eyes and clicked the button again. “Mike, do you copy? Mike?!”

“…Yeah. I—I copy.”

“Jesus. Finally. What are you doing on this channel?”

“…Nothing.”

“Lucas and I have six bucks total. What’s your haul?”

“I—I don’t know yet—”

“What do you mean you don’t know yet?!”

“Just hold on—call Will.”

Blair parked outside the arcade and killed the engine. “Six bucks?” she teased. “Wow. Big spenders.”

Dustin scoffed. “Hey, some of that money is technically yours.”

She reached over and lightly smacked the back of his head. “Idiot.”

Lucas and Mike pulled up moments later, bikes skidding to a stop. Blair watched them talk, but her attention drifted.

For a second, she thought she smelled smoke.

Her chest tightened.

It’s over, she reminded herself. It’s gone.

“Blair?” Dustin’s voice snapped her back. “You okay?”

She blinked and nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Joyce’s car rolled in nearby. Will sat in the passenger seat, Jonathan driving. Blair’s face softened.

“I’ll be right back,” Blair said, already stepping away from the boys.

She crossed the parking lot toward Joyce’s car, her steps slowing when she caught Jonathan’s eye. He was leaning against the driver’s door, arms crossed, exhaustion still clinging to him in a way that never quite went away.

Jonathan smiled when he saw her. A small, genuine smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she answered softly.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of the arcade machines spilled out through the open doors behind her, distant and comforting.

She glanced toward the car. Will sat inside, staring out the window, quieter than the others but very much there.

“How is he?” Blair asked.

Jonathan followed her gaze. “Better,” he said. “He doesn’t talk much about… any of it. But he laughs again. That counts for something.”

Blair nodded. “Yeah. It does.”

She hesitated, fingers curling slightly as if bracing herself. “I’ll keep an eye on him. While he’s here. Make sure nothing—” She stopped herself, swallowing. “Nothing weird happens.”

Jonathan looked at her more closely then. “You don’t have to do that,” he said gently.

“I know,” she replied. “I want to.”

He exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. “You’re good with them. With all of them. They listen to you.”

She gave a faint smile. “I just… I know what it’s like to be scared and not say it out loud.”

Jonathan nodded slowly, understanding far too well. “Yeah.”

A quiet settled between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence shared by people who had seen too much and survived anyway.

“Hey,” Jonathan said after a beat. “If you ever need anything—anything at all—you know you can call me, right?”

Blair looked at him, surprised but grateful. “Same goes for you.”

He smiled again. “Thanks. Really.”

She returned the smile, softer this time. “Anytime.”

Blair stepped back, giving Will one last glance through the window before turning toward the arcade again, unaware of how much that promise—I’ll keep an eye on him—meant to Jonathan.

Inside the arcade, the boys crowded around DRAGON’S LAIR.

Dustin was playing. And panicking.

“Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, I’m in uncharted territory here—”

“Get ready to attack—get ready—” Lucas urged.

“You’ve got this,” Will said.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up—!”

DIRK THE DARING dodged vicious attacks, reached for the MAGIC SWORD—

FWOOM.

ENGULFED IN FIRE.

GAME OVER.

“No no no no!” Dustin shouted, smacking the machine. “I hate this overpriced bullshit—”

“You’re just not nimble enough,” Lucas said smugly. “You’ll get there one day. Until then, Princess Daphne is mine.”

The top score read: LUCAS.

“Whatever,” Dustin muttered. “I’m still tops in Centipede and Dig Dug—”

“You sure about that?” a voice said.

KEITH approached, munching on Puffy Cheetos.

They rushed to Dig Dug.

The username blinked on the screen:

MADMAX.

“No no no no—!”

“Seven hundred and fifty thousand points?” Will gasped.

“That’s impossible,” Mike said.

Dustin spun on Keith. “Who’s Mad Max?!”

“Better than you,” Keith shrugged.

“Is it you?”

“I despise Dig Dug.”

“Then who is it?!”

“You want information…” Keith’s eyes slid past Mike. Past Lucas. They landed on Blair.

Blair stiffened immediately.

Before Keith could even open his mouth again, Dustin jumped in front of her like a human shield. “Absolutely not.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“You were about to,” Dustin snapped. “And whatever it is, the answer’s no.”

Blair forced an awkward smile from behind him, already shaking her head. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

Keith crossed his arms. “Wow. Protective much?”

“I am not prostituting my sister to this idiot,” Dustin shot back. “No offense.”

Keith blinked. “That was entirely offensive.”

Lucas sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Dustin, come on. It’s just a date.”

Dustin spun on him. “Just a date? With him? Have you seen his face? His personality? His everything?”

“Hey!” Keith protested. “I have layers.”

“Yeah,” Dustin said. “Like mold.”

Mike stepped in, trying to reason with him. “Dustin, we just need the information. One date. That’s it.”

Blair leaned out slightly from behind Dustin. “Guys, I don’t have to—”

“No,” Dustin cut in immediately. “You do not have to do anything. Especially not this.”

Lucas groaned. “We’re talking about Dig Dug glory here.”

“And we’re talking about my sister’s dignity,” Dustin fired back. “Which ranks higher.”

Keith looked at Blair again. “Look, it’s not like I’m asking for marriage. Just popcorn. Maybe a soda.”

Blair smiled politely, clearly uncomfortable, and shook her head again. “Sorry. Still no.”

Keith shrugged. “Your loss.”

Dustin smirked. “Trust me, it’s really not.”

The boys exchanged looks—defeated, frustrated—but there was no arguing with Dustin when he planted his feet like that. Blair rested a hand briefly on his shoulder, grateful, even as she tried to ignore the tight flutter in her chest.

Normal, she thought.

This was normal now.

And she hoped—more than anything—that it would stay that way.

The boys were still arguing, voices overlapping, hands waving, Dustin and Lucas going back and forth while Mike tried—and failed—to restore order.

Blair, standing a few steps behind them, stopped listening.

Something felt… off.

Her eyes scanned the arcade automatically, the flashing lights, the humming machines, the crowd of kids moving back and forth. Then her gaze froze.

Will wasn’t there.

Her heart slammed hard against her ribs, so fast it hurt. A sharp, familiar pain bloomed in her chest as her breath caught. No. No, no, no. Her vision blurred at the edges, the colors of the arcade smearing together.

“Will?” she called, her voice steady despite the panic crawling up her spine.

No answer.

Her hand pressed lightly against her chest as she forced herself to breathe. He’s fine. He’s just… around. He’s always quiet. He’s okay. She repeated it in her head like a prayer.

She turned, scanning again—and then she saw him.

Outside.

Through the glass doors, Will stood alone in the cold night air, staring up at the sky, the neon lights of the arcade reflecting faintly on his face.

Relief hit her so suddenly her knees almost gave out.

“Will,” she called again, louder now.

He blinked, like he was waking up from a dream. His eyes focused on her, confused, disoriented.

Blair stepped closer, pushing the door open. “Hey,” she said gently. “Are you okay?”

Will nodded slowly. “Yeah. I just… I needed some air.”

She studied his face for a moment longer than necessary, searching for something she couldn’t quite name. When she didn’t see it, she let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Come on,” she said softly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go back inside. The others are losing their minds over Dig Dug.”

Will managed a small smile and let her guide him back into the warmth and noise of the arcade, the doors closing behind them as the lights and sounds swallowed them whole again.

But Blair’s heart was still racing.

And she knew—deep down—that fear like that didn’t come from nowhere.

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