Chapter 1: Introduction and Stage setting/ with Authors note. please read!
Chapter Text
ok so if you dont wanna read the authors note thats fine, i would look at the tags and places of importance im mentioning below. if you dont want too thats also fine, you wont really be missing too much because i'll still touch on it, but I like having a map and place of reference for town stories so im not getting fuckin lost all the time.
A long winded authors note:
Lol ok. So I’ve been writing this off and on for fucking years, when this first started season 1 had just come out and now season 5 is on the way and my ass is married with two fucking kids and it’s honestly insane because I should really rewatch the show but whenever I try I get so irrationally angry? I don’t know if it’s because I now have two small boys and I know the show is fiction and the era is different but yall if my fuckin kid got infected with an interdemensional mind being he would be in so much therapy. Like insane Amounts of therapy. Joyce was not doing enough; none of the adults were and I’m so mad??????
And then I was reading through this; I remembered when I originally wrote this and how young I was and it’s insane to read something younger you wrote; like I can see how excited I was then to write this amidst my own trauma because at the time I was being horribly abused by mother and later on my Father before I was able to move out with friends and actually start my life properly.
And I found all my old notes for how I wanted this to go and Jesus Christ younger me was going through it because this was so fucking sad and it was delving into so much trauma and survivors guilt and maybe I should’ve gotten therapy cause wtf I was not ok. I’m fine now obvi but still.
So yea, we’re going to write this properly; based off all these notes the young 18-19yrold me had about this character that was never supposed to be me, but I think younger me wanted to live and love through her? Like there’s a lot of slice of life themes from josei manga/manga here, a lot of coming of age themes that I obviously wanted to write as a way for myself to deal with the shift from not being a kid but also not being an adult yet? Like it’s there, she just didn’t know how to get it down and applause to her for even attempting it. Like bitch knew what she wanted.
So yea this is all fictional obviously, it will have canon divergence and will go into heavy topics and it’s not going to be light and fluffy the whole time, it will be sad and heartbreaking and younger me really tried to write smut (it was horrible lololol like damn girl it was so bad but you tried, you poor virgin you tried but that is in fact not how sex works but high five for trying) so the characters that are in the main story IE Letty, Eddie Steve etc are 18+ final year of highschool and stuff. Originally homegirl had them like 16-17 which is INSANEEEE like I was really thinking people were fuckin like that in high school? I mean they were, we just weren’t lolol we had to keep our grades up and then get our ass beat by our mom for breathing too loud.
So yea, I tried to keep the original heart of the story and you’ll be able to see the different tone shifts and shit from what I kept from 18-19 year old me. Which also explains the amount of sexual content cause wtf girl. I have changed some stuff, I’m older now so my opinion on stuff has changed, but yea.
This is going to be an OC centric story, if you dont like that, im sorry please move on. I already explained above why im re-writing this, and im posting it cause theres over 300 pages of this shit and someone out there will read it lol
Charlotte, or as we will know her as , Letty, has alot of trauma from her childhood and life before hawkins. it will be referenced, it is important and it will drive some story aspects. She will act as a mirror in alot of ways to El/Jane and Will, this is intentional. This character was originally written by me when I was younger I guess as a way to live a life I wondered about, because surely there was some girl out there living it lol. Letty is 18 going on 19, she will be going through changes, have thoughts and opinions, have some anxiety and PTSD about her past, she will be interested in boys and sex and relationships and blah blah blah young woman coming of age things.
If you dont want to read that, please move on.
Tags and content warnings :
underage drug and alcohol (age accurate), smoking,
domestic abuse (mentioned or implied not overly graphic),
self harm (mentioned not graphic)
,abandonment trauma,
mentions of sexual assault (allegorical over overtly described),
Explicit Sexual Content (consensual, detailed)
Child abuse and neglect
Smoking
Found family
Hurt/comfort but darker
Psychological horror
Emotional intimacy/emotional mess
Horror elements
Angst with hopeful notes
Small town angst and horror
Slice of life with horror elements
Coming of age
1980’s aesthetic
Flaws characters
MFM/MMF
This does take place at the start of season 3, so everything in season 2 got settled and there’s no weird evil sci thing, just the evil of trauma and getting over scars. So we’re starting in the summer. El does not have her powers, and the ages are as such:
Max/El/Will/Lucas/mike/dustin:14-15, when school starts they’re 15 or close to it.
Nancy/Robin/Gareth/Letty:18
Steve/Billy/Jonathan/Argyle:19-20
Eddie: probably just turned 20 lol poor fuckin kid
Because this is a harsh canon divergence I will be making changes for the addition of characters/students earlier, this is important so please read this so you understand what im going for:
Eddie Munson: He's repeating a semester, not a whole year. I dont mind that he kept getting flunked, but I like the idea of him being 19 going on 20 and really just trying to pass English and history before winter break so he can get handed his diploma and go. I also love the idea of him not only helping out his uncle at the shop but Eddie would be weirdly good with writing. his issue with english and history is that its real, his real passion is of course music and DnD, so creative writing and short stuff is what he does in his downtime when he isnt writing music.
Wayne Munson: I love him being a mechanic at Pop's ok. he seems like the type and i love that for him.
Argyle: I did like Argyle and i thought he was a really cute and sweet character, so he will be a transplant. Hoppers trailer is going to be considered Argyles family home, his mom will be a nurse at the hospital and his dad does something in tech idk lol i thought it would be cute! So yea, he works at Luigi's as a driver when he's not manning the front counter
Gareth: Eddies bandmate, works at the Arcade with Letty. Him and Letty are friends and she meets Eddie through him.
Jeff: Corroded coffin member and Hellfire club member.
Freak 1/ Grant: Corroded coffin member, and hellfire club member. I like the idea that he has an older sister who's already graduated.
Keith: Manager at Family video and Palace arcade, very kind and sweet; he'd have a few months on Eddie age wise, so Keith is already 20 going on 21.
Billy Hargrove: He is involved, sorry if you dont like him he has so much to offer to the story along with his shitty dad. Billy still works at the pool, but i like the idea of him learning to fix cars as a way to get zen but also get away from his dad. He's also good with math, idk i feel like it would track for him to just be really fast with numbers but its something he ignores because he enjoys sports far more. We will touch on his mom, ima call her Beth, Hes graduted now, but i like the idea of them having calls to talk and his long term goal is going to be to get out of hawkins and head back to live with her in Cali.
Susan hargrove: Max's mom works at the diner as a waitress along with the small bank as a teller. this is important for the story ok. she is currently still married to Billy's dad.
Neil Hargrove: foreman at Brimborn steel works. long hours, short temper. ha ha.
Dustins mom Claudia: Sweetest single mom, she'd also be a nurse so her being gone for weirdass hours makes sense, more money working the nightshift at Hawkins memorial hospital.
Karen wheeler: Married an older man hoping to get out and yet here she is. She's a kept housewife, Ted makes money as a civil engineer, so hes a bit on the nerdy side and when he leaves for work it really is for work. he's happy with his wife and family and isnt really wanting for more.
Steve parents: Okay, i love the idea they're an older couple who had Steve late in life, hence forth the nice house and shit. They come from money and his dad does something in Advertising/sales, mostly in a tech startup so he's always gone and galavanting around the states and Steves mom follows cause she doesnt trust her husband at all. So steve's been alone since he was in middle school
PLACES OF IMPORTANCE
I like the idea of the old strip malls we have a small towns so that’s here. this is the map im using, i like it alot and i'll be verbally adding things to make it seem more real, but also KUDOS TO THE ORIGINAL MAKER OF THIS MAP ON REDDIT (braiko8 ur the best) OK GOD BLESS YOU. i am just expanding on it a bit more. in my small town growin up we were at least 30-45 minutes away from the mall depending on traffic so that is going to apply here.
We're going to spend alot of time at the cabin, it will have been refurbished to a two bedroom, the girls will share a room and hopper will have his own. They no longer live in Hoppers trailer and its being rented out by Argyles family ok.
So Travel wise the trailer is about a 8-10min walk through the woods to the school. If they stick to the road its about 10 minutes by bike, 5min by car.
so from the cabin to mikes/lucas/max is 30 minutes by bike or 10-15 by car.
Byers/harrington is about 5-10 min by car meaning its close to 15-20 by bike
(if the places are stacked then they share a building, or are set up like a strip mall if that makes sense)
Coffeeshop/book store: Brightsides: by the cinema, more like behind it, so across the street from the library but sharing a lot with the cinema.
Enzos: this is actually in the show, i have this up in this area, seemed like a boujie spot lol
By the general store, :
Hot licks: Record store, it will also double as a small hobby shop. my dad said his town had this, so they had these little model kits and baseball cards on one half and the other just a random assortment of records and comics, they were always a few weeks behind the official release of stuff but if you didnt wanted to travel 30+ minutes out, then it was worth the trip. this also our local radio shack so yea there you go. RIP bob. you were a real one bro.
Golden China: This is literally what the place as called growing up, its so fucking insane but ours was attached to a foodlion (if you know, you know) so this is going to be attached to the general store
Betsy's hair: Hair and Nail salon. Very small and cozy.
So its set up as: Chinese restaurant, general store/Pharmacy, Hot licks, Betsys hair
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Luigis: Is going to be our local pizza place, dad said this was also really common.
Family video: Shares a building with Luigi's, located across the road from the arcade/roller rink
Hawkins Boutique: clothes and shit, we have one here where i currently live but its more like a consignment then a goodwill? Idk i hate man its overpriced. hella clothes and shoes though. so it would be the same? id like to think its a good local place to buy clothes and things to get buy if you dont wanna drive out further. probably jeans, shirts, basic shoes/boots.
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Arcade: Is going to be across the street from family video, theres also going to be an assortment of dumpsters further back near the tree line behind the Arcade, so very ookie-spookie ok?
Jellybeans: Shares a building with the arcade. (small, like tiny roller rink, think like a half-basketball court)shares a building with the arcade and isnt really separated by anything internally. this is really close to a local one we had growing up too that had its own tiny arcade attached, i wanted to incorporate it) has nachos and fountain drinks
Between Motel 6 and forest hills park: Small gas-station called quick stop. its your standard small town thing, chips/beer/smokes, old men sitting outside on fuckin crates smoking and bitching about life. (i get them now) they also have slot machines lol my town also had this shit and it was actually insane.
By the fair ground there is going to be shitty bar/diner called Pocket8 (lol this is actually a bit further out then my current town, but the highway got put in so its in a weirdass part of my county lololol) Loud music, biker bar type shit ok. if you're small town you get it, if youre not idk what to tell you. theres hella 2000's nostalgia here as i write this and also i did drive to my small town my dad still lives in (and our shitty double-wide turned house) and did try to catalogue how its set up so it makes sense.
Pop's Garage: Located by the train tracks, local garage of course.
I'll add more as i think about it, so there will be a marked EDIT by things i've added or moved around.
Chapter 2: Summer of '85
Notes:
i dont have any notes. I will not be re-watching the show ok. I said AU, i dont have 35 hours to dedicate to watching a show between pre-law, work, my crotch goblins and writing fanfiction LOL. so yea miss me with the "that didnt haaaaappen" well it did for me. ok. and i cried. also important note, i didnt even watch season 3 or 4. maybe i will, idk.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The smell of buttered popcorn, cinnamon-sweet cotton candy, and a faint tang of sweat hit as soon as you pushed through the front door. Jelly-Beans was tiny—barely the size of a high school gymnasium, the polished wooden floor glinting under a tangle of neon lights and mirrored disco balls. A low bass line from the house speaker rattled the walls, mixing with the squeak of roller skates and the occasional clang of a fall.
Along one side, a low row of vinyl benches and chipped Formica tables marked the unofficial boundary between the rink and Palace Arcade, where pinball machines flashed relentlessly, claw machines rattled, and the smell of hot metal and plastic mixed with the scent of stale pizza. Palace Arcade still smelled like new paint and burnt wires when Letty leaned on the counter, chin propped in her hand, nose scrunched from the scent and eyes watching the clock tick down the last few minutes till her lunch break. First day of summer and she was already back behind the counter at Hawkins’ newest “big attraction.” New being a weird word to use considering that Jelly-Beans had always been here, but not having to go to Luigi’s to play what little assortment of machines they had was probably the big pull. She glanced past the fountain drinks to where her manager, Keith, was corralling a group of kids near the skate entrance.
Her nametag still felt strange pinned to her shirt, like it belonged to somebody older, steadier. But the pay was decent, and it meant she could cover her gas money without mooching off her dad. Plus, babysitting Max would pad things out. Waching, she corrected herself, even though Max would roll her eyes if she called it that.
Behind the counter, a small fountain drink station fizzed away, next to a glass case of nachos with gooey cheese and chili, hot dogs glistening under a warming lamp. Letty slid a tray across to a skater balancing a tray of snacks, while the rink echoed with the squeak of wheels and the shout of kids colliding with one another. It was loud, sticky, chaotic, but it felt like the whole town’s heartbeat had been compressed into one sweaty, fluorescent-lit room.
The bell over the door jingled and Keith waved her out to take her lunch, and Letty ducked into the sticky heat of Hawkins summer, the asphalt humming under her sneakers. There was no way she was going to have time to grab anything to eat.
By the time she pulled into the Hargrove-Mayfield driveway, Max was already a streak of red hair and sneakers, bolting out the door like she’d been shot from a cannon. She yanked open the back door of Letty’s beat-up Chevy and slammed it shut before Neil could bark her name.
He was in the midst of dragging two suitcases to his sedan, Susan trailing behind with a cooler and there Billy stood, in the shadow of the garage, arms crossed, trying to look bored. The bruise blooming across his jaw however, told a different story.
“Appreciate someone stepping up,” Neil said, straightening to look at her. He said it like a compliment, but it sounded more like an order.
Susan gave a softer smile. “Thank you for watching Max this week. I know how important summer is.”
Letty waved her off with that polite, practiced smile. “It’s fine. I’ve got a part-time job anyway. I’ll make sure Max calls once you’re settled in?”Neil nodded sharply, ushering Susan into the car.
Gravel crunched as they rolled down the street.
