Chapter Text
By October, Letty’s days were running together.
She couldn’t tell if that meant things were getting better or worse, but it didn’t matter — there wasn’t time to stop and think about it anyway.
The Chevy coughed twice before turning over, the whole cabin shivering with the sound. She scraped at the thin frost feathered across the windshield with a cassette case, muttering to herself, teeth chattering through the early cold.
El’s voice floated from inside — “You’re gonna be late!” — and Letty yelled back, “We’re all gonna be late!”
She was balancing a travel mug between her knees and flipping flashcards on the steering wheel by the time they hit the main road.
El and Max were arguing about mixtapes.
The heater squealed.
The defrost light flickered.
It was noise — blessed, constant noise — and Letty clung to it like it was oxygen.
By second period she’d already been cornered four separate times.
First by Mrs. Kowalski, standing outside the teacher’s lounge with an armful of papers.
“Charlotte, sweetie— you’re headed toward the office, right? Could you drop these copies off for me?”
Letty wasn’t, but she smiled anyway. “Sure thing.” The woman pressed the stack into her hands, relief softening her features.
“You’re a lifesaver, dear.”
Letty grinned, already backing down the hall. “Yeah, well, it’s early yet.”
Then in the stairwell, she ran into two sophomores she recognized from the tutoring board— Darla and Jen, whispering over a test grade like they were planning a funeral.
When they spotted her, they lit up.
“Letty! You still do tutoring, right? Mr. Parker said you’re, like, really good with essays.”
Letty balanced the stack of copies on her hip. “Sure. What class?”
“English— we’ve got that new sub, and he hates us.”
“Welcome to the club,” she said dryly. “Meet me in the library after last bell, okay?”
Their relief was almost embarrassing.
“You’re the best!” Darla said, already dragging Jen away.
Halfway through class change for third period, she passed the library and caught Mrs. Ives wrestling a wobbling cart of books. Without thinking, Letty set down her own stack of notes and grabbed the other side.
“Oh, Charlotte, you don’t have to—”
“It’s fine, I’ve got ten minutes before class,” Letty said, pushing the cart inside.
Ten minutes turned into twenty. By the time she finally got to class, dust clung to her sleeves, and she had an excused note dangling from her fingers.
At lunch, she’d barely sat down to sort through the library returns when Dustin dropped into the seat across from her.
“Okay, hypothetical,” he said, mouth full of tater tots, “how hard would it be to organize the AV room wiring before Saturday?”
Letty blinked. “Why are you asking me that? You have, like, an entire club.”
“Yeah, but you’re freakishly organized, and—”
“Let me guess. Everyone else bailed.”
He grinned. “You’re scary perceptive.”
She sighed, stamping the inside of the book with the day's date. “Fine. I can stop by after class tomorrow, but I’m not labeling anything sticky.”
“Deal!” Dustin hopped up, rushing toward the library doors where Mike was propping them open, “She said yes!”
“Of course she did!”
It was too much — which meant it was perfect.
Idle hands were the devil’s plaything, and Letty Hopper had no intention of ever being still again.
The day blurred after that — a looping montage of corridors, notebooks, fluorescent light.
Chrissy appeared between classes, all soft pinks and perfume, her smile bright enough to cut through the gray hum of lockers and chatter.
“You’re like a busy bee lately,” she said, voice lilting. “Do you ever sit still anymore?” She reached a hand toward Letty then, fingers slightly brushing against her own.
Letty blinked, hands tightening around binders and papers. “I like staying busy.”
Chrissy fell into step beside her, ponytail bouncing, the hem of her skirt brushing against Letty’s jeans.
“Yeah, but you’ve got those college letters already, right? So why keep running yourself into the ground? You that bored?”
Letty’s shoulders lifted, a small sigh escaping her. “Maybe,” she said finally. “Maybe I like it. Keeps me from thinking too hard.”
Chrissy arched a brow, that teasing tone curling back into her voice. “That’s not exactly healthy, Charlotte.”
“It’s better than sitting around doing nothing,” Letty shot back, her smile sharp but tired. “A busy mind’s a busy body, right? And don’t start with me, Cunningham — you run yourself ragged with cheer and homework, so you’re the last person who gets to scold me.”
Chrissy’s mouth opened — ready with a retort — but Letty had already turned sharply down another hallway, pony-tail swinging behind her like a punctuation mark. “I’ve gotta grab a few things before the end of the day,” she called over her shoulder. “Lunch tomorrow, yeah? I promise.”
Chrissy slowed, watching her go. “You promise a lot,” she murmured to herself — but Letty was already gone, swallowed back up by the noise of the day.
