Chapter Text
“Mike,” Eleven sighed, and looked at the teddy bear clutched in her elbow. “Remember that day? At the cabin?” She pulled on her fingers, facing him but staring at the ceiling. “You were talking? To Max?”
“Um…” Mike tapped his fingers against his jeans, trying to buy time for an excuse.
The house was all but empty, seventeen years of the Byers’ family packed up and put away in the back of the moving truck parked out front. There was a clear quality to their voices, unhindered by objects of nostalgia. In the front room, they could hear Lucas and Max serenading a groaning Dustin.
Mike managed a neutral expression. “No. I don’t think I follow.”
“You talked about your feelings,” Eleven continued. “Your heart.”
“Oh,” Mike panicked. “Oh, yea, that—um—” and he leaned to the side, taking a half step to look beyond Eleven and out into the barren hallway. “What was that?”
Frowning, Eleven glanced over her shoulder. “I didn’t hear anything…”
“I heard Will calling,” and Mike marched around her, leaving a wide berth so they wouldn’t touch. He picked up speed as he crossed the threshold of the doorway, speaking back at her. “I’ll see you outside!”
“Mike?” Eleven turned to watch him go. “Mike!”
The house went quiet as he disappeared, the sound of a door creaking open and shut exposing his escape. And then the faces of their friends leaned into view. Lucas and Max were opposite Dustin, all three of them sparing her sad looks from the end of the hall. But it was Will, edging around the doorframe from where he had been sorting out the last of the bathroom next door, that caused Eleven to break down. She crumbled.
Will didn’t quite catch her, meeting her halfway to the carpet at a kneel. He folded her into his chest, the old teddy bear squashed between them.
“It’s okay,” he whispered into her hair, petting circles into her spine. “It’s okay.”
—
Outside, Jonathan and Nancy sat on the hood of his rusty old car.
Tangent to them, Steve looked through Jonathan’s old camera. “Come on, dweebs,” he urged. “Do something cute.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes, leaning back on his hands. “Like what?”
Nancy bit her lips together to hide a smile, tilting close to speak into his ear. “You were pretty cute last—”
“Nance!” Jonathan hissed, heat flushing over his cheeks.
They angled towards each other, eyes meeting and arms tangling together. He felt her hand slip down his spine, a thumb hooking into the back of his jeans where no one could see. The camera flashed.
“Better,” Steve tilted the camera away to check the dials and wind the film. “A picture of young love.”
“Jealous?” Nancy teased.
“Ha ha,” Steve narrowed his eyes at them. “Rub it in.”
Jonathan recognized a wicked gleam in her eye. But before she could say anything deprecating to either him or Steve, the front door opened and Mike tripped onto the porch. The three older teens turned, drawn to the sound. Nancy rolled her eyes and leaned into Jonathan, who tucked his arm around her waist.
Steve frowned, letting the camera hang around his neck. “You okay, Wheeler?”
“Fine!” Mike squeaked, beelining for the open truck. He climbed inside, disappearing from sight and clambering towards the back of the cube.
Jonathan watched as Nancy and Steve shared a silent conversation. Steve widened his eyes, flailing one hand towards the back of the truck. Nancy shrugged, her brows wrinkling together. And Jonathan laughed as they both rolled their eyes, but it was Steve who rounded to the back of the vehicle.
Then Nancy rested her temple on Jonathan’s shoulder. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Yea,” Jonathan relaxed, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I’m going to miss you, too.”
—
Across town, Robin was serenaded as she walked up Gareth’s driveway to wait out Corroded Coffin's semi-regular band practice. The lead singer, Jeff, shimmied behind his microphone, screaming alongside a complicated jumble of chords. She came to a stop just outside the open garage, crossing her arms and waiting.
They finished with a crashing drum solo, Gareth winking as he stood up to silence the cymbals. “Buckley—” he started.
“I’m not here for you,” she shook her head, and made a decisive 45 degree turn towards the final two members of Corroded Coffin. She pointed at the lead guitarist. “Munson.”
Eddie gestured at himself, mouthing a surprised sound and raising his brow. “Whatever could I help you with, Buckley?”
“Keith is still afraid of you.”
Laughing, Eddie rocked on his heels and stepped backwards towards the shitty, stained couch pushed against the wall beside the set. “Kiss a boy once, and suddenly you’re a boogeyman,” he wagged his brows at Robin.
She side eyed Gareth as she followed him. “Wish I had that effect.”
“Come on, Buckley,” Gareth grinned from his stool, picking up a rolling beat on the snare. “One more chance, I’ll convert you.”
“Gross,” she gagged.
Swinging his guitar onto his back, Eddie combed his hair away from his face and reached for the metal lunch kit wedged between a cushion and a backpack. “How much?”
“What will—” she hummed as she pulled a fistful of bills from her jacket. Counting them off, then tucked two bills back into her pocket. “—ten get him?”
Eddie grinned. “I like the way you do business, Buckley.”