That left Billy.
Letty lingered a beat too long, eyes flicking to the bruise. She shifted her weight, voice quiet enough that it wouldn’t carry. “Don’t give him a reason to get worse.”
Billy’s gaze snapped to hers, sharp and electric, like a live wire. For half a heartbeat it was all fire, then something colder slipped in. He smirked, biting it back before it became a full grin.
“Don’t worry about me, princess.”
Her stomach tightened, but she didn’t let it show. She just gave him a look that said it without words and turned back to the car.
The drive to the arcade was quick, Max quiet in the back, flipping through her Walkman tapes while El traced her finger along the fogged window. The girls spoke in low voices until Letty parked. Something about what had happened before—Max’s voice tight, El’s calm—but it cut off the second Letty stepped out and jingled her keys.
Steve’s car was already parked across the street. Dustin popped out, hair springing in every direction, and was halfway to the arcade before Letty even locked her door.
Steve leaned against his driver’s side, sunglasses perched on his head.
“Big night?” he shouted across the lot, watching Dustin run like he’d been promised free gold.
“Babysitting duty,” Letty replied, matching his tone. “So yeah, real wild.”
He grinned, pulling his vest tighter around his polo. “Don’t let it get too out of hand. Family Video can’t handle the competition.”
She smirked, backing toward the arcade doors as El and Max climbed out of the car. “Relax, Harrington. I’ll save you a tape or two.” Steve laughed, shaking his head as he headed for Family Video.
Inside, the girls slipped past her, their whispers picking up again before Letty even finished unlocking the back door. Max trailed off the second the lock clicked, her gaze flicking up guiltily. El said nothing, but the air was thick enough that Letty clocked it instantly.
Still, she didn’t press. She just pushed the door open wide, and held it long enough for the girls to slip inside.
The arcade came alive in a wash of neon and electronic bleeps, the sound bouncing off every surface like it was too excited to stay still. Dustin was already lost to the glow of Dragon’s Lair, practically vibrating as he slapped tokens into the slot.
Letty kept to her spot behind the counter, dropping her bag and pulling open the small safe to start refilling the token dispenser. The smell of copper and grease clung to her fingers as she scooped out a handful.
Max and El trailed behind slower, like they hadn’t decided whether to orbit closer to Dustin or stay in their own little corner. Letty caught them whispering again, Max’s voice sharp in that defensive way she always got, El’s softer, measured.
Letty leaned her hip against the counter, watching them through the reflection in the glass. She didn’t pry—she never did. But when Max finally wandered over to swap a crumpled dollar for quarters, Letty slid the change across the counter and said, low and even:
“You know… you don’t have to say anything. But I noticed.”
Max froze for half a second, fingers brushing the coins, before she shoved them into her pocket and scowled like Letty had accused her of crying.
“Noticed what?” She snapped quickly and Letty tilted her head, lips curving just barely.
“Nothing you need to explain right now. Just… if you ever want to, I’ll listen.”
For a moment, Max’s jaw twitched, like she was fighting back a sharp retort. Then she muttered, “Whatever,” and stalked back toward El, sneakers squeaking against the floor.
Letty exhaled, shaking the weight of it off her shoulders as she turned back to the token tray. The coins clinked and clattered as she funneled them into the machine, the sound covering the thought looping in her head.
So she let the tokens clatter, the machine hummed, the arcade swallowed up the noise in her chest. Dustin appeared at the counter like he’d been summoned just by the soft chime of the coins connecting, hair frizzed from static and eyes glowing with an idea he clearly couldn’t keep in.
“Okay, okay, hear me out,” he said, already tugging quarters from his pocket and spilling them across the counter like offerings. “A new campaign. Bigger. Scarier. More—epic. Like, Lord of the Rings epic. The kind of thing that makes you sweat when you roll.”
Letty arched a brow, resting her elbow on the counter. “You mean the kind of thing that makes you cry when you roll a one?”
He pointed at her like she’d just uncovered the heart of his master plan. “Exactly. That’s the kind of emotional devastation I’m going for.” She hid a smile. God, he’s so earnest. He could sell tickets with that energy alone.
“So, what’s the hook?” she asked, pretending to be busy stacking the quarters he’d scattered.
“A shadow army rising from the ruins of a fallen kingdom,” Dustin said in a rush, hands painting the scene in the air. “And our heroes are the only ones who can stop it. But—get this—it’s not just dice rolls. I want backstory. Real character arcs. Like—like writing a movie, but better.”
Letty tipped her head. “That’s ambitious. But if you’re going that big, your villains need more depth. Otherwise it’s just monsters with swords.”
He froze, then lit up like she’d just handed him the Rosetta Stone. “Yes! Yes! Thank you! See, this is why I talk to you. You get it.”
Or maybe I just listen, she thought, but she let him have his victory.
“I already ran some of it past Will,” Dustin added casually, scooping up his quarters again. “He’s been noodling with a whole new story too, so I figured we could mash them together. Double the genius, you know?”
At that, Letty’s chest tightened in a way she didn’t expect. Will—the one person she could almost call a friend when she’d first come back. Quiet afternoons in the library, nodding across the stacks. He’d always felt like someone living with ghosts, and she supposed he saw the same in her.
She busied herself with the token tray. “Sounds like you’ve got the dream team,” she said lightly.
Dustin, oblivious to the dip in her tone, leaned closer on the counter. “Speaking of teams… Harrington ditched us. Again.”
Letty smirked faintly. “He’s at Family Video, right?”
“Yeah, shocker.” Dustin rolled his eyes so hard it was almost audible. “If he’s not shelving tapes, he’s scooping ice cream. I swear he’s trying to set a record for Most Jobs Ever Worked By a Single Human.”
“He could just like money,” Letty offered, half-playing devil’s advocate.
Dustin snorted. “He’s Steve Harrington. His parents practically sneeze and a twenty falls out. Nah—it’s not money. He just… doesn’t like being home. Too quiet. Too big.”
Letty hummed, sliding the last of the tokens into the dispenser. Not ambition. Not boredom. Loneliness. She didn’t say it out loud, though. Just pressed the button to release a neat clatter of coins into Dustin’s waiting hands.
“Better go save your kingdom,” she said. Dustin grinned, already spinning away, and Letty leaned back against the counter, eyes drifting toward the arcade doors. Steve Harrington, hiding in plain sight. She wondered if he even realized it.
Garrett showed up just shy of five, yawning behind the counter like he’d already put in a full day. Letty tugged her vest loose and draped it over a stool, relieved to peel the thing off her shoulders. She leaned toward Dustin, who was still buzzing from his last round at Galaga.
“C’mon, kid. I’m heading out. If you want, you can ride with me and I’ll drop you off home,” she offered.
Dustin’s face lit up. “Yes! Perfect. I can keep brainstorming the campaign in the car. You’re the best, Letty.”
Max groaned as she shoved her bag over her shoulder. “That means we’re stuck listening to him.” El smiled faintly, unbothered as ever.
Letty just shook her head, amused, and herded them all toward the door. Once the kids were piled into the car, she tossed the keys to El so she could start the car and cut back across the street, the fading summer light laying everything in honey-colored heat. Family Video’s neon hummed faintly overhead when she pushed the door open.
Behind the counter sat a girl she didn’t recognize by name—short, sharp features, a band tee under her vest, hair tucked behind one ear. She was flipping through a stack of tapes without much interest.
“Hi,” Letty said politely, stepping forward. “Is Steve here?” The girl’s head shot up, and she grinned with mischief already brewing. She didn’t bother to lower her voice.
“Hey, Harrington! Your girlfriend’s here!”
Letty blinked, caught between correcting her and just ignoring it, when Steve appeared from the back, shoulders squared like he was bracing for impact. Probably expecting Nancy. Or someone else wanting something from him.
But when his eyes landed on Letty, all that stiffness melted. Surprise flashed first—like he hadn’t actually thought she’d ever step into his orbit outside of chaos—but it shifted quickly into something warm. His mouth tugged into that half-grin he tried to downplay, the one that almost looked like relief.
“Hey,” he said, voice softer than it should’ve been for the distance between them. Then, after a beat: “Wow. Twice in one day. Lucky me.”
The girl made a gagging noise behind the counter. “Should I give you guys privacy, or can we all bask in the flirting?”
Letty tilted her head slightly, brushing past the jab with that quiet steadiness that always seemed to cut through noise without raising her voice. “I just came to let you know Dustin’s riding with me. I’ll take him home so you don’t have to worry about it.”
Steve blinked, thrown by her calm efficiency. Then his eyes did what they always seemed to do—took her in. What he assumed was Hopper’s flannel knotted just above her stomach, obviously too big the way it bulged out around her and hid her torso just enough that you really couldnt notice black tank clinging beneath unless you were really looking; the flash of silver at her navel. The long brown skirt softened her shape, sneakers scuffed at the toes. Her black hair pinned half-up, strands falling in waves that framed her lined blue eyes. A look that should’ve been nothing special, but somehow made his throat feel tight.
He found his grin again, trying to shake it off. “So this is what you wear to work, huh? Thought I saw that flannel earlier when you picked up Max. Didn’t realize it was, you know, uniform material.”
Her mouth quirked, almost daring him. “What did you think the ugly flannel was for?”
The girl snorted so loudly she almost tipped her chair. “Oh my god, you two are killing me.”
Steve shot her a glare, mumbling something that sounded like “fuck off Robin’ but Letty just smoothed the hem of her skirt like she hadn’t heard, already turning back toward the door. Steve stood there a moment longer than necessary, watching the door swing shut behind her, the faintest ghost of a smile still tugging at his mouth.
Steve was still staring at it when Robin snapped her fingers in front of his face.
“Earth to Harrington. Who was that? And why’d she talk to you like you were, I don’t know, a human being instead of the self-proclaimed King of Hawkins High?”
Steve blinked, rubbed the back of his neck, and tried to play it off. “She’s… uh...Charlotte...Hopper’s Kid. Helps out with the kids sometimes.”
Robin arched an eyebrow, leaning across the counter. “That sounded suspiciously like downplaying. You’re blushing, by the way.”
“I’m not—” he started, then stopped because she was grinning like she’d won already. He sighed, dropping against the counter, trying to look casual. “Look, she’s just—she’s cool, okay? She’s not, like, a thing.”
Robin tapped her chin. “Mm. Not a thing. Got it. Just a girl who walks in here, drops some soft-spoken bomb on you, and you melt into a puddle. Totally not a thing.”
Steve threw her another glare, but it was weak at best. He couldn’t muster the edge when his chest was still doing that stupid fluttery thing.
The truth was, when Robin had shouted “girlfriend,” he’d braced himself. Some dumb part of him had thought Nancy. Thought maybe she’d come back in here the way she used to, ready to pick another fight or try again at pretending they were good at normal. And he didn’t know if he wanted that. Not really. But the thought had still hit like a punch in the gut.
Then it was Letty. Not Nancy. Not some random girl from school either. Letty—wearing Hopper’s flannel like it was armor, cutting through Robin’s sarcasm with nothing more than a soft word, looking at him like he wasn’t some washed-up ex–high school star who worked two jobs just to fill the silence of an empty house.
And god, the way he’d felt that flash of excitement, that weird familiarity like she belonged in the room with him. That was worse. Or better. He couldn’t decide.
So instead he just muttered, “She was just telling me she’s giving Dustin a ride. That’s all.”
Robin smirked knowingly. “Sure, Harrington. Just that.”
Steve stacked a few tapes back on the return cart, pretending not to hear the way Robin was humming “loverboy” under her breath and ignore the way the tips of his ears were burning. He didn’t look up, just muttered, “Shut up,” but the corner of his mouth tugged anyway. He couldn’t shake the flicker of surprise still buzzing in his chest, the way seeing Letty had yanked him sideways — expecting one thing, finding another. He shoved the thought down, busying himself with alphabetizing until the hum of her voice and the sound of the doorbell faded.
Robin snapped her fingers suddenly, eyes widening. “Hopper! That’s it. I had Calc with her last year. Moody vampire ambiance makes sense now.” She tilted her head, squinting like she was trying to line the memory up with the version of Letty that had just walked out. “Although… from the back she kinda looks like Munson.”
Steve snorted, still not looking up from the cart. “Munson’s taller.”
Robin considered that, then shrugged with a little grin. “Huh. Yeah, you’re right.”
Outside, the Indiana heat hit heavier than it had going in. Letty easily slid into the driver's seat of the cool car. Dustin was halfway through an explanation of hit points and campaigns, hands windmilling, when Max cut him off.
“Pizza,” Max said. “We’re getting pizza.” El, quiet beside her, nodded once in agreement.
Dustin blinked like he’d missed the vote entirely. “Wait—yeah, pizza! That’s the perfect way to kick off summer. We can stop at Luigi’s, right? Right, Letty?”
Letty dangled her keys, cocking a brow at the three of them piling toward the car. “Sure. You got pizza money?”
That stopped them dead. Max shot Dustin a glare. El tilted her head. Dustin sputtered, already fumbling in his pockets for lint and a nickel.
Letty smirked, sliding into the driver’s seat. “That’s what I thought.”
Max groaned, Dustin whined, and El just smiled faintly, settling in the back. The chorus of protests followed Letty as she turned the ignition, a low hum under the thought looping in her head.
Luigi’s smelled like oregano and fryer oil, the kind of scent that clung to your hair long after you left. The booth was too small for four, but they crammed in anyway—Max and El on one side, Dustin wedged beside Letty with his backpack at his feet. The red vinyl squeaked every time someone shifted.
Dustin talked through half a breadstick, crumbs flying. “So if we run this new campaign—like, really run it, not just a test—then I think Will should DM. He’s already been sketching out a whole new story.”
“Like the one with the lava castle?” Max asked, stealing a piece of pepperoni from the center of the pie.
“No, no, that was a draft.” Dustin waved her off, gulping down his soda. “This is bigger. Totally new monsters, new rules. Will’s been hinting about it for weeks.”
“Sounds like work,” Max muttered, but her eyes flicked up, curious anyway.
Letty leaned her elbow against the table, chin resting in her palm as she watched Dustin’s face light up. “And you’re pitching him side quests already?” she asked, teasing.