Chrissy lingered at the end of the hallway long after Letty disappeared around the corner. The bell rang, lockers slammed, but she didn’t move — her fingers still warm from where they’d brushed Letty’s.
She wasn’t sure when concern started to outweigh amusement. At first it had just been charming — Letty’s little whirlwind routine, the way she filled every spare second with motion like she was afraid to stop. But lately it felt heavier. There was a look behind her smile now, like she was trying to outpace something only she could see.
Chrissy hugged her books to her chest, watching the last flickers of movement fade into the crowded corridor.
“You promise a lot,” she murmured again, but softer this time — half prayer, half plea.
By the time the final bell rang, the sun had already dipped low enough to stain the hallways orange.
Letty stacked her notebooks into her bag, the day’s noise finally thinning to something close to silence. Darla and Jen had been quick studies — the essays weren’t half as bad as they’d thought. Letty kept their rewrites tucked safely into her folder to mark up later, promising to slide them into their lockers before first period tomorrow.
By four o’clock, she’d made good on her last promise of the day:
The AV room smelled like dust and old carpet, reels piled like skeletons on the counter. Dustin was hovering by the projector, squinting at the reel threading machine while Mike sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by cables and half-labeled film cases.
“Since when do you even know how to splice film?” Dustin asked, watching Letty squint at the mechanism, tongue between her teeth.
“Since five minutes ago,” she said flatly, guiding the strip through.
Mike muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, we’re doomed.
Letty shot him a look, then returned to the machine, eyes flicking between her hands and the set of hastily written instructions taped to the wall. “Who even wrote these?” she mumbled. “Chicken scratch. If we blow something up, I’m blaming the penmanship.”
“At least the instructions are helpful?” Dustin offered, hopeful.
“Barely,” Letty said, though her tone softened.
She leaned back, rubbing her palms against her jeans, the hum of the projector filling the quiet. “So,” she said after a moment, “how’s Hellfire going?”
Dustin immediately brightened, mouth opening to launch into a full-scale explanation — but Mike caught the look on his face and cut in smoothly. “It’s good. Campaign’s solid. Might need to borrow more nail polish this weekend, though.”
Letty huffed out a laugh. “Oh, sure. Priorities.”
“Absolutely,” Mike said, mock-serious. “You can’t summon a demon with chipped polish.”
Dustin groaned. “We’re never telling Eddie you said that.”
Letty smiled, soft and a little tired, watching the two of them bicker — their easy rhythm, the simple comfort of it. She glanced back to the reel, the steady whir of it spinning like a heartbeat. For the first time all day, she let herself breathe, just once, before the world started moving again.
The projector finally slowed, the reel clicking softly as it spun to a stop. Letty reached up, switching it off. The room fell into a hush — only the faint buzz of the fluorescents and the scrape of Dustin’s sneakers as he and Mike packed up cables.
“Thanks for the help,” Mike said, lifting a hand in an awkward half-wave.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Letty said, flicking the switch on the wall. “We’ll see if it actually plays tomorrow.”
Their laughter trailed her into the hall.
She tugged on her jacket, the chill of late September leaking through the glass doors as she stepped outside. The parking lot shimmered faintly with the last of the afternoon light, asphalt glittering where rain had dried.
Max was carving lazy circles on her skateboard near the curb, El calling out questions from a crumpled notebook while Will sat on the hood of Letty’s Chevy, acting as referee.
“Who was the sixteenth president?” El shouted.
“Lincoln,” Max answered, not even slowing down.
“Capital of Nebraska?”
“Boring,” Max yelled back, swerving wide enough that Will ducked, laughing.
Letty leaned against the car, watching them. “You know,” she said, “if this is how you’re studying, I’m a little terrified for your grades.”
Will grinned. “She gets them right half the time.”
“Half?” Max shouted, spinning around to face them, hair flying. “Try eighty percent!”
Letty smiled, shaking her head. “Sure, champ.”
For a while, they just existed in that soft, ordinary space — the lot slowly emptying, the sky turning bruised and gold. Will talked about a new painting project for art class, El chattered about a book report, and Max pretended not to listen until she couldn’t resist correcting their dates.
But underneath it, Letty could feel the thread tug — the way Max’s voice dimmed when a group of older girls walked by on the far side of the lot, how El’s laughter faltered just a second too long before it picked up again.
Letty didn’t say anything. She just straightened, called out that it was time to go, and waited for them to pile into the car.
As she drove them home, the radio hummed low — something soft and familiar — and Letty’s reflection caught in the window. The bruise along her jaw had nearly vanished, the skin healed smooth. But she could still feel it sometimes, a phantom ache that pulsed whenever she slowed down too long.
So she didn’t.