Dustin’s grin went wide, proud. “Well, someone has to balance it! He’s good at the story stuff, but I know how to keep the party alive. Strategy. Numbers.”
“Translation,” Max said, “you don’t want to die first.”
“I never die first,” Dustin shot back.
Max smirked. “Pretty sure Lucas has that honor.”
That earned a round of laughter—even from El, soft but certain. She twirled her straw between her fingers, then looked at Dustin. “You want to invite them?”
“Obviously.” Dustin leaned forward, lowering his voice like it was classified. “We could do the first session here. Pizza, campaign kickoff, the whole thing. Like—an epic beginning.” Letty pulled a slice onto her plate, cheese stretching in long strings. She didn’t interrupt, just let the excitement ripple around her.
Max caught her watching and narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“Nothing,” Letty said, smile curving soft and small. “Just—remind me not to play. I’d ruin your campaign.”
Dustin gasped, nearly dropping his slice. “No way. You’d be perfect! Actually—you could be the Big Bad again.” He slapped his hand down on the table for emphasis, making the soda cups jump. “Like, the Vampire Queen or something this time. Will might even let you do a full dramatic monologue this time, with, like, candles and thunder and everything. You could totally dress up! Be all brooding and Dracula-y.”
Letty snorted into her napkin. “Me. Brooding. That’d last five minutes.”
Before Dustin could argue, Max broke in with a laugh sharp enough to cut through. “Please. She wouldn’t be Dracula. She’d be more like—” Max grinned wickedly, leaning back. “Elvira.”
The table erupted—El giggling behind her hand, Dustin choking on his soda, and Letty’s cheeks going pink as she shot Max a mock glare.
“Wow. Thanks, Red.” Letty tore off a piece of crust and flicked it across the table. Max ducked, smirking like she’d won.
Dustin wiped his mouth, still wheezing laughter. “Okay, but admit it—that would be amazing. Vampire Queen Elvira, tormenting the party.”
Letty rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth tugged up anyway. “You’re all impossible.”
“Impossible,” Dustin echoed proudly, “and brilliant.”
And for a moment, with the noise and the warmth of pizza grease on their fingers, it almost felt like summer really could be normal.
By the time they pushed out of Luigi’s, the neon sign over the door was buzzing faintly against the deepening blue sky. The air smelled faintly of cut grass and the asphalt still radiated heat, the day clinging to the pavement even as evening crept in.
The kids spilled out onto the sidewalk in a tangle of chatter—Dustin juggling his backpack and a to-go box, Max shoving him for nearly dropping it, El hovering close at Letty’s side.
The car loomed at the curb, Hopper’s old hand-me-down Chevy that rattled every time it hit forty. Letty jingled the keys as they climbed in—Dustin claiming the backseat first, Max flopping down beside him with an exaggerated sigh. El slid into the passenger seat, tucking her feet neatly on the floorboard.
For a moment, Letty just leaned against the open driver’s side door, watching the small tornado of energy that was the three of them. Her chest felt warm in a way she didn’t name. Then she climbed in, started the engine, and the Chevy rumbled awake.
The drive out of town was quiet at first, headlights washing across the darkening streets. Then El turned toward her, voice soft but certain. “We should get Will.”
Letty glanced sideways, surprised by the firmness in her tone.
El nodded, her bangs falling into her eyes. “And Lucas. And Mike, too. Even if Max is mad at him.”
“I’m not mad,” Max muttered from the back, arms crossed tight. “He’s just being an idiot.”
“Which is,” Dustin said cheerfully, “basically Mike’s default setting.” Max shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. Dustin smirked.
Letty hid her smile, tapping the steering wheel. “So the plan is—what, exactly? D&D at the cabin?”
“Yes,” El said immediately, like it was obvious. “We can play there. It’s safe.”
“Safe,” Max echoed, softer this time, though she didn’t argue.
Dustin perked up, leaning forward between the seats. “But we’ll need more food if we’re feeding everyone. Pizza’s great, but I say—snacks. Chips, soda, the works. A real campaign feast.”
El’s mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile. “And Eggos,” she added, almost shyly. “We’ll The car filled with laughter, easy and bright against the hum of the tires on the road. And as they drove toward the trees, toward the cabin tucked in the woods, the last threads of daylight gave way to night—like the summer was just beginning, waiting for them to write the next chapter.
By the time they pulled up the gravel drive, the woods were thick with shadows. The cabin, a single-story stretch of warm wood with two bedrooms and a new porch framed by freshly painted shutters, glowed against the dark. Letty’s eyes lingered on the handiwork—she and Hopper had spent most of spring scraping, sanding, and painting, turning what had once been a dilapidated hunting cabin into something that could actually feel like a home while El settled into school. Its windows caught the flicker of the headlights, and the scent of smoke, pine, and gas clung faintly to the air.
The kids spilled out first, voices carrying as they darted toward the front yard, already circling the fire pit and arguing over who got to strike the first match. Letty trailed behind, gathering stray bags and jackets, her steps slower, more deliberate, the weight of the day still in her shoulders. The front door was wide open, letting in the cool evening air and the hum of cicadas.
Hours later and the kids’ laughter spilled up through the open window over the sink, carried by the crackle of the fire pit. Somewhere in the middle of it all, a mixtape pilfered from Jonathan’s room played low from a boom box—Bowie bleeding into Talking Heads, the soundtrack of their summer already taking shape.
Letty stood at the sink, sleeves rolled past her elbows, clove cigarette tucked between her lips. She rinsed off plates one by one, stacking them in the drying rack with slow care. Beside her, Will was drying, towel in hand, moving on autopilot like he’d done this a hundred times.
Every so often, he’d glance toward the door. The light from the TV danced against his face, carving out the hollows beneath his eyes.
“You look wiped,” Letty said finally, smoke curling out the side of her mouth as she spoke.
Will shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“That’s what people say right before falling face-first into the dishwater.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at him, but it didn’t stick. He set the plate down, pressed the towel into his hands like he needed something to hold onto. “Mom… she wants me to talk to somebody. A therapist.”
Letty’s brows lifted, though her voice stayed easy. “And you don’t want to?”
“No.” The word came out sharper than he meant it. He faltered, then softened. “I mean… what’s the point? They won’t get it. They’ll just say it was trauma, or stress, or whatever. They’ll never believe what actually happened.” His eyes darted to hers, the firelight flickering in them. “But you do. You were there. You know.”
Letty stubbed her cigarette out in the small ashtray perched on the sill. Her fingers tapped against the sink for a moment before she answered. “Yeah, I know.” She paused, choosing her words like stepping stones across water. “But here’s the thing. Talking to someone doesn’t mean you’re saying it wasn’t real. It just… it gives your head somewhere else to put it. Makes the load lighter, even if they don’t understand every detail.”
Will frowned, shoulders curling inward. “But I already talk to you.”
That softened her in ways she didn’t let show. She reached out, nudging his arm lightly with the back of her hand. “And you can keep doing that. I’m not going anywhere. But sometimes… it helps to have more than one place to set the weight down, you know?”
Will didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked back out the door where Dustin’s laugh cut through the night, high and bright, where Max tossed her head back like she owned the dark, where El sat glowing in the firelight. He looked at them like they were planets, and he was stuck in orbit—close, but never quite in their light.
“I don’t want to be broken,” he said, so soft she almost missed it.
Letty’s throat tightened. She dried her hands on the hem of Hopper’s old flannel tied at her waist, then leaned against the counter so she could meet his eyes. “You’re not broken, Will. You’re just… carrying more than the rest of them. Doesn’t mean you’re less whole.”
For a second, his face wavered, somewhere between tears and relief. Then he nodded, swallowed, and picked up another plate like it gave him something to do.
From outside, someone shouted her name—Dustin, probably, wanting to debate monsters or pizza toppings again. Letty didn’t move right away. She just looked at Will, the way the shadows clung to him, and thought: He’s still fighting his way back.
From outside, Dustin’s voice cracked through the air, shouting her name like she was about to settle some courtroom dispute.
Letty smirked, nudging Will with her shoulder. “Sounds like your dungeon is under siege.”
Will rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched at the corner.
She reached for another plate, then stopped, tilting her head toward him. “Careful, though. Dustin was telling me earlier he’s got ideas. Something about a vampire queen? He seems pretty convinced I’d make a good big bad.” She let her eyes go wide and overly dramatic. “I could swoop in with a cape, give a long, brooding monologue. ‘Behold, mortals… your doom has arrived.’”
Will’s head snapped toward her, scandalized. “No way. That’s not how it works!” His voice cracked, his tiredness forgotten in a flash of indignation. “The villain has to have weight, they have to fit the story—Dustin just wants to turn everything into a joke!”
Letty chuckled, the sound low and warm, watching the spark come back into his face. She plucked the towel from his hand and tossed it over the chair. “Exactly my point. Better get out there before he rewrites your whole campaign while you’re stuck doing dishes.”
Will hesitated, glancing toward the firelight spilling in through the open door. Then, with a breath, he set the last plate down and nodded.
Together, they stepped outside.
The yard glowed with firelight, laughter rolling up into the night like sparks. Max was stretched out in one of Hopper’s old lawn chairs, her sneakers propped on a rock. El sat cross-legged in the grass, her face warm and golden in the flicker. Dustin waved his arms wildly, mid-speech about something or other, while Lucas leaned in with a grin that suggested he was only half-listening.
The air smelled like smoke, earth, and the faint sweetness of melting marshmallows. The radio in the dirt hummed out a Bowie chorus, the kind of music that stitched everything together, summer into memory.
Will slipped into the circle, immediately pulled into debate by Dustin. His voice had life in it again, quick and bright, and Letty found herself leaning against the porch railing, watching it all unfold.
This—she thought—this was the part worth fighting for.
Notes:
I said this in the authors note but i'll put it here: This is gonna be a slice of life, kinda sad, and is going to be Letty centric. also a fuckin slowburn cause i loveeeeeee slowburn romance lolol.
so yea. thanks.
Chapter 3: Smoke and Silence
Chapter Text
The girls had disappeared into the bedroom, the door shut tight, a pop song muffled beneath the scrape of their laughter. The radio hummed faintly through the walls, pages of a magazine rustling as El tried to keep up with Max’s commentary.
Letty stayed outside. She leaned against the porch railing, barefoot, the thin black dress clinging to her shoulders, then drifting loose around her legs like smoke. Her hair was piled into a messy knot on top of her head, strands falling free across her face.
A cigarette smoldered between her fingers. She inhaled, letting the clove sting her throat, and exhaled, noticing for the first time in what felt like forever how tight her chest had been. Her lungs had fought for air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her hands shaking as though the memory of it lingered. Now, slowly, the tremor softened, her body easing into the warmth of the sun, the weight on her shoulders slackening just enough to remind her she was still standing. Pine and clove hung in the air, heavy and sweet, and somewhere beneath it all, the first notes of cicadas began their endless song, steady and persistent, like a heartbeat she could finally match.
The crunch of tires on gravel pulled her attention to the driveway.
Billy’s Camaro turned in too fast, the engine growling before it cut off. For a moment the driver’s side stayed closed, his reflection just a faint shadow in the glass. Letty didn’t move, just watched through her lashes as the door swung open and he strode across the grass with the quiet of a storm. His gait was tight, shoulders wound like wire, the edges of his movements edged in something that looked too much like rage. Or maybe it wasn’t rage—maybe it was the bruise swelling along his cheekbone, the dried smear of blood at his split lip, the faint discoloration around his nose.
He didn’t look at her. Didn’t have to. The way he slammed the car door was enough.
“You’re early,” she said, voice soft, more observation than greeting.
Billy didn’t answer, just strode past the edge of the porch like he had somewhere better to be, keys jingling in his fist. “Max?” His voice was clipped, hard.
“Inside,” she said. Her tone was even, low, the kind that settled instead of scraped. She crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray at her elbow, tucking the stub behind her ear without thinking; but his pace faltered when she moved. “But don’t—don’t go in like that.”
That made him pause, eyes snapping to hers.
She didn’t flinch. “You’ll rile him up more if you keep storming out like that.” The softness in her words didn’t take away the weight. She wasn’t accusing him. She was warning him. Protecting him, in her own quiet way.
His jaw ticked, a muscle twitching, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t bite back. Just exhaled sharply through his nose and dropped his gaze.
“Come inside,” she said gently, brushing past him to open the door. “Bathroom’s free.”
It wasn’t a request.
He followed, silent, shoulders squared like he could hold the weight pressing down on them if he just stood straight enough. The kitchen was dim, curtains drawn against the sun and the cabin hallway filled with the muffled hum of music from her room. Letty moved ahead without glancing back, pulling the bathroom door open and flicking on the light. Billy followed like gravity dragged him, the tension in his frame daring anyone to comment.
The door clicked shut behind them.
He sat on the edge of the tub, elbows braced on his knees, fists tight. Letty didn’t fill the silence with words—she just fetched the little tin box from under the sink, setting it on the counter with a clink. Antiseptic, cotton balls, a roll of bandages. When she finally turned back, he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
“This is gonna sting,” she murmured, dampening a cotton pad with antiseptic.
When she leaned in, sleeves slipping down her forearms, he caught the scent of her: cloves and lavender, roses, warmth. Her cigarette was still tucked behind her ear, a forgotten ember, its sweetness tangled with the sharper perfume of her shampoo. She was close enough that he could see the uneven curl of her lashes, the faint smudge of liner gone soft at the edges.
“Hold still,” she murmured, damp cotton touching his split lip.
He didn’t flinch when she touched him, though the sharp draw of his breath betrayed the burn. She dabbed carefully at the split in his lip, then pressed another clean swab to the bridge of his nose. Up this close, her height gave her an edge, just enough that she could look down into his face, the scent of smoke and soap tangling with his cologne.
Billy said nothing. Locked up and letting the silence speak for him.
Letty didn’t press. She just worked quietly, the rustle of bandages filling the space between them.
“There,” she said; smoothing the bandage over his nose, her voice like the quiet after a storm, fingers lingering a moment too long before she dropped them “Good as new.”
Billy stared past her shoulder, at the tiles on the wall, jaw tight enough it might crack. His hands flexed uselessly on his knees. He said nothing.
“Don’t,” she whispered, not moving back. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt.”
For a moment, something flickered—his nostrils flared, his eyes cut to hers, and it was there, raw and unguarded. But then it shuttered again, the silence slamming back into place.
Whatever sat between them wasn’t words—it was bruises, and something raw neither wanted to name.
She didn’t push. Just packed away the tin, snapping it shut like it was the most natural thing in the world. Letty stepped back, closing the kit with a snap. She opened the bathroom door, the cooler air of the cabin spilling in. “I’ll send Max out to you,” she said, her voice gentle as a hand laid on a fevered brow. “She won’t be long.”
Billy stood, towering again now that she wasn’t bent over him. He looked at her like there was something to say, something caught behind his teeth, but he swallowed it down.
He paused in the threshold, caught in the split of light and shadow. For a beat, he looked at her—really looked—but nothing passed his lips. No thanks, no smartass remark. Just silence.
And then he was gone, boots heavy on the floorboards, leaving the faintest trace of engine oil and cologne in his wake.
The house was quiet again after Billy left the bathroom, the hum of music still threading under the shut bedroom door. Letty lingered a moment, brushing her palms down the sides of her dress, grounding herself. Then she crossed the hall, knuckles tapping lightly against her door before she pushed it open.
Max was sprawled across the bed with El, flipping a page in their magazine, the two of them laughing low over some silly quiz. Max’s hair was frizzed from the summer air, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the room. She didn’t notice the weight in Letty’s shoulders at first.
“Hey,” Letty said gently, leaning into the frame. “Your brother’s here to get you.”
Max looked up. For a second her face hardened, instinct kicking in like it always did around Billy—ready, defensive. But Letty’s tone was softer than the words themselves, like a hand smoothing down rumpled sheets. Max read it in an instant: don’t worry, not this time.
“Yeah, okay,” Max said, sitting up and gathering the magazine. She hesitated, scanning Letty’s expression, searching for something unspoken. Letty gave the smallest nod, steady and sure. Max nodded back, shoulders easing, and hopped off the bed.
The walk to the front door was quiet, El trailing behind a step before curling back toward the room. Letty followed Max just far enough to see her out, hand resting lightly against the frame.
Billy was waiting in the driver’s seat, engine idling, one hand drumming restlessly against the wheel. His profile was all hard lines and shadows, but when Max opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, his gaze cut briefly past her—up toward the porch.
Letty met his eyes. Just for a beat. A whole conversation passed there, unsaid.
Billy’s jaw flexed once, but he didn’t break the silence. He only shifted into gear, the Camaro grumbling as Max slammed the door shut beside him.
Letty stayed in the doorway, arms folded, watching as the taillights bled red against the trees until they were gone.
Only then did she turn back into the house, the faint scent of clove smoke still clinging to her skin.
The Camaro tore down the backroads, engine low and steady, smoke drifting out the cracked driver’s side window. Billy’s hand drummed against the wheel, restless even in silence.Max buckled in, hugging the magazine to her chest before tossing it into the back seat.
“You didn’t have to pick me up,” she muttered finally,eyes on the trees flashing by.
Billy flicked his gaze at her; his jaw ticked, a muscle flexing hard. “Yeah, well. I did.”
“Could’ve just called,” she pressed. “Letty would’ve—”
His jaw tightened. “Drop it.” The word cut sharp, his tone flat as steel. Max glanced sideways at him, then back to the road, lips twitching like she wanted to push but thought better of it. The hum of the engine filled the car again.
After a while she tried softer. “She’s not so bad, you know. She watches out for me,” Max went on, not daring to say more.
Billy’s fingers tapped once against the wheel. “I noticed.”
Billy dragged hard on his cigarette, the ember burning bright. Smoke clouded the dashboard before slipping out the window. He didn’t look at her. Max blinked at that—at the quiet way he said it, no bite to his voice. Just something tight and raw, like the words scraped him on their way out.
Max grinned, tilting her head toward him. “Could be friends.”
Billy snorted, a rough laugh with no humor. “You’re out of your damn mind.”
“Uh-huh.” She crossed her arms. “Most of the time you act like my friends are ghosts.”
Billy’s grip on the wheel tightened, but he didn’t bite back right away. The Camaro hummed under them, road slipping by. Finally, he muttered, "Don't start that, don’t psychoanalyze me, kid. You suck at it.”
Max grinned at the window, knowing she’d hit a nerve. “I’m just saying… maybe it wouldn’t kill you to let someone give a shit.”
Billy shot her a sideways look, sharp—but softer than before. He didn’t answer, just shook his head and blew smoke toward the night.
For a while, the only sound was the engine and the cicadas bleeding through the open crack of the window. Then Max shifted in her seat, quieter. “You graduated–End of summer, you’ll be gone. What then?”
Billy didn’t say anything, knuckles pale on the wheel. He could feel her watching him, waiting. Finally, he ground the cigarette out in the ashtray, leaning back. “Not gonna leave you to deal with all their shit, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Max blinked, surprise softening her frown. She sank deeper into the seat, pretending to look out the window so he wouldn’t see her mouth curve. “Didn’t think you cared.”
Billy smirked faintly, eyes still on the road. “Don’t get used to it.”
Max snorted, but the fight had gone out of her. She let the hum of the Camaro and the summer night lull between them, leaning just slightly toward the comfort of her brother’s presence.
The Camaro slowly turned into the neighborhood, headlights sweeping across the pristine driveway before cutting out. The engine ticked as it cooled, the night pressing in heavy and close. Billy stayed behind the wheel a moment, hands loose but still on it, like he wasn’t ready to step inside yet. The porch light buzzed faintly, yellow and tired, casting the house in an unforgiving glow.
Max unbuckled, glancing sideways at him. “You coming in?”
Billy lit another cigarette instead, flame flashing across the sharp lines of his face. He didn’t answer right away, just let the smoke fill the cabin before he exhaled hard, like maybe it could burn the weight out of him.
“Yeah,” he muttered finally. “In a minute.”
Max hesitated, then reached for the door handle. She paused, fingers curling tight around the strap of her backpack. “You meant it, right? About not leaving me?”
Billy’s jaw flexed. His eyes stayed forward, locked on the dark stretch of neighborhood beyond the windshield. For a beat, the only sound was the cicadas thrumming and the faint sizzle of his cigarette. Then he tipped his head, just enough for her to see the truth in it. “I meant it.”
Something eased in Max’s chest, a knot she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying. She nodded once and pushed the door open. The slam echoed against the siding as she headed toward the porch, sneakers scuffing the gravel.
Billy watched her go, watched until she disappeared inside. He stayed where he was, smoke curling around him and settling heavily in the humid summer air. The house loomed in front of him, the same as it always had, a place he’d never belonged.
Billy finally crushed the cigarette into the ashtray, jaw tight, and dragged himself out of the Camaro. His boots crunched over gravel, each step slower the closer he got. By the time he pushed through the front door, the house already smelled like dinner—meatloaf, something canned, the sharp tang of Neil’s aftershave drifting from the hallway.
The table was set. Plates stacked, silverware laid neat, glasses filled with water and milk. Neil sat at the head, sleeves rolled, posture stiff and commanding even in his own house. Susan sat directly across from, with a placid smile and hands smoothing the napkin across her lap like she was trying to smooth the edges of the night itself.
Max slid into her seat quickly, eyes down. Billy dropped into his chair with less ceremony, shoulders coiled tight, and let the silence hang until Neil finally cut through it.
“You left here in a mood,” Neil said, voice clipped, measured. He carved into the meatloaf without looking up. “Came home looking a hell of a lot better than you left.” His fork tapped once against his plate, deliberate. His gaze slid toward Billy, sharp as a knife. “Guess the sheriff’s girl is good for something after all.”
Billy’s jaw ticked, muscles flexing hard. He didn’t look up. Didn’t rise.
Max’s eyes darted to him before she could stop herself, mouth opening—ready to defend, to push back—but Neil’s gaze cut to her before the words left.
“And you,” he added, almost idly. “Running around town with the other Hopper girl. Don’t think I don’t notice. The only reason I let it slide is because of who their daddy is. If he weren’t sheriff, you wouldn’t be spending all your time with her. Or any of them.”
Max froze, her stomach twisting. Billy’s silence held heavy beside her, a warning not to take the bait. Neil wasn’t just aiming at him. He was aiming at both of them.
Before the tension snapped, Susan’s voice cut in smooth, but firm. “Charlotte’s a lovely girl,” she said, a shade too quick to be casual. She placed her napkin down carefully beside her plate, eyes flicking toward Neil. “And Jane is good for Max. They’re both good girls. Polite. Respectful. They care about the kids. That’s what matters.”
Neil looked at her then, eyes narrowing like he was deciding whether to press. The air tightened for a beat, Billy’s hand flexing under the table.
But Susan’s expression didn’t waver, calm and steady as stone.
Neil gave a grunt, low and dismissive, turning back to his food. “Maybe. Doesn’t hurt to have friends in the right places.”
The scrape of silverware carried them through the rest of the meal, but the pressure never eased.
The mall was loud in the way only summer could be—arcade bleeps colliding with shouted greetings, the hiss of escalators, the thud of sneakers across tile. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, glaring down on rows of storefronts that glittered with glass and neon.
Letty moved with the group—Hopper striding ahead with Joyce tucked close to his side, El and Will darting from display to display—but her focus stayed elsewhere. Her eyes snagged on the sweep of the crowd, the angles of exits, the way shadows broke across the polished floor. Her hands were curled tight against her sides, nails biting her palms.
Max would have joked. Dustin would have teased. But no one here said anything.
Will slowed, hanging back until his step matched hers. He didn’t look at her straight on, just flicked his gaze toward her and then away again, like he was afraid of spooking her. But he stayed there, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers when the crowd jostled. A quiet anchor.
She let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. He understood. She could feel it in the way he didn’t ask, didn’t pry. Just walked beside her.
When the crush of shoppers thickened near the food court, Hopper glanced back, scanning instinctively. His eyes caught on her—shoulders tight, jaw locked. He started to say something, but El tugged lightly at his sleeve, a quick shake of her head. Hopper didn’t argue. He just slowed his pace until he was behind her, a solid wall against the press of strangers. His hand settled on her shoulder, steady and warm, as he threw a joke over his shoulder at Joyce about mall pretzels versus county fair corn dogs.
From the outside, it looked like nothing. But Letty could breathe again.
El looped back, ponytail swishing, eyes wide as she pointed to a kiosk up ahead. “They have Dippin’ Dots!” she exclaimed, tugging Will’s arm. Then she caught Letty’s expression, softer now but still taut at the edges. El’s hand slid into hers without asking, squeezing once. “You’ll like them. You have to try.”
Letty forced a small smile, the first real one all afternoon. “Guess I don’t have a choice, huh?”
Joyce beamed over her shoulder, voice light, “That’s the rule when you’re with us—you get sugar and you deal with it.”
The group laughed, tension dissolving. Letty let herself be pulled along, bracketed by Hopper’s steady presence and the kids’ bright chatter.
By the time they reached Scoops Ahoy, the worst had ebbed. The neon-blue sign buzzed overhead, salty-sweet air mixing with the sharper bite of mall chlorine from the fountain nearby. The line stretched long, but the Byers and Hopper family filled the wait with easy chatter, Joyce teasing Hopper about brain freeze, El and Will, debating flavors like it was life or death and Jonathan speaking when prompted.
Letty stood just behind the kids, posture a little too rigid, a little too careful. Hopper kept his hand on her shoulder, never breaking his conversation with Joyce. El leaned back every few seconds to ask her opinion—“Rocky road? Banana split?”—like a lifeline she could grab if she wanted.
From behind the counter, Steve Harrington squinted at the group. His sailor hat tipped low, he scanned the line, gaze snagging on her. She wasn’t laughing like the others. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Hopper’s hand stayed firm at her shoulder.
Something about the picture snagged at him. He didn’t know why.
When it was their turn, she stepped up beside El, rattled off her order without hesitation, but Steve caught the way her hand flexed once against the counter, the way she scanned the room before looking back at him. He didn’t say anything, just handed her the cone with an easy grin. But he filed it away.
Letty slid into the booth first, tucked against the wall, her cone melting between quick licks; knees pulled up to her chest so El could follow next, ice cream dripping, Hopper booming over Joyce’s laughter, and El took the chance to leaning across the table and smear chocolate across Will's nose while Jonathan laughed at his screeched protest. Even though she still felt the echoes of the crowd pressing in,it was softened.
Here the silence wasn’t heavy. Here she could breathe.
By the time they piled back into the cruiser, the sky had shifted toward dusk, warm gold bleeding across the horizon. Joyce and the boys waved from the curb, Joyce promising she’d call later, Will offering a shy, crooked grin that made Letty’s chest ache with something she couldn’t name.
El claimed shotgun without asking, already fiddling with the radio. Letty slid into the back, stretching across the bench seat like she was trying to take up less space than she actually did. She pressed her temple against the cool glass, watching the parking lot blur past as Hopper shifted into drive.
For a while, it was quiet but not uncomfortable—just the hum of tires on asphalt, El clicking through stations, Hopper drumming his fingers against the wheel. Then, softly, he cleared his throat.
“You okay, kid?”
Her gaze didn’t leave the window. “Fine.”
“You know what set it off?” His voice stayed careful, like a man picking his way through barbed wire.
Letty shrugged, nails worrying the seam of her sweats. “Crowds. Noise. Doesn’t matter. Same thing every time.” The words came out clipped, more mechanical than she meant, like she was answering a test instead of her uncle.
Hopper’s jaw tightened. He wanted something more human, more her, but he let the silence hang before he tried again. “Maybe… might help to keep trying. Exposure and all that. The mall could be good practice.”
Beside him, El perked up, nodding. “It’s true. Sometimes I feel it too. But if it means I get to shop—” she shrugged, matter-of-fact, “—then it’s worth it.”
Letty huffed out a laugh, small and shaky but real. “Guess you would say that.”