The kitchen smelled like takeout — salt, grease, and the faint sweetness of the milkshakes sweating on the table. They’d squeezed in tight: El and Max shoulder to shoulder on one side, Will hunched over a burger opposite them, his elbows nearly bumping the ketchup bottle.
Letty sat sideways at the head of the table, one leg tucked under her, balancing her plate in her lap. “If anyone tells Hopper we ate this,” she said, mouth full, “I’ll deny everything.”
Will smirked around his straw. “What’s he gonna do? Arrest us for cholesterol?”
“Probably,” Letty said. “Man arrests people for jaywalking; heart disease would be a step up.”
The laughter was small but real. It died down only when Will picked at the edge of his bun, eyes darting toward the window.
“Some of the guys on the basketball team were talking again,” he said after a beat. “About Hellfire. Said we’re Satanists or something. They think it’s funny.”
Letty frowned. “They’re idiots.”
Will toyed with a fry, voice lower now. “They called Mike a cult freak last week. Said I was his altar boy.”
Max made a face. “Gross.”
Letty’s jaw clenched. “And no one said anything?”
Will shrugged. “If we talk back, they just laugh harder.”
El’s hand brushed his. “We could tell Mr. Clarke.”
Will shook his head. “Not worth it. They’ll just call us tattletales too.”
Letty leaned her cheek into her palm, studying them. The fluorescent light made the bruising along her jaw look older, almost healed.
“You know,” she said, “you three have a really bad habit of thinking keeping quiet fixes things.”
Max snorted. “You’re one to talk.”
Letty’s smile tilted. El twirled her straw, her tone careful. “We didn’t want to make it worse.”
“Sometimes worse is what makes people stop,” Letty said.
The table went quiet again — the hum of the fridge, the tick of the clock.
“The girls,” El started, looking at the table instead of at Letty.
Max was half-slouched beside her, picking at her fries. “It’s fine. Girls are just—” she made air quotes “—bitches. Billy says ignore it and they’ll get bored.”
Letty blinked slowly. “Billy’s great and all, but he’s not exactly the authority on girl problems.”
Max rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, he’s the only one who doesn’t freak out about it.”
El glanced up then, and that look said everything. The way her mouth pressed tight, the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her napkin.
“They followed us into the locker room again,” she murmured. “Said Max was only on the team because Coach felt sorry for her. And that I'm a freak that cheats on tests.”
“And you ignored it?”
“Yeah,” Max said quickly. “Like Billy said.”
“That’s not ignoring,” Letty said. “That’s swallowing poison and calling it dinner.”
Max’s brow furrowed. “What’re we supposed to do, then?”
Letty’s tone stayed light, almost teasing, but her eyes sharpened. “You tell them to mind their own damn business. And if they don’t listen—”
El’s hand brushed her wrist, a small warning. “We can handle it,” she said softly.
Letty exhaled through her nose, forcing a smile. “I know you can. I’m just saying….” she tapped her nail against the table, eyes sharp on her burger wrapper.
“You gotta decide what you’re willing to let slide.”
Max muttered, “So we slide everything, then?”
Letty’s gaze flicked up. “Not everything.” Something cold flickered in her voice, enough to make Will shift in his seat. The rest of dinner was quieter. The kind of quiet that buzzed under the skin.
When they finally cleared the table, Letty stood at the sink with her hands under the hot water too long, the steam fogging the window.
Her reflection blurred and sharpened in the glass — a flash of the bruise that was gone, the memory that wasn’t.
Max leaned against her locker, arms crossed, watching Lucas fiddle with the strap of his backpack.
He’d been hovering nearby for a full minute before finally blurting, “You good? You’ve been kinda… off lately.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Off?”
“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “You barely talk to me anymore. You and El both.”
Max’s jaw tightened. “Maybe we’re just busy. Not all of us have time for our old friends now that we’re, y’know—” she waved vaguely “—cool with basketball guys.”
Lucas frowned. “That’s not fair, Max.”
She opened her mouth to fire back, but another voice cut through the hallway noise.
“Sinclair!”
Chance jogged up, clapping a hand onto Lucas’s shoulder. “Man, perfect timing. You’re friends with her sister, right?”
Lucas blinked. “Her sister?”
“Charlotte Hopper,” Chance said, grinning. “You know if she’s seeing anybody?”
Lucas froze. “…Why?”
Chance turned, spotting Max still standing there. “Mayfield, right? Billy’s kid sister? You hang with the younger Hopper, don’t you? Do me a solid — Charlotte seeing anyone?”
Max’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah, tons. A whole line of guys just waiting to get their hearts stomped.”
Chance’s grin faltered. “So… that’s a yes?”