Hopper glanced at her in the rearview, relief and worry tangled in equal measure, then let the conversation settle into quiet again.
The night carried them home easily. Dinner blurred into dishes, laughter carrying through the cabin walls, until the house grew soft with the sounds of settling in.
Steam curled out from under the bathroom door when Letty stepped into the hallway, damp hair twisted up in a towel. She padded toward the bedroom, tank top and pajama pants hanging loose, fuzzy socks sliding across the floor.
El was already stretched on the carpet, legs thrown over the beanbag chair, phone pressed to her ear. Her face lit up when she spotted Letty, one hand flying up in a hasty wave.
Letty lifted a brow, lifting her own hand in the universal who’s that? sign.
“Max,” El said simply, though the tinny crackle of the speaker gave it away first. A voice shouted through—“Ask her! Ask her!”—and El grimaced, holding the receiver away from her ear before she looked at Letty again.
“Can you… take us to the mall Thursday?” she asked, earnest but hesitant. Then, quick, before Letty could shut down, she added, “If you don’t want crowds, we don’t have to go.”
Letty stood there a moment, caught between protest and the weight of El’s wide eyes. Finally, she sighed, climbing into her bunk. She rolled onto her side, lifting one hand to give El a lazy thumbs-up before tugging the curtain shut.
El’s squeal echoed, Max’s laugh tumbling through the phone, excitement buzzing in the air even as Letty closed her eyes. She let it wash over her, a soft hum in the dark.
Notes:
these seem way shorter here then when i write them, each chapter is like 12-20 pages so why tf does it look so tiny here lol. these next few chapters are all just set up so yea. probably nothing hella exciting storywise till chapter 6 i would say.
Chapter 4: Mundane and Morality
Notes:
This is going to be updated fairly quickly until i catch up with what i have written, im also doing edits as I go because i did notice some continuity errors so yea.
writing/editing song: Hold me down - Wonderbag
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The old Chevy rattled as it pulled into Starcourt’s sprawling lot, paint dulled to the color of dust. The windows were down, summer air tumbling through and tangling El’s hair where she sat in the passenger seat, arms folded tight across her chest, her silence stretched tight enough that Letty finally nudged it loose.
“You gonna talk about it, or just keep sulking till we get there?”
El’s hands twisted in her lap. “Mike.” The name came out heavy, like it was already too much to carry. “He… he doesn’t listen. Not really. He just… talks. And wants. And—” She cut herself off, shaking her head, hair curtaining her face.
Letty kept one hand steady on the wheel. “That’s called being a fifteen-year-old boy,” she said dryly. “Annoying as hell, but pretty standard.”
“That’s not all,” El said, voice small. “I feel… mad. But not just mad. It’s different.”
“Frustrated,” Letty supplied. “Hurt. Both at once, maybe. In this case a packaged deal." El blinked, as though she’d been handed something solid. She nodded once, shoulders sinking. Max leaned forward from the back seat, arms draped over the front.
“Told you he’s the worst. You could do way better.” El gave her a sidelong glance, somewhere between amused and unconvinced. The Chevy groaned into a space, brakes squealing.
Letty cut the engine and, with a sidelong smile, added, “At least you don’t have Dustin trailing you around.”
“Dustin is fine,” El said quickly.
“Dustin is at science camp. And when he gets back? I’ll never hear the end of it.,” Max cut in, eyes rolling as she shoved her door open. “Guess we’ll hear about it all summer long when he shows.”
Letty laughed under her breath, the sound chasing them out into the heat.
The heat off the asphalt shimmered in waves, cicadas buzzing like static in the air. Letty’s grip on her keys clicked tight before she shoved them into her bag, shoulders rolling back as if that small adjustment might press the nerves down deeper, keep them hidden. Her chest still ached faintly at the memory of yesterday — the way the mall had closed in on her, air thick and unbreathable, hands shaking so bad she could hardly hold herself steady.
Not today.
She drew in a slow breath, counting it out through her nose the way Hopper had shown her once, like she could talk her body down from the edge if she just pretended hard enough. Beside her, Max and El were already a few paces ahead, easy in their chatter, untethered in the way only they could be.
“Okay, but seriously,” Max was saying, tugging at El’s sleeve with a grin, “we’re getting ice cream this time. No arguments. I can practically smell the waffle cones from here.”
El tilted her head, thoughtful in that way of hers, before nodding with the smallest smile. “Yes. Ice cream.”
Letty’s laugh came quiet, more breath than sound, but it steadied something in her chest as she caught up to them. “Guess that means Scoops it is.”
The glass doors yawned wide, the rush of air conditioning sweeping against her skin like a cold shock. Inside, the mall was alive — neon signs humming, voices echoing too sharp off tiled walls, footsteps clicking like the snap of teeth. Her palms itched. Her heart skittered. For a second it felt like yesterday all over again, like the floor might tilt, like the ceiling lights were too bright, too many, burning spots into her vision.
But then Max bumped her shoulder, easy and grounding, and El’s gaze was already fixed on the glowing neon cone above Scoops Ahoy, tugging them forward.
Letty set her jaw, following the girls through the swell of bodies and chatter. Each step was a small victory. Each breath a reminder: she was still here. She was still moving. And with Max’s grin and El’s quiet certainty pulling her toward the promise of sugar and laughter, she let herself believe she’d make it.
Steve was already braced against the counter when the three of them filed in, sailor hat crooked, grin practiced. He aimed it straight at El.
“You’ve gotta branch out sometime. Can’t keep living on mint chip forever. What about cotton candy? It’s the flavor of the week.”
El blinked at him.
Before she could answer, Letty folded her arms, smirking. “That’s the pitch? Cotton candy? What, you get a commission for pushing it this week?”
Steve’s brows lifted, caught between a scoff and a laugh.
Robin popped her head around from the register, voice flat with delight. “Oh look, Arcades resident vampire crawled into the daylight. Whole malls in for a treat.”
Letty turned, arching a brow. “Funny.”
Robin didn’t miss a beat. “You’re not wrong. I kill me.”
Letty rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile.
Robin didn’t miss a beat. “You’re not wrong. I kill me.”
Letty tilted her head, lips twitching. “You’re everywhere lately, you know that? First Family Video, now Scoops. You just follow Harrington around, or what?” Robin leaned on the register, mouth quirking.
“Please. I’m the brains of the operation. He just carries the boxes. Steve made a wounded sound from behind the counter, but Letty smirked, satisfied. Letty knew she stood out in the bright shop—the black denim overall dress over a mesh long-sleeved shirt, red socks pulled high above her worn black Mary Janes. Her hair was knotted deliberately on top of her head, bangs curled just so to frame her face. No makeup this time, though she hardly looked like she needed it.
Steve slid the cup across the counter. Letty’s fingers brushed cold paper, but his gaze had snagged—sideways, toward the door.
Nancy Wheeler. Laughing with Jonathan, Mike striding ahead, Will trailing behind him. The sight made something in Steve’s jaw tic before he smoothed it over with that too-easy grin. Letty saw it. More than that—she saw Nancy see it too. Just for a second, the line of Nancy’s smile slipped, like she remembered something that still tugged at her. Steve, maybe. What they’d been, what they weren’t anymore.
Letty wasn’t blind to it. Since she was a kid she’d learned to clock the way people danced around each other long before she’d had words for it—her dad and Joyce, circling in their quiet maybes. Nancy and Jonathan fit the same way, close enough to feel inevitable, even if Nancy’s gaze still snagged sometimes in places it shouldn’t.
She didn’t dislike Nancy, not really. But she didn’t like the way Steve’s smile faltered around her either, how it pulled something heavy in her own chest she wasn’t ready to name. Not when she could see, clear as day, that Nancy didn’t quite know what to do with what was hers and what she’d already left behind.
Letty’s spoon clattered against the paper cup louder than she meant, a sharp break in the moment. Robin caught it—of course she did—her sharp eyes flicking between Steve and Letty, her grin faltering just a beat before she plastered it back on. Then she jumped in, bone-dry as ever:
“So, Charlotte—word on the street is Steve’s branching out his sales tactics. Next week it’s balloon animals. You in, or is that too cheerful for the whole brooding aesthetic?”
Letty smirked, leaning on the counter. “Depends. Do I get to pop them when he’s done?”
Robin barked a laugh. “See? Perfect. She’s a natural. Most people don’t survive my jokes past round one—guess you’re stubborn and a good sport.”
Letty shrugged, sipping her soda like it was no big deal, but her lips quirked upward. Steve huffed, trying not to grin too obviously at the two of them bantering like they’d been at it for years.
“Wow. Just team up on me, huh? Great customer service.”
Robin leaned her elbows on the counter, grinning. “Mall Goths and Sad Sailors—coming to a food court near you.”
Before Steve could volley back, El’s voice chimed in from beside Letty. “Rocky Road, please.”
Max and Robin said it at the exact same time: “Figures.”
They glanced at each other, then cracked up, Max’s shoulders shaking, Robin’s grin wide and unrepentant. Even El’s brows knit with the faintest smile at their synchronized tease.
The moment rolled easy after that. Orders filled, cones passed over, chatter spilling into the hum of the mall. El’s laugh was still faintly audible as the bell above Scoops jingled. Letty glanced toward the door, then back just long enough to catch Nancy’s eye.
“Hey,” Letty offered, casual, with a little wave—like she would to anyone she halfway knew.
Nancy smiled, polite, but her gaze lingered a second too long. There was nothing sharp in it, not exactly, but something measuring, like she was cataloging the way Letty stood there with Steve and Robin. Letty felt it, that silent weight, and for a beat her own smile faltered before she pushed it back into place. Will and Mike were darting ahead, dragging El and Max like they were comets, and Letty caught the semi-concerned look Jonathan sent her. She smirked, nudging Jonathan lightly with her shoulder as she passed him.
“Don’t worry. I’ll entertain them for you. Go on, enjoy your… little date.” Jonathan shook his head, amusement tugging at his lips.
“See you around,” she said, and then she was gone, swallowed into the milling crowd. Nancy’s gaze followed her, just a half-second too long, snagged between the sight of Steve’s awkward smile fading and Robin’s bright chatter filling the space she’d left empty.
Jonathan noticed. Of course he did. Eyes tracked her look without comment at first. Then, quiet, like it was just an observation: “You’ve been watching her.”
Nancy blinked. “I was just—” She shook her head, quick to brush it off. “She and Steve seem close and She’s around a lot,” Nancy said finally, the words coming out sharper than she meant. “With… the kids. With you.”
Jonathan shrugged, too casual, like it was a coat he could throw on and wear comfortably. He didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch until it felt heavy. Then he gave a small shrug, his tone mild, almost too mild: “My mom and Hopper have a thing. Dinner, drives, whatever. It just kind of… happened. Whatever it is exactly or whatever it might mean later its just that the girls fit. Like they’ve always been there.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “It’s nice.”
Nancy shifted, arms crossing. “That’s not what I meant.”
He finally turned to look at her fully, eyes steady. “Then what did you mean?”
Her retort came quicker than she meant it to, sharper: “I meant Steve. You don’t notice the way he looks at her? The way he—” she cut herself off, teeth sinking into her lip.
Jonathan tilted his head, unreadable. “Feels like you notice it enough for both of us.”
Nancy bristled, a flush rising up her neck. “Don’t twist my words. I’m just saying… it’s strange. That’s all.”
“Strange,” Jonathan repeated, like he was testing the word. He didn’t push further, but the look he gave her wasn’t neutral either — quiet, measured, like he was weighing her, not Letty. Jonathan’s head tilted, that half-smile that was more knowing than amused. He let it linger, then pressed just a little further, voice still calm but pointed.
“Strange for her… or strange for you?”
The retort hit, quick and pointed, and for a beat Nancy’s throat worked like she had more to say but couldn’t quite find the words. Jonathan held her look, steady but soft, not pushing—just leaving the truth between them like a line she had to decide whether or not to cross.
The mall was buzzing, neon and chatter bouncing off tiled walls as the kids darted from storefront to storefront. Letty trailed a step behind, straw from her soda cup tucked between her teeth, feeling the noise press in on all sides. Music from the arcade, the ping of Scoops’ bells, laughter spilling from the food court—it all blurred together, a tide she couldn’t quite keep pace with.
Her stomach still twisted a little from the sight of Nancy, from the weight of that half-glance, that measuring second that refused to leave her chest. She chewed her lip, letting her eyes drift over the crowd, over the bright signs and the clatter of the mall, trying to pin herself somewhere safe in the swell of motion.
The kids’ orbit widened, then shrank again, pulling her along in bursts she couldn’t control. Letty’s fingers tightened on her soda cup, grounding herself in the cool plastic, the hum of the mall washing over her while the memory of the look lingered, low and insistent, just beneath the surface.
They nearly bowled straight into Lucas coming out of the sports memorabilia shop, his mom balancing a bag in one hand while corralling Erica with the other.
“Hey!” Lucas lit up at the sight of them, shoving the door open wider so it didn’t clip Max as she passed.
El grinned. “Lucas!”
Will was quick to launch into whatever debate he’d been halfway through with Mike, looping Lucas seamlessly into their orbit. Erica rolled her eyes, muttering something about “nerd convention” before tugging at her mother’s hand.
Letty raised a hand in a small wave, warm and polite. “Hi, Mrs. Sinclair. If Lucas wants to stick with us, I can make sure he gets home later. Plenty of space in the backseat.”
Mrs. Sinclair considered for a beat, then nodded. “Alright. Be home before ten, Lucas.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said quickly, already slipping into stride with the others.
Max’s face flushed, the color creeping high as she shot a sideways look at Letty. “You don’t have to play chauffeur, y’know,” she snarked, the words rushed and sharper than they needed to be.
Letty just smiled, unbothered, guiding the group forward with a light hand at Max’s shoulder. “Comic shop’s this way, right, Will?”
“Yeah!” Will perked, pointing down the stretch of mall toward the bright neon sign. “They got a new shipment this week—maybe the next X-Men is in.”