“That’s a ‘mind your business,’” she snapped, brushing past him down the hall.
Lucas stared after her, still confused. “Why’re you even asking?”
Chance just shrugged, smirk sliding back into place. “We talked at the bonfire. She seemed cool, y’know? Then that freak—” he jerked his chin vaguely toward the parking lot, meaning Eddie “—called her over, and it killed the vibe. Figured I’d try again. Chrissy won’t help me out, so maybe you could?”
Before Lucas could answer, Chance spotted his target.
Letty was walking toward the cafeteria with Chrissy, the two of them half-laughing about something.
“Okay, champ, good talk,” Chance said, patting Lucas’s shoulder again before stepping forward.
“Hey, Charlotte!”
Letty turned, blinking. Chance leaned against a locker like he’d practiced.
“Didn’t think the Library Wraith actually left the library,” he teased.
Letty arched a brow. “Didn’t think the basketball team actually read.”
He laughed, all confidence and cologne. “Fair. Maybe you can teach me sometime.”
Her gaze flicked from the jacket to his grin — and she heard Will’s voice from the night before, quiet and tired: They called Mike a cult freak. Said I was his altar boy.
“I don’t tutor bullies,” she said simply.
Chance blinked. “I’m not—”
“Sure,” she said, brushing past him. “And I’m the Homecoming Queen.”
Chrissy bit back a laugh, following after her. Letty’s pulse still thrummed hot under her skin.
“Catch you before class,” she said to Chrissy, her voice light but her hands shaking just a little as she walked away.
By last bell, Letty’s body felt like static.
She’d forgotten to eat, was covered in chalk dust, and had somehow agreed to three new things she couldn’t even remember saying yes to. Her brain buzzed like a light that wouldn’t turn off.
Her hands shook faintly as she zipped up her bag — a tremor she pretended not to notice.
Chrissy was waiting by the library doors, a water bottle in one hand and car keys in the other. She looked like she’d stepped out of a catalog — soft cardigan, hair shining gold under the flickering hallway light.
“You’re not a ghost, you know,” she said, pressing the bottle into Letty’s palm. “You can rest.”
Letty huffed a laugh that didn’t quite land. “If I stop, I’ll think. If I think, I’ll fall.”
Chrissy’s smile faded, replaced by something quieter. “Then I guess I’ll just catch you.”
Letty blinked, startled — then laughed, the sound soft and rough around the edges. “God, you’re too sweet, Cunningham.”
Chrissy shrugged. “Someone has to be.”
They started down the hall together, the echo of their footsteps filling the space where their words should’ve gone.
Halfway to the doors, Letty asked, “Hey, uh — it’s not any of your girls, right? The ones giving El and Max crap?”
Chrissy’s head snapped up. “No. No way. Coach would drop them in a heartbeat if she even thought that was happening.”
“Good.” Letty’s tone was clipped, too sure. “Because if I catch anyone—”
Chrissy nudged her shoulder gently. “Hey. I know. But you don’t have to go nuclear every time someone messes with the people you love.”
Letty gave a humorless little smile. “Sure I do. That’s kind of my thing.”
Chrissy sighed, not arguing, just watching her — the dark circles under her eyes, the too-tight grip on her backpack strap, the way she was burning herself alive just to feel warm.
“C’mon,” she said finally, nodding toward the parking lot. “Let’s get food. Maybe something that isn’t caffeine and spite.”
Letty smiled, small but real this time. “Spite has protein.”
Chrissy laughed, slinging her arm over Letty’s shoulder as they pushed through the doors into the early evening light.
Friday night the school was half-dark, the hum of the fluorescent hallway lights echoing through the empty lot. Letty’s headlights washed across the cracked pavement as she pulled into her usual spot by the gym doors, the radio low with some half-static song she didn’t know the name of.
Hellfire nights always ran long, and she didn’t mind waiting. It gave her time to breathe — to sort through papers, scribble reminders to herself, let the world be quiet.
But tonight, another car was already parked there.
The BMW.
She blinked, killing her engine.
Steve Harrington was leaning against the hood, hands jammed in his jacket pockets, the orange light from the lamppost cutting a soft line across his face.
“Hey,” he called, voice hesitant but easy enough to sound like it wasn’t.
“Hey,” she echoed, climbing out and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “You lost?”
He smirked. “Nope. Guess we’re just both on Dustin duty tonight.”
Her brows knit. “He didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“Yeah, well, he said you had tutoring. I figured, just in case…” He trailed off with a small shrug. “Didn’t wanna leave the kid stranded.”
Letty exhaled through her nose, amused despite herself. “That’s… actually responsible of you, Harrington.”
“I have my moments.”