The group dissolved into chatter again, Lucas and Mike already bickering good-naturedly, El walking close enough to brush against Will’s arm. Letty let the kids surge ahead, her pace steady as she followed them into the comic store, a quiet anchor just behind their laughter.
They hit the record store next, it smelled faintly of dust and plastic sleeves, and the low hum of the ceiling fan rattling overhead filled in where the chatter and low playing music didnt. Jonathan was already at a bin near the back, fingers moving through stacks with the same slow concentration he gave his camera. Letty leaned beside him, her chin tipping toward a sleeve tucked half out of its slot—moody cover, jagged font.
“You’d like them,” she said, matter-of-fact.
Jonathan glanced down, then at her. His mouth pulled into that almost-smile he had, more wry than warm. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” she shrugged, tapping the cover with her nail. “If you’re into broody guitars and singing that sounds like a cigarette after midnight.”
That tugged a real smile out of him. “I’ll make you a tape. Got a few bands that sound like this. More layered.”
“Generous,” she teased, but it landed soft. "Shame you have drive all this way to get any of the new stuff though."
Jonathan hummed in agreement, his fingers shifting through the bin before he shrugged.
"Cant expect much from a small shop like Hot licks." He continued and Letty nodded in agreement, because he was right. With Hawkins straddling that weird line between a tiny town and full on suburbia it made sense for tiny shops to pop up almost as fast as they snuffed out; and Hot licks wasn't really just a record shop, but you can tell that was the whole purpose of it; taking space in the empty carcass of the Radio shack. Sure they had music, usually a few weeks after tapes and records dropped; but they also had a random assortment of comics, collectable cards and much like the empty shell they inhabited, they did sell parts for electronics and do basic repairs.
Across the store, the kids had claimed a corner—Lucas and Max were elbowing over a pop record, Will trying to defend it while Mike scoffed loud enough to draw a glance from the clerk. El stood in the middle of the debate, eyes moving between them like she was waiting to be told which side to choose.
Letty checked the clock above the counter. “We’ve been at this a while.”
Jonathan followed her line of sight. “Yeah. Probably should start herding.”
They started toward the front of the shop together, weaving between displays. Just before the door, Letty slowed. Out beyond the glass, two familiar silhouettes stood just off to the side of the walkway.
Nancy, arms crossed, voice sharp, even muffled through the door. Steve, shoulders set but weary, answering back in short bursts.
Jonathan had gone still beside her. Not tense exactly, but quiet, unreadable.
Letty’s head tipped toward him, her voice low. “That not bug you?”
He blinked once, then shook his head. “Nancy’s… Nancy. I’m not in it for a fight.” He said it with a shrug, but not an empty one—more like someone who’d decided a long time ago that some things weren’t worth tearing himself open over. Before she could push, he was already drifting back toward the kids, leaving her with the sight of Nancy and Steve still tangled in some half-argument.
Then Steve peeled away, quick, like he couldn’t get distance fast enough. He strode down the length of the mall without looking back.
Letty lingered in the doorway, Jonathan’s words sitting heavy, her eyes tracking Steve until the crowd swallowed him.
Behind her, El’s voice piped up. “We’ll meet you.”
Letty turned. El had Max by the hand, Lucas trailing with a grin that looked suspiciously smug. Will and Mike had already gathered their shopping bags, ready to follow.
“You—” Letty started, but El cut her off with a sunny little tug on Max’s arm.
“You say bye to Steve.” It was innocent, offhand. Too simple to argue with. And then the kids were filing out into the hall, pulling each other along, voices bouncing off the tile.
Steve slowed before the mall doors, slipping out of the current of shoppers. He cut toward a bench pressed back against the wall, sank down with his elbows braced on his knees, rubbing a hand over his face.
Letty hesitated a few steps behind. He must’ve known she’d follow—why else stop here, out of the way? Still, she crossed the space and dropped down beside him, her soda cup balanced between her hands.
“You always pick the prime seats?” she asked, tilting her chin toward the fountain across the concourse.
His mouth tugged at one corner. “What, you keeping track now?” A beat, then a shrug. “Figured you’d sit if it was a good spot. Seemed like the trick last time.”
That stalled her, the straw between her teeth stilling. Her hands twitched around the soda cup, just enough to remind her of yesterday, the booth where she’d tried to hold herself together. Mall chatter stretched over them like static.
“You okay?” she asked finally, quieter than before.
Steve glanced down at his sneakers, something caught halfway to words. He huffed instead, shaking it off. “Yeah. Just—long day.”
Something flickered across her face, quick as a shadow, but she tipped the moment aside. “So,” she said, nudging his arm with the edge of her cup, “what’s the verdict? You still pushing cotton candy like your life depends on it, or did they give you a new favorite flavor to hustle?”
That pulled a laugh out of him, low and surprised. “Don’t knock cotton candy. Kids eat it up. Pays the bills.”
“Yeah? You get commission for it too?”
“If only.” He leaned back against the wall, looking more like himself again.
“You know, you could branch out,” she said, straw bobbing as she tapped the lid with her finger. “Scoop ice cream, sell movies. You’ve got the hair for it.”
He barked a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s your pitch? The hair?”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Can’t,” he admitted, grin crooked now, lighter.
She smirked but didn’t push, just let the silence linger a beat before adding, “Actually—you could try it out. Next week we’re doing a barbecue at the cabin. Dustin’s back, Dad’ll probably set half the yard on fire trying to grill. You should come. You can test your sales pitch on something safer than paying customers.”
The words slipped out casual, like an easy offer, but they held.
Steve blinked at her, then smiled slower this time. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
Across the concourse, El’s voice rang out: “Letty! Car!”
She stood, slinging her cup toward the trash. “Saved by the kid brigade. Again.”
Steve leaned back against the wall, watching her walk off. “Yeah. Lucky me.”
The Chevy rumbled back onto the road, headlights catching little bursts of dust that spun off the road. Lucas had claimed shotgun before anyone else could, legs stretched as far as the cramped seat would allow, arms crossed like he’d won something major.
“Unfair,” Max muttered from the back, kicking the edge of his seat. “You weren’t even with us till halfway through.”
“Still counts.” Lucas leaned back smug, adjusting the radio like he owned it. “Besides, Mom said the front seat is a responsibility and not a right.”
“That’s not a rule, it’s an excuse,” Max shot back.
“Sounds like jealousy to me.” He twisted the dial until tinny synths buzzed through the speakers. “Oh, this one’s good—”
Max groaned. “Lucas, no one wants to hear your corny radio hits.”
El tilted her head, listening. “I like it.”
“See?” Lucas crowed, pointing back toward Max without even looking. “Taste confirmed.”
Max leaned closer to El, voice low but dramatic. “She only agrees so you’ll shut up.”
El covered a smile with her hand. “Maybe.”
Letty smirked at the wheel, eyes on the road. “You two fight like an old married couple.”
Max spluttered, cheeks instantly hot. “We do not.”
Lucas, of course, seized it. “Guess that makes you my wife now.” He gave an exaggerated sigh, like it was a burden too great to bear.
Max swatted the back of his seat. “Dream on, Sinclair.”
El laughed outright this time, soft but genuine, and even Letty couldn’t hide a low chuckle.
Lucas, still grinning, tried to play it cool. “Hey, just sayin’. We’d make a power duo. Basketball trophies and arcade high scores, all in one house.”
Max leaned back with a huff. “If that’s your proposal, you seriously need work.”
“Noted,” Letty said dryly, one hand steady on the wheel. “Stick to comic books for now, champ.”
Lucas slumped with mock offense, but his grin didn’t fade. “Fine. But I’m keeping shotgun privileges.”
The car rattled as it turned down a quieter street, porch lights flickering here and there. El’s head rested briefly against the window, Max still muttering about “unearned front seat rights,” Lucas humming along to the radio like he’d won the war anyway.
Letty slowed in front of the Sinclair driveway, easing the Chevy to the curb. “Alright, lover boy,” she said lightly, “end of the line.”
Lucas unbuckled, tossing a triumphant look back at Max. “See you later. Don’t miss me too much.”
Max rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t stick. “Oh, please.” El just smiled, small and secret, as Lucas hopped out and jogged up toward the porch, his mom waiting at the door. When Letty pulled away again, the car was quieter, just the hum of the road and the girls’ laughter still lingering in the air. El, meanwhile, stared out the window, cheek smushed against the glass, quiet in that way she got when her mind was chewing on something.
It was El who spoke first. “You like Steve?”
Letty choked on nothing but her own spit, hacking until her eyes watered. “What?” she croaked, voice raw from the fit.
Max’s head whipped around. “Wait—Steve Harrington?” Then, almost instantly, her lips curled into a grin sharp enough to cut glass. “Oh my god. You do.”
“Hold up—no one said that.” Letty rasped, still coughing, still glaring into the windshield like she could drive through it.
“You didn’t deny it,” Max sing-songed, leaning forward like she’d just been handed the best Christmas present in years.
El, solemn and a beat behind, added, “Maybe cough on him. He will like that.”
Letty let out another strangled cough-laugh, smacking her chest. “What is wrong with you two?”
Max was on a roll now, relentless. “Ohhh, I can see it—date night at Scoops Ahoy. Candlelit table, extra sprinkles. He’d probably write you a love letter on a napkin.”
El, nodding earnestly, chimed in, “And—uh—give her free cone.”
“Romantic,” Max declared. “Classic Harrington move.”
Letty sagged further into the seat with a groan. “I hate both of you.”
Max just leaned forward more, eyes glinting. “Mrs. Harrington, queen of hair.”
El’s brow furrowed like she was trying to get the rhythm right, then: “King and queen. Like fairy tale.”
Max snorted so hard she nearly doubled over. “Oh my god, yes! Prince Steve and Princess Letty—happily ever after in a giant hair castle.”
That was it. Letty barked a laugh despite herself, finally snapping, “Please. You’ve got it bad for Lucas, you’re not allowed to talk.”
Max’s face went red in an instant, her smirk crumbling into spluttering denial. “That is not the same thing!”
El, solemn as ever, added helpfully, “It is the same.”
Letty grinned, satisfied. “Checkmate.”
The teasing didn’t stop until Letty finally pulled into the Mayfield driveway, headlights cutting across the patchy yard. Max had gone red to the roots of her hair, still muttering threats about never speaking to either of them again, while El sat smug in the back seat, clearly delighted to have joined the game.
Max shoved her seatbelt off the second they stopped. “I’m out.”
Letty killed the engine and unbuckled slower. “C’mon, I’ll walk you up.”
Max shot her a sideways look. “You don’t have to. I’m not five.”
“Didn’t say you were.” Letty pushed her door open, not waiting for permission. “Humor me.”
Max grumbled under her breath but didn’t actually argue, kicking her sneakers against the driveway gravel as they headed toward the porch. The night air was cooler than inside the car, cicadas humming somewhere in the dark. The porch light buzzed weakly overhead.
At the door, Max adjusted the strap of her backpack, staring hard at the peeling paint instead of at Letty. “Thanks. For the ride. And… y’know. Not telling anyone.”
Letty leaned a shoulder against the frame, smirking. “What? About your crush on Harrington? Please. My lips are sealed.”
Max groaned loud enough to rattle the door. Letty’s grin widened, but she let it go, jerking her chin toward the knob. “Get inside. ’Night, Max.”
Max muttered something that sounded like “goodnight” before slipping inside and shutting the door quickly, like maybe that would cut off any more jokes.
Letty stayed put a moment longer, listening to the muffled shuffle of footsteps and the lock clicking into place. she pushed off the frame and headed back down the steps, El’s face already pressed against the passenger window, waiting.
The car hummed soft under them as Letty steered through the quiet streets, no real hurry to get home. Hawkins after dark felt empty, just pools of streetlight and the occasional flicker of a neon sign. El twisted her straw in the last of her soda, working up words the way she always did now—testing them out before she risked them.
“I think about Mike,” she said finally. “How I feel about him. It’s… hard to say right.”
Letty glanced at her, softened her voice. “Doesn’t have to be perfect. Sometimes you don’t know how you feel about someone ‘til you know them better. That’s why it’s called getting to know people.”
El sat with that a moment, chewing her lip. Then: “So… you are going to get to know Billy, too?”
Letty let out a short laugh through her nose, tilting her head. “That’s different.”
But El just blinked at her, earnest, and added—almost innocently—“Max said Billy fixed her skateboard when it broke. She thought he would yell, but he didn’t. He just left it at her door.”
That pulled Letty up short. Her hands tightened on the wheel for a second before she loosened them again. “Yeah… well. That tracks.” She blew out a breath, eyes on the road. “Most people aren’t all one thing, El. Not all bad, not all good. Usually there’s… something in the middle. You just gotta dig for it.”
El considered that with the seriousness that only she could. “So Billy is not a monster.”
Letty’s mouth tugged into a wry half-smile. “No. But he sure as hell tries to play one on TV.”
The next morning came quiet, the kind of hush that always settled after Hopper left before dawn. His empty mug still sat by the sink, a coffee ring marking where he hadn’t bothered with a coaster.
El crunched through a bowl of cereal at the table, chin propped in her hand as she watched Letty wrestle with a slip of paper.
“Does that say… ketchup?” Letty squinted at the chicken scratch, turning the page sideways as if that would help. “Or… soap? He really should’ve been a doctor, the way he writes.”
“Dad says ketchup,” El supplied, serious.
Letty narrowed her eyes. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes,” El said simply, and shoveled another spoonful into her mouth.
By the time they hit the grocery store, Letty had already resigned herself to half deciphering Hop’s list and half improvising. She tossed a loaf of bread into the cart, muttering under her breath, and when she turned back El had added two boxes of Pop-Tarts.
“Not on the list.”
“Good,” El said, deadpan.
Letty sighed but let them stay.
“Milk, bread… eggs, sure. But what the hell is this?” She jabbed a finger at the middle of the list. “Onions? Olives? Or… ostriches?”
El tilted her head at the page, studying it with the same furrowed focus she used for math problems. “It looks like… ‘oinks.’ Dad means bacon.”
“Great,” Letty muttered. “At least that one makes sense.”
El slipped away down the aisle, reappearing with a box of toaster pastries, dropping them in the cart without a word.