There was a pause — not sharp, just thick. The kind of silence that hummed with too many unsaid things.
Letty leaned against her car door, arms crossed. “You can go home, y’know. I’ve got it.”
“I know.” He nodded toward the gym doors. “But if they’re running late, I figured it’s safer if we both wait. It’s dark out, you know. Bats. Demogorgons. PTA moms.”
That pulled a small smile out of her. “Scary stuff.”
“The worst.”
They fell quiet again. The muffled sound of laughter drifted from somewhere inside, blending with the hum of the vending machine by the door.
Steve shifted his weight. “You look—” He stopped himself, caught between words.
“Tired?” she offered, half-smiling.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “But I was gonna say busy.”
“Same thing.”
He huffed a laugh. “Still running on fumes and caffeine?”
“Still breathing, aren’t I?”
He looked at her then, really looked — at the shadows under her eyes, the bruise still faintly visible at her jaw, the way her fingers toyed with the hem of her sleeve when she thought no one noticed.
“Barely,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Letty laughed, quiet and genuine, and Steve felt something in his chest shift — that old familiar ache that hadn’t gone anywhere since the lake.
He cleared his throat. “So… tutoring, huh? That new?”
“The Kids tell you?” She looked down at her shoes. “Helps keep my brain busy.”
“Does it work?”
She smiled without looking at him. “Sometimes.”
He nodded, like that made perfect sense, and they let the silence settle again. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t angry either. Just… unsteady.
After a while, she said, “It’s weird seeing you here.”
“Yeah. Weird being here.” He laughed softly. “Didn’t think I’d get invited back into the Hopper chauffeur rotation.”
Letty tilted her head, studying him. “I didn’t un-invite you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
That stung a little — for both of them — but she didn’t bite. She just sighed and glanced toward the gym. “Guess we’re both gluttons for punishment.”
He smiled faintly. “Guess so.”
Letty leaned her shoulder against the car, eyes following a flickering streetlight across the lot. “Y’know,” she said finally, “no one ever said you couldn’t come around. Just ‘cause things got weird between us doesn’t mean you’re not welcome. The kids still like you. You don’t need an excuse to show up.”
Steve huffed a small laugh, looking down at his shoes. “Yeah, well, been busy with work anyway. Kinda worked out.”
She gave him a look. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
He lifted his head, eyes meeting hers. “Yeah. I know.”
The air stretched thin again, filled with the buzz of the gym lights and distant laughter spilling through the doors.
Steve shifted his weight, rubbing his palms together like he could smooth the moment out. “I missed this,” he said after a beat. “Just… talking.”
Letty exhaled, soft but wary. “We could always talk.”
“Sure,” he said, a little too quick. “It just feels like it always ends in an argument now.” He smiled, but it didn’t stick. “Like we’re some divorced couple who forgot how to be in the same room.”
That earned him a laugh — quiet, rough-edged, but real. “That’s because you don’t know how to leave things alone.”
“I’m not trying to start anything,” he said. “It’s just—”
“It’s just weird for you,” she finished for him, voice sharpening. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one.”
He bristled. “I didn’t mean it like—”
“Steve.” She pressed her fingers against her temple, weary. “You can’t talk without circling back to things. You just… you don’t stop. It’s like you have to keep digging.”
His jaw tightened. “It’s not digging. I’m just—”
“Beating a dead horse?”
“Not to me,” he said quietly, eyes on hers. “It’s not dead to me.”
That landed between them, heavy and brittle.
Letty stared at him for a long moment, her breath slow, controlled. Then she rubbed at her face, thumb brushing the faint bruise along her jaw.
“God,” she muttered. “You just don’t know when to leave shit alone.”
“I’m trying,” he said, the words small, helpless. “I just— I don’t like feeling like you’re mad at me all the time.”
“I’m not mad,” she said, but it sounded like a lie even to her own ears. “I’m just… tired, Steve. That’s all.”
He looked at her then, really looked — at the hollow under her eyes, the way her voice cracked around the edges.
And whatever comeback he’d had died right there.
“Okay,” he said finally.
“Okay,” she echoed, quieter now.
But Steve didn’t move. He shifted his weight, eyes catching hers in the half-light.
“Is it?” he asked.
Letty frowned. “Is what?”
“Dead.” His voice was soft, almost steady. “To you.”
She stared at him, confused, then looked away — at the cracked asphalt, the faint reflection of the gym lights bouncing off the cars. She shifted where she stood, the gravel crunching under her boot.
“I don’t know,” she said finally, shrugging. “Does it matter?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
He took a step closer then — not enough to crowd her, but close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off him. His hand found her wrist, light but there, grounding.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “It’s okay. I get it.”
She huffed out a sharp breath, a small, bitter laugh. “No, you don’t.”
“Yeah, I do,” he said, his voice dipping lower. “You said it yourself, remember?”
Her brows pulled together. “Said what?”
“The thing with you and Eddie.”
Letty blinked, a muscle in her jaw tightening. “There isn’t a thing with me and Eddie.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She pulled her hand free, crossing her arms. “I’m not gonna just bounce between the two of you because one of you decides to stonewall me every other day.”
“I’m not stonewalling you.”
“No,” she said, “but you are sticking your nose into shit again. And it’s not fair. Not to me, not to you, not to him.”
Steve’s mouth twitched, frustration bleeding into his tone. “If he can’t get his head out of his ass long enough to be honest, why does that have to be my problem too?”
“Because it isn’t about you,” she snapped. “I already told you—it’s fucked up to keep bouncing between both of you. It’s not fair to anyone. It just makes it look like I don’t know what I want.”
“I know you’re not indecisive,” he said quickly, too earnest, too raw. “No one thinks that.”
“Really?” she shot back, voice wavering. “Because it feels pretty obvious.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It looks like I’m leading you on,” she said, her words tumbling out faster now. “Like I want him, and then when he pulls away, I run back to you because it’s safe. Like you’re—”
“An afterthought?” he said quietly.
Letty froze, eyes flicking up to his. “No,” she whispered. “Never.”
He swallowed hard. “Then what am I, Letty?”
She hesitated, the world shrinking down to the two of them and the hum of the streetlight overhead.
“You’re…” she started, then stopped, shaking her head with a humorless laugh. “You’re not a period, Steve. You’re a comma. So is he. You’re the same thought, there’s just—” she made a small, helpless gesture between them “—a pause. And isn’t that fucked up enough as it is?”
Steve stared at her like she’d just split him open.
“Yeah,” he said finally, the word quiet, almost reverent. “Yeah, it is.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Just the sound of the wind cutting through the trees, the hum of the parking lot lights, and the muffled laughter seeping from the gym.
Steve broke the silence first. His voice was quieter now, almost careful.
“So that’s the issue then, huh?”
Letty blinked. “What?”
“It’s not me or Eddie,” he said, his gaze fixed on her. “It’s me and Eddie. Or neither of us. That’s what you’re gonna do — wall yourself off if you can’t have both.”
Letty just stared at him for a beat, caught off guard. Her breath hitched, a small, startled laugh breaking out of her.
“That’s— Jesus, Steve, that’s insane.”
“Is it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said too quickly. Her hands went up in a nervous gesture, like she could physically wave off the thought. “It’s not that. I just—” She faltered, looking down. “I feel like no matter who I pick, you two are gonna keep comparing each other. And that’s not fair. To either of you.”
Steve’s jaw shifted, his voice soft but steady. “What if it didn’t have to be a choice?”
Letty’s head snapped up. “What?”
“What if it could be both of us?”
She stared at him, eyes wide, her heartbeat stuttering somewhere between disbelief and panic. “You—” She laughed again, that nervous, high sound that came out when he saw her too clearly. “Wait, are you— are you saying you’re into Eddie like that? Is this some weird roundabout confession?”
He shook his head, frustrated. “No, Letty. That’s not what I— you’re not listening.”
“I am listening,” she said, voice rising. “You’re just— you’re being ridiculous.”
“No,” he said, his voice gentler now, stepping forward. “You’re getting scared.”
Her mouth opened, ready to fire back, but the words caught in her throat.
“I’m trying to give you an answer,” Steve said. “To what you want.”
She shook her head, retreating a half-step. “You’re fine with it in theory, maybe. But in real life? You couldn’t do it. No one could. How would it even work, Steve?”
He reached for her again, hands catching lightly at her forearms — not holding, just steadying. “We could figure it out,” he said quietly. “All of us. We just have to be honest, all get on the same page.”
Letty’s eyes shimmered, her pulse pounding. “You’d just end up hating me,” she whispered. “You and Eddie. It’d all be cute for a few weeks and then it’d explode. It always explodes.”
“Not if we talk,” he said, his thumbs brushing her sleeves. “Not if we actually try. I’m saying— I’m willing to try this thing out. Me, you, and him.”
The gym doors crashed open behind them then — laughter and the thud of sneakers hitting pavement. Will and Mike were racing ahead, Dustin’s voice booming over them.
Letty flinched back, stepping out of Steve’s hands like she’d just woken up from a dream. Her gaze flicked toward the gym — catching sight of Eddie in the doorway, eyes on them.
She didn’t say anything. Just turned on her heel, yanked her car door open, and slid behind the wheel.