“Uh-uh.” Letty plucked them back out and set them on the shelf. “We’ve got enough sugar at home.”
El frowned. “But maybe Dad wrote pastries.”
Letty groaned, shoving the cart forward. “Don’t use my logic against me.”
They made their slow way down the aisle, Letty ticking off staples while El darted to either side, plucking up oddball things—fruit roll-ups, a can of cheese spray, soda—some making it past Letty’s veto, some not.
In the refrigerated aisle, she paused in front of the rows of hot dogs, mentally counting how many the kids could plow through tomorrow. Dustin alone was good for… what? Five? Six?
“How many dogs do we need?” she murmured, grabbing two packs.
El’s brows furrowed. “Dogs? Real dogs?”
Letty almost dropped the package, choking on a laugh. “No—no, not real dogs. They just… call them that.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea,” she admitted, shoving the hot dogs into the cart and shaking her head.
El considered that, then reached out decisively for a bag of marshmallows. “We need these. For s’mores.”
Letty arched a brow but added them in. “Alright, but only if Hop doesn’t eat them all before we get a fire going.”
Back at the cabin, the groceries found their places piece by piece, cupboards filling with cereal boxes and canned goods, the fridge humming under the new weight of condiments and meat. El perched on the counter, swinging her legs as she carefully tore open the marshmallow bag and popped one in her mouth.
“Tomorrow, s’mores,” she said, pleased with herself.
Letty stacked the last can into the cabinet and dusted her hands off. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
The cabin settled into quiet around them, broken only by the buzz of cicadas outside and the faint drip of the faucet. Letty leaned against the counter, letting her eyes trace the line of the woods out the window, silver in the morning light. For the first time in a long time, the ordinary felt like enough.
Max had barely let the car roll to a stop before she bailed, slamming the door and jogging up the porch steps without a backward glance, yelling her hellos to Letty as she rushed inside. Billy stayed in the car a beat longer, sunglasses tipped down just enough to watch her in the front yard.
Letty looked like hell, face sternly set but cheeks dusted a blotchy red. Black hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, smudges of dirt and sweat on her face from the morning’s work. Band tee hanging off one shoulder, Red Hawkins track shorts riding a little high, socks crooked and mismatched. Sneakers planted firmly, jaw set, she swung with more stubbornness than strength, the log barely budging under each hit.
The axe handle slipped in her grip, palms already sore, but she tightened and swung again anyway. The log split halfway, wobbled, and stuck there like it was mocking her.
“Jesus,” she muttered, wiping sweat off her brow with the back of her wrist. She bent to tug the axe free again, only to freeze when a voice cut in—smooth, low, laced with humor.
“You planning on killing it or just pissing it off?”
She looked up to see Billy sauntering across the yard, shrugging out of his denim jacket as he came, slinging it over one shoulder before dropping it on the porch rail. The white tee beneath clung like it had been made for him, stretching across his chest as he rolled his shoulders loose.
Billy huffed a laugh through his nose at the startled look on her face, mean without meaning to be. Girl was gonna throw her back out trying to play lumberjack. “You keep swinging like that sweetheart, you’re gonna snap your spine before you split the wood.”
Letty rolled her eyes, pulse thudding from a mix of exertion and pending irritation. “And you’re the expert?” she snarked, passing him the axe handle-first. “Guess all that aggression’s good for something.”
His mouth curved into a slow, knowing grin. “Guess we’ll see.”
Boots dug into the dirt, stance wide, he hefted the axe like it weighed nothing. One clean swing and the log cracked in two, sharp and effortless. Another followed, and another—the wood giving way beneath every strike.
Letty blinked, startled into a half-laugh. “You—uh—wow. Okay. That was…” She trailed off, shaking her head at herself. “Not bad.”
Billy shot her a look, cocky but not cruel. “Not bad?” He leaned on the axe, flex in his forearms obvious even in the lazy posture. “Sweetheart, that’s professional grade.”
She crossed her arms, smirking faintly. “Oh, I’ll be sure to call you next time I need firewood. Add it to your résumé right under ‘menace to society.’”
His laugh came short, a bark in his chest. “Better than watching you whack away like a girl scout.”
Letty snorted, the sound soft, almost fond despite herself. “You say that like it’s an insult. We can’t all be tan lifeguards, you know.”
Billy tilted his head, grin sharpening as he wiped his palms down his jeans. “No, guess not. Some of us have to play Happy Homemaker.” His eyes flicked toward the house, then back at her. “Chopping wood, making dinner, keeping the fire lit—real domestic.”
Her lips pursed, irritation furrowing her brow. “You say it like there’s no effort involved.”
Billy tipped his chin at the uneven stack of wood, mouth tugging crooked. “If you’re calling that effort, princess, you’ve got a long way to go.”
Her mouth opened, ready to reach for anything—a scathing joke, Thinly veiled insult—
“Wow!” El’s voice cut in, bright from the porch. She’d been watching, eyes wide. “You are very strong.”
Letty startled, half turning as El clutched the railing like she’d discovered a superhero.
Max shouldered past her a second later, arms crossed, smirk already razor-sharp. Billy tipped the axe against the stump, wiping the back of his hand across his jaw. For a second, El’s earnest grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, surprising even him. “Guess I’ll take the compliment,” he muttered.
Max snorted. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
He shot her a look that was more amused than annoyed. “You always this charming, Mayfield?”
“Always,” she fired back.
“You want something to drink? I was just about to head in.” Letty said then, not unkindly, but the lingering annoyance was evident in her tone.
Billy shook his head, swinging the axe back into the stump. “Got places to be.” He leaned the axe against the stump then, brushing sawdust from his hands.
For once, his smirk didn’t land sharp. It bent softer, almost curious. “What are you, everybody’s mom now?” The words should’ve stung, but the edge had dulled—tease more than bite.
“It’s not like I’m offering to pack you a lunchbox ,” she fired back quickly, blowing a strand of hair from her face.
Billy only huffed, wiping his hands down his jeans again. “Don’t waste it on me, princess. I’ll survive.”
And yet, when he started back toward the car, he lifted two fingers in a half-wave before sliding behind the wheel. Engine roaring and gravel crunching as he backed down the drive.
El leaned closer on the porch, eyes still shining. “He is very strong,” she repeated, almost dreamy. Then, softer, almost to herself: “See? Getting to know people.”
Max, however, was frowning, suspicion etched into every line of her face. “What the hell was that supposed to mean?”
It hadn’t been anything—just banter, just Billy being Billy. And yet El’s comment made her roll her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself, while Max’s sharp look reminded her to keep her cool.
Before Letty could huff out a reply, the crunch of tires on gravel saved her. A familiar cruiser rolled into the drive, dust lifting in its wake. Hopper swung the door shut behind him, scratching his jaw as his eyes fell on the neat stack of split wood by the stump.
“Well, well,” he drawled, raising his brows at Letty. “Didn’t know I had G.I. Jane living under my roof.” He shot a wink to El before laughing at his own joke.
Letty exhaled with a shake of her head. “That wasn’t me,” she muttered, nodding toward the road where Billy’s car had vanished. “Hargrove did it.”
Hopper froze mid-step, blinking like he hadn’t heard right. “Hargrove?” His voice carried an incredulous edge, like the name didn’t belong in the same sentence with “helpful.”
Letty gave a small, helpless shrug, and Max groaned, throwing her hands up. “Oh my god. You guys hear yourselves? Talking about him like he’s some cryptid that wandered into the yard. He’s not Bigfoot—he’s my brother.” She shot Letty a look halfway between exasperation and disbelief. “Seriously. Twilight Zone.”
Hopper glanced between the two girls, his gaze landing squarely on Letty’s face—tight, caught between laughter and a scathing remark. His mouth tugged at one corner, half amusement, half warning, before he huffed out a laugh.
“Well, guess if Hargrove wants to chop my firewood, who am I to argue? Beats paying for lumber.” He patted the top of the woodpile like it was a prize hog at the fair, then jerked his chin toward the house. “C’mon, I gotta change before I start the grill. When’s everybody supposed to show, what exactly did you two manage to buy yesterday?”
El perked up immediately, darting for the door after him. “Marshmallows,” she said proudly, like it was the most important item on the list.
“Hot dogs,” Letty admitted with a groan, trailing after them.
“But not real dogs.” El supplied in a matter of fact tons.
“Yep.” Letty sighed, rubbing her forehead as Max exasperatedly agreed “Not real dogs.”
“Then why are they called that?”
Letty opened her mouth, faltered. “...I have no idea.”
Hopper chuckled under his breath, holding the door open as they filed inside. “God help us all.”
The yard was already humming with life as the sun started its slow drop, painting everything in gold. The firepit crackled weakly, barely catching under Letty’s careful coaxing, her palms smudged with ash. Across the patchy grass, Max and El wrestled with a rickety folding table, stacks of mismatched paper plates and plastic cups rattling against cans of Coke and jars of condiments. The front door stood wide open, propped with the radio, Jonathan’s latest mixtape spilling moody, droning guitar riffs into the warm air. Hopper hummed tunelessly along while nursing his beer, spatula in hand as he flipped burgers, looking more like a grumpy camp counselor than a sheriff.
The first voices carried before the bikes rolled in—Lucas, Mike, and Will, already loud, overlapping. Gravel sprayed as they skidded to a stop, Will hopping off with his notebook tucked under one arm while Lucas immediately shouted toward the grill.
“You need help, Chief? I’m basically a pro,” Lucas said, abandoning his bike in the grass as he jogged over.
“Sure, if you wanna burn down my lawn,” Hopper grunted, but his mouth twitched like he didn’t hate the offer.
Meanwhile, Mike had made a beeline for Letty, who was crouched at the pit, carefully nudging another log into place. “You’re doing it wrong,” he declared, tone full of teenage certainty. “I know how to start a fire.”
Letty didn’t even look up. “Of course you do, you little arsonist.” She shoved the matchbox back into her pocket and shot him a warning glance.
Will, quieter than the rest, spread a blanket near the shade of the oak tree, dropping his notebook onto the middle with a kind of ritualistic care. “We can start after we eat,” he said, already pulling dice out of his pocket.
Hopper glanced up from the grill, catching Wills gaze from where he sat on the blanket. “Hey, Bryers. Your mom coming by later?”
Mike froze like Hopper had just suggested the unthinkable. “What? Ew..” His nose wrinkled, already storming off to grab a soda like the conversation had physically offended him.
That earned Hopper a deep chuckle, shaking his head as he flipped another burger.
Dustin was practically vibrating in the passenger seat, arms flailing as he talked.
“Man, I cannot wait to get back to the table. I’ve got this whole new character idea—like, epic level scaling, sketches, the whole nine yards. And the arcade, dude, I’ve been starving without it. I’m telling you, one more week without Galaga and I might’ve wasted away.”
Steve glances at him, deadpan. “Yeah, you look real fragile.”
Dustin waves him off. “No, but seriously—Letty totally hooked me up last time. Gave me free tokens. Just, like, handed ‘em over like it was nothing. She’s cool like that.” His tone softens just a notch, the kind of offhand admiration he doesn’t realize he’s giving away.
Steve smirks. “Careful, Henderson. Hop finds out you’re trying to date his daughter, you’ll be buried in the woods before you hit freshman year.”
“She’s not his daughter,” Dustin shoots back immediately, grinning. “Technically she’s his niece. So maybe it’d be different.”
Steve frowns, confused. “Wait—what? I thought—”
“Nah.” Dustin shakes his head, curls bouncing. “Her mom just… dropped her off one summer and never came back. Total vanishing act. She’s been living with Hop ever since. Kind of wild, right? Dude goes from bachelor hermit cop to suddenly having two kids in, like, one year. Late delivery from the stork or something.”
Steve blinks, like he’s still catching up. “…Huh.”
“Yeah. Told you Hop’s secretly soft.” Dustin leans back smug, like he’s just cracked a case.
Steve just mutters under his breath, “Soft isn’t the word I’d use,” as he turns onto the dirt road Dustin pointed toward.
The BMW cruised down the narrow road, headlights cutting through the dark canopy. Dustin leaned forward in his seat, one hand braced against the dash like he was co-pilot in a fighter jet.
“Slow down, slow down! This road winds and if you hit a deer, I swear, Harrington—”
Steve rolled his eyes but eased his foot off the gas, muttering, “Kid, I’m not trying to rack up Bambi’s body count, alright?”
“Good,” Dustin shot back, already grinning as he craned toward the windshield.
“’Cause if you kill one, Hopper’ll never let you back on the property. And trust me—you wanna be on this property. It’s paradise.”
Steve snorted but said nothing, though his grip loosened on the wheel. The woods opened up, and through the trees came the soft flicker of firelight. Laughter carried faintly on the breeze—shouts, overlapping voices, the kind of sound that could only mean kids.
“There!” Dustin pointed, practically vibrating. “See? They started without me! Unbelievable.”
Before the car had fully rolled to a stop in the dirt driveway, he was already unbuckling. The moment the tires crunched to a halt, Dustin flung open the door and bolted out, yelling at the top of his lungs.
“Guess who’s back, nerds!”
The yard erupted. Lucas, Mike, and Will scrambled off the blanket they’d been sitting on, voices tripping over each other as they barreled toward him.
“Dustin!”
“About time, man!”
“Did you bring the dice?!”
Dustin collided with them in a tangle of arms and shouts, all four of them laughing so hard they nearly toppled into the grass. The fire crackled nearby, Max yelling from the folding table, “Hey! Don’t crush the chips!” as El waved enthusiastically from her spot at the condiments.
Steve climbed out slower, shutting the driver’s door with a thud. The scene spread out before him like something out of a postcard—fire glowing against the dark, soda cans stacked in uneven towers, the faint sound of a radio drifting from the porch.
Hopper was there, settled in a rocking chair with a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. He tipped it in greeting, chin lifting.
Steve raised his hand in return, about to say something—when he froze.
The cabin door creaked open. Letty stepped out, balancing a tray piled with crackers and skewers, a bag of marshmallows perched precariously on top. She nudged Hopper’s legs aside with her foot, careful as she crossed onto the porch.