“C’mon, guys, let’s go!” she called out, her voice too bright, too tight.
The kids piled in — El waving to Steve, Dustin halfway yelling that he didn’t need to show up, that they were having a fire at the Hopper cabin, while El shouted for him to hurry before Billy dropped off Max.
Steve stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, watching the tail lights fade.
Eddie stepped out fully then, slinging his bag over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked from Steve to the empty lot.
Steve turned to him, exhaling hard.
“We need to talk.”
Eddie stopped halfway across the asphalt, one brow arched. “That sounded serious.”
Steve’s leaning against the side of his car, arms folded tight across his chest. “It is.”
“Let me guess,” Eddie said, slinging his bag into the van’s open door. “You’re here to tell me to stay away from her.”
Steve shook his head. “No. I’m here because I think we’re both already too far in to do that.”
That pulled Eddie up short. The sarcasm faltered, replaced with wary curiosity. “Alright, Harrington. You’ve got my attention.”
Eddie’s van door slammed shut with a hollow clang.
He turned to find Steve still standing there, hands in his pockets, the air between them thick with things neither of them had said.
“You’ve got that look again,” Eddie said, half-smirk curling. “The one that says you’re about to do something stupidly noble.”
Steve huffed. “Something like that.”
“Oh boy,” Eddie muttered. “Let me guess—you’re here to tell me to back off. To give her space. For her own good, or whatever.”
Steve shook his head. “No. That’s the problem. We keep doing that—giving her space, pulling away, thinking it’s the decent thing to do—and it just screws her up worse.”
Eddie squinted at him. “So what’s your big plan, then? Flip a coin? You win heads, I get tails?”
Steve didn’t laugh. “I think we already joked about this, remember? You said something about sharing her.”
Eddie stilled. The memory flashed quick and sharp—him, weeks ago, tossing the line out half-drunk, half-bitter: Maybe we should just share her, huh? And Steve’s glare in response.
Now it landed different.
“Jesus,” Eddie said slowly. “You’re serious.”
Steve didn’t answer right away. He dragged a hand over his face, sighing. “Look, I know how it sounds. But the truth is, she’s torn in half trying to make sense of us. And if I’m honest, I can’t blame her.”
Eddie barked out a laugh, too sharp. “So what—you suddenly woke up polyamorous? This the new enlightened Harrington model?”
Steve’s jaw flexed. “No. I just—can’t keep acting like it’s all black and white. Like if she picks one of us, the other disappears. It doesn’t work that way. Not with her.”
Eddie’s pacing now, fingers twisting his rings. “You realize how nuts this sounds, right? Like we’re about to start some weird commune.”
Steve almost smiled. “Wouldn’t be the strangest thing that’s happened in Hawkins.”
“Not helping,” Eddie muttered, but he stopped pacing. “And what, exactly, do we tell her? ‘Hey Letty, we’ve decided to jointly ruin your life’?”
“I don’t know,” Steve admitted. “But I know she’s already running from us, and pretending this triangle doesn’t exist is just making it worse.”
Eddie’s words hung between them — “You really think she’d even listen?”
Steve paused, then gave a half-shrug.
Eddie stared.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean? You’re standing here talking about both of us getting on a knee for her and you’re not even sure she’d listen?”
Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “She will. She just—she’s probably gonna run first.”
Eddie barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Run? She already does that. Hell, she even said last week she wanted to kiss the both of us when she was drunk.”
That made Steve’s head snap up. “What do you mean, drunk? Letty doesn’t drink like that.”
“Apparently she does,” Eddie shot back. “Chrissy was practically carrying her around once she got plastered.”
Steve frowned. “Since when is Hawkins’ high princess hanging around with Letty?”
Eddie’s hands spread helplessly. “Beats me. But they’re thick as thieves now—showing up to parties, drinking, confessing things she probably doesn’t even remember—”
“Wait.” Steve cut him off. “You called her out on it the next day, right?”
Eddie went silent.
Steve stared. “Oh, my God. You blew it.”
Eddie bristled. “God no, I didn’t— I was trying to talk about it, but she thought I was trying to ignore that she wanted me to kiss her!”
Steve gaped. “She said she wanted to kiss you and you didn’t?”
“She was drunk!” Eddie snapped. “Of course I didn’t take her seriously.”
“Okay, fine,” Steve said, exasperated, “and then when she’s sober, you just—what? Pretend it never happened?”
Eddie threw up his hands. “I was getting there, if you’d just stop interrupting me!” His voice echoed off the asphalt. “Yeah, I feel like an idiot for not kissing her, but in my defense, when we talked she thought I was backing off, and I thought she was trying to backtrack! So now we’re both idiots, and it’s been impossible to talk to her since because she’s running around like a goddamn PTA mom doing everything for everyone and their fucking uncle!”
He stopped, breath ragged.
Steve blinked at him, then let out a slow, resigned sigh. “Okay,” he said finally. “So she’s running. You blew it. I’m losing my mind. And somehow we’re still having the same conversation.”
Eddie scrubbed a hand through his curls, muttering, “Yeah, well, it’s not like you’re making any better headway, are you?”
Steve went silent.
Eddie smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Exactly.”
“Don’t start,” Steve said. “You think this is easy? She’s pulling away from both of us.”
“She’s not pulling away,” Eddie said. “She’s hiding. There’s a difference.”
Steve nodded. “Yeah—and if we push her right now, it might get bad.”
Eddie frowned. “Bad how?”
Steve hesitated. “She’s got this panic thing. When it hits, she shuts down—like, full system crash. It’s why she avoids big scenes.”
Eddie blinked. “Yeah, I know. Crowds freak her out, loud noise, too much motion—she gets weird about it.”
“Exactly,” Steve said. “And she’s acting cagey as hell. I tried to talk to her earlier.”
Eddie looked up sharply. “That why you two looked like a divorced couple trying to reconcile in the parking lot?”
Steve’s brow furrowed. “That was me trying to talk about it.”
Eddie stared. “You talked to her about it?”
“That was obviously before we talked.” Steve said quickly, defensive.
“Eddie’s eyes widened. “Dude. Come on.”
“So, fuck me for showing initiative, I guess.”
Eddie groaned, dragging his hands over his face. “Christ, man. Did she at least seem interested in the idea?”
Steve hesitated. “She… didn’t think it was plausible.”
Eddie’s laugh came out sharp. “Yeah, well, is she really wrong though?”
Steve looked up, jaw tight. “It could work. If we were honest. All of us.”
Eddie squinted. “No offense, Harrington, but you’re not really my type.”
Steve blinked. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Eddie gestured vaguely at him, a crooked grin breaking through. “I’m not against men or anything. You’re just… you know. You.”
Steve frowned, half-amused, half-offended. “Yeah. Thanks for clarifying that, Munson.”
Eddie smirked. “I’m just saying—you’re a little emotionally high-maintenance. Not a bad thing, but you throw you into the mix with Letty and that’s already a lot. I’m not against testing those waters if you really want to try—”
“I do not want to try,” Steve cut in quickly, eyebrows shooting up.
“—but,” Eddie went on as if he hadn’t heard him, “we’d have to get to a good place with her first. Then, maybe, we figure out our own dynamic before we even attempt some grand romance between all three of us.”
Steve blinked. “I’m not into men, Munson.”
Eddie waved a hand. “Relax, big boy, I wasn’t suggesting you top the both of us.”
That made Steve sputter. “If anyone’s topping, it’d be me.”
Eddie barked out a laugh so sharp it echoed across the lot. “Yeah, okay, sure thing, King Steve. Keep telling yourself that.”
Steve’s lips twitched, but the grin still came through. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re delusional,” Eddie shot back, still laughing as he leaned against his van.
The laughter faded into a comfortable quiet, the kind that only came after they’d both worn themselves out arguing. The absurdity of what they were talking about—sharing a girl neither of them could even manage to talk to properly—finally hit them both.
Steve shook his head, smiling despite himself. “She’s gonna kill us.”
Eddie exhaled, eyes softening toward the night sky. “Yeah,” he said, grin fading to something quieter.
“But it might be worth it.”
For a second, they just stood there, shoulder to shoulder in the half-lit parking lot — two guys realizing they’d finally stopped circling the same problem long enough to admit they were on the same side.
Steve exhaled. “So we’re agreed, then? Both of us talk to her — together.”
Eddie nodded slowly. “Together. No ambush, no pressure. Just… honesty.”
“Right,” Steve said. “But if she brings it up first, with either of us — we have the conversation. No running, no bullshit.”
Eddie arched a brow. “That extend to all kinds of initiating?”
Steve gave him a long look. “Yes, that means if she wants a kiss or something, don’t flake out next time, you fucking dweeb.”
Eddie groaned, tipping his head back. “Christ, I’m never living that down.”
“Nope,” Steve said, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “But we talk about it, alright? Even if she doesn’t. We have to be on the same page.”
Eddie offered his hand, the gesture somewhere between truce and pact. “Same page.”
Steve clasped it, the grip firm, both of them fully aware they were walking straight into chaos with eyes wide open.
When they finally let go, the air between them felt different — not settled, exactly, but steady.
For the first time, it didn’t feel like a competition.
It felt like the start of something.