Her green eyes flicked up—and caught his. They crinkled at the corners with a smile that hit sharper than it should’ve.
For a beat, Steve forgot how to move.
Hopper didn’t miss it. He scoffed, low and knowing, dragging a hand down his beard before muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “Jesus Christ.”
The sound jolted Steve back. He blinked, shook his head once, and forced himself forward. “Uh—hey, uh—need a hand with that?” he called, pointing vaguely at the tray, his voice pitching higher than he liked.
Letty’s smile deepened. “Sure. If you don’t mind risking marshmallow duty.”
Steve swallowed, already moving toward her. “I’m a quick study."
Behind him, Hopper tipped his beer back, the faintest smirk curling around the bottle’s rim.
Steve bounded up the porch steps, already reaching to steady the tray from her hands. The marshmallows wobbled dangerously, and his fingers brushed hers as he righted the stack.
“Careful,” she teased, though her grip stayed firm until he had the weight of it.
“Got it,” he assured quickly, trying to ignore the way his chest had gone tight. He hadn’t expected… this.
Steve’s focus was caught on the soft sweep of her T-shirt sleeves against her upper arms, the way the neckline slid down her shoulder and exposed the thin bra-strap, worn running shorts that had frayed strings brushing her thighs, and faint ash-smudges dusting her socks from tending the fire. She looked at ease here—like she belonged in this place where voices rose warm and the radio hummed old songs.
He swallowed, shifting the tray against his arm. “Uh—so… crackers and skewers, huh? Fancy.”
Her grin tilted sly. Her gaze dropped once over him, from the neat collar of his polo to the way he’d rolled his sleeves. “Says the guy in a country club shirt.”
Steve blinked, then looked down at himself like he hadn’t registered what he’d put on. “What—this? It’s just—”
“Highbrow for campfire shenanigans,” she finished for him, laughter threading through her words. “You planning on grilling in slacks too, Harrington?”
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No, but now I feel underdressed. Should’ve gone with a tux.”
Her eyes sparkled at that, the corners crinkling again, and she nudged past him toward the firepit, the tray lightened by half in his hands.
Behind them, Hopper muttered something into his beer that sounded a lot like, “Unbelievable.”
Letty shot Hopper a look over her shoulder at his muttered words, eyebrows raised in a silent seriously? before turning back toward the fire.
“C’mon, Harrington. You’ve agreed to marshmallow duty.”
He fell into step beside her, tray balanced carefully, his grin crooked. “ A real honor. I’ll make sure not to burn the place down.”
“Mm. We’ll see.” She sank onto one of the logs Hopper had cut the winter before, tugging the stretched collar back up her shoulder as she reached for the bag of marshmallows. Steve slid in next to her, close enough that the heat from the fire brushed one side of him while the faint smell of her shampoo threaded on the other.
Across the flames, the kids were sprawled on a blanket. Dice clattered in soft rolls while Dustin narrated loudly, launching into a story about the “genius-level programming” he’d learned at camp. Max cut him off every few sentences with sharp-edged sarcasm, earning groans and laughter from Lucas and Will. Their voices rose and fell like waves—background noise, a buffer around the two perched on their log.
“So,” Letty said, skewering a marshmallow with practiced ease, “is this your first campfire, Harrington? Or just your first one without a dress code?”
Steve snorted. “You’re not gonna let the polo thing go, are you?”
“Not a chance,” she replied, eyes glinting in the firelight. “I mean, who wears pressed collars to roast sugar?”
“Excuse you, this is casual,” he shot back, gesturing down at himself with exaggerated indignation. “I rolled the sleeves up and everything.”
Letty smirked, holding her marshmallow just above the flame. “Rebel.”
His laugh was softer this time, quieter, caught between the crackle of firewood. He bent closer, lowering his voice so the kids wouldn’t hear. “For the record, I didn’t know I was walking into, like, a rustic wilderness retreat. Thought it’d be burgers in the backyard. Y’know—normal.”
“Normal,” she repeated, amusement threading through the word. She leaned in slightly, green eyes catching the fire’s reflection. “Guess you’re on the wrong side of town for that, Harrington.”
Something in his grin faltered, softened. He ducked his head, sliding a marshmallow onto his own skewer just to give his hands something to do. “Yeah,” he said finally, almost more to himself than her. “Guess so.”
The dice rolled again across the blanket. Dustin’s triumphant shout followed by Max’s sarcastic groan pulled them both back, the fire sparking high as a log cracked in half. Letty smiled faintly, holding her marshmallow steady. “Better keep an eye on yours. Blink too long and it’ll go up in flames.”
“Story of my life,” Steve muttered, watching the sugar start to blister golden at the edges.
Steve shifted the skewer in his hands, watching the marshmallow bubble and sag at the edges. The kids’ voices were still tumbling over one another across the fire—Lucas groaning about dice rolls, Will insisting it was fate, Max cutting in with a sarcastic “sure, fate loves you”—but the noise blurred into a background hum.
Letty was right there, her knees pulled up, hair tugged loose from its Ponytail where the firelight turned it copper at the ends. She laughed under her breath at something Max said, then glanced sideways at him, and the sound caught in Steve’s chest.
He cleared his throat. “So, uh… can I ask you something?”
Her brows arched, curious. “That depends. Is it going to make me regret letting you near the marshmallows?”
Steve chuckled, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “Nah, nothing like that. Just—El. You two are…” He hesitated, words catching. Hopper’s earlier grumble, Dustin’s half-slip in the car—it all tangled together. “You’re not—like—”
“STEVE!”
Dustin’s voice cracked like a whip across the fire, and suddenly the boy was on his feet, waving his arms dramatically. “Get over here! You’re supposed to witness this! Lucas just rolled a one—an actual one—on his saving throw, and it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”
Lucas groaned into his hands while Max cackled beside him, and Will tried valiantly to keep the game moving.
Steve blinked, the question dying on his tongue. He leaned back slightly, exhaling a laugh. “Duty calls, I guess.”
Letty smirked, poking at her marshmallow. “Better not keep them waiting. Sounds serious.”
He stood, brushing off his hands, but not before his gaze lingered a fraction longer on her profile, caught in the glow of the flames. Then he shook himself, muttering something about “nerds” as he made his way across the blanket.
Letty hummed, low and amused, before blowing gently on the golden blister of sugar at her skewer’s tip.
The night stretched long in that summer way, the air heavy with smoke and citronella. The kids had burned through half a bag of marshmallows and two campaigns worth of dice rolls before the energy began to fade.
Max had been the first to disappear, tugging El along with the promise of swapping tapes before bed. The low murmur of their laughter carried faintly through the cracked window in the girls shared room. Will had nodded off mid-sentence, collapsed sideways across El’s bunk with his notebook still open, one leg dangling dangerously over the railing; Max having surrendered to the bean bag, snoring softly along to El’s uneven cadence from Letty’s bunk. Mike sprawled lengthwise across the couch like he owned it, arms folded over his chest, muttering in his sleep every so often.
By the time the fire had dimmed to glowing embers, the yard was quiet except for the hiss of cicadas. Hopper had long since tapped out, clapping Steve on the shoulder with a muttered “watch the kids” before retreating inside. Letty and Lucas stayed behind to clear the mess—gathering cans, brushing crumbs into paper plates, stamping out the last spark of an overzealous marshmallow stick.
That left Steve and Dustin by the fire, the last two holdouts. Dustin leaned forward on the log, firelight painting him in restless gold as he poked a stick into the coals. “Man,” he said, almost wistful, “this summer’s already kicking last summer’s ass. And last summer had the demogorgon.”
Steve smirked, tilting his head toward him. “Pretty sure we agreed not to romanticize the monster attacks, dude.”
Dustin rolled his eyes, adjusting his hat. “I’m just saying. We’ve got a cabin, we’ve got a firepit, I don’t have to worry about my mom walking in while I’m trying to explain the intricacies of flanking combat…”
“Tragic,” Steve deadpanned.
“Exactly!” Dustin jabbed the stick at him for emphasis. Then, softer, “It’s… nice. Y’know? Normal. Almost.”
Steve let that settle, glancing toward the cabin. Through the open door, he could just catch the sound of Letty laughing at something Lucas said—a quiet, unguarded laugh. His chest pulled tight for reasons he didn’t want to examine.
Dustin followed his gaze, a sly grin curving. “You’re staring.”
Steve snapped his eyes back to the fire. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, you were,” Dustin said, leaning back smug. “And if you don’t get your head on straight, old habits die hard. El would kill me if you made Letty cry because you’re too busy crying over Nancy.”
Steve froze, hands tightening on his knees. “What—?”
Dustin just smirked, resting his chin on the stick. “Relax. I’m saying… pay attention. You’re lucky she’s cant do the mind power thing.”
Steve groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“Uh-huh. And you’re obvious.” Dustin smirked, but the edge softened as he tilted his head, watching Steve watch the flames.
Steve didn’t answer right away. He just tossed another piece of wood onto the fire, watching sparks leap into the dark. When he finally spoke, it was low, almost an admission. “Yeah.”
From the porch, Letty’s voice carried across the yard. “Steve, you still alive out here or did Dustin bore you into a coma?”
Dustin cackled. “See? She likes me better.”
Steve just shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth as he pushed himself up to help finish the clean-up.
Inside the cabin, the air was tinged with the lingering scent of Clove and heady oak; the quiet buzz of a box fan struggling against summer heat mixed with the soft snores of the kids. Steve stepped through the door just as Lucas was setting an empty soda can on the counter. Lucas caught his eye, grin tugging at his mouth in that too-knowing way.
“Careful, Harrington,” he murmured, voice pitched low so Letty wouldn’t hear. “You’re staring again.”
Steve froze mid-step, cheeks warming, but Lucas didn’t give him time to argue. He just shouldered past, calling over his shoulder, “Hey, Dust! Don’t forget the dice this time—Max’ll kill you if she steps on one barefoot again!”
“Relax, I got it!” Dustin hollered back from the firepit.
The screen door banged shut behind Lucas, leaving the cabin softer, quieter.
Letty was at the sink, soapy hands stacking skewers into the dish rack. A towel hung off her shoulder for her to quickly wipe off the drip of water when needed. She glanced over when she heard Steve, smile spreading across her lips. “Don’t tell me Dustin talked you into another campaign already.”
Steve leaned a shoulder against the doorway, trying to look casual. “Nah. Just making sure you didn’t get stuck with all the clean-up.”
She flicked a look at him, playful, green eyes glinting. “And here I thought the polo meant you were above manual labor.”
He huffed a laugh, pushing off the doorframe. “For the record, this polo has seen way worse than marshmallow goo. I’m a pro.”
“Uh-huh.” Her voice was dry, but she slid the towel across the counter so he could grab it, like she’d expected him to step in all along.
He took it, their hands brushing for half a second—just long enough to send a jolt up his arm. Neither of them commented. Instead, Steve started drying the skewers, stacking them neat beside her. The silence wasn’t heavy, though. It was easy, filled with the muted hum of the radio Hopper had left on in the corner, something low and crackly from the sixties.
Letty broke it first, glancing sideways at him as she shook water from her hands. “So… is this what you imagined? Babysitting duty with marshmallow bribes and sticky dice?”
Steve smirked, catching her gaze. “Honestly? Kind of better.”
Her laugh was quiet, softer than he’d heard it all night. For a moment, it almost felt like the cabin was theirs alone, the noise of the world pushed back by firelight and shadows.
She rinsed her hands, then started pulling foil from a drawer. Steve watched her wrap up the leftover hot dogs, shove chips into a ziplock, and whatever else hadn’t been demolished by the kids being placed back into the fridge.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, though he didn’t make a move to stop her.
“I know.” She folded the foil with neat, practiced fingers. “But you’ll forget to eat otherwise. And I don’t need Dustin complaining that his favorite babysitter passed out from low blood sugar.”
Steve let out a sharp laugh, pointing the dish towel at her. “Wow. Okay. First of all—favorite? Please. He only says that ‘cause I let him sit shotgun.”
“Mm-hm.” She slid the wrapped food into a brown paper bag, not looking at him but smiling all the same. “Second of all?”
“Second of all,” he continued, leaning against the counter like he had a point to prove, “I do eat. I’m basically a gourmet chef. Ask anyone.”
She arched a brow, finally meeting his eyes. “Mac and cheese out of the box doesn’t count, Harrington.”
Steve pressed a hand to his chest like she’d struck him. “Wow. You’ve been talking to Henderson, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged, soft but mischievous. “He might’ve mentioned your two jobs and, you know… parents always gone.” Her tone lightened before he could bristle, and she slid the bag toward him. “So, if you ever need company, I don’t mind babysitting you, too.”
That stopped him. He blinked, caught between a laugh and something warmer tugging at his chest.
“Babysit me, huh?” he managed, smirk tugging at his lips. “Careful, Letts, you make it sound like I’m not a responsible adult.”
“You drive kids around in a BMW and wear polos to bonfires.” Her smile softened, green eyes crinkling at the edges. “But yeah, sure, responsible adult.”
He took the bag, shaking his head, grin widening despite himself. “You know, I think I liked it better when Billy was the only one giving me crap.”
“Too bad,” she shot back gently, brushing past him to hang the dish towel. “You’ve got me now.”
For once, Steve didn’t have a comeback. He just stood there, bag of leftovers in hand, wondering why that felt like a win.
Steve lingered in the kitchen a moment longer after she slipped past him, bag of leftovers warming his hand. He heard her step out onto the porch, the screen door creaking softly behind her, then the faint clatter of cans as she crouched to gather the trash bag that the kids had filled up.
For the first time all night, the cabin felt still. The fire outside was burning low, its glow throwing lazy shadows through the window. Upstairs, one of the kids shifted, the bedsprings groaning. Steve leaned back against the counter, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
It was stupid, he told himself, the way something as small as her packing him leftovers or tossing a smile his way could leave him feeling… steadier. Like maybe, for a second, he wasn’t the guy fumbling through two jobs and late-night drives, but someone who actually had a place at a table like this.
The screen door banged open, shattering the thought.
“I’m not riding back with you tonight, Steve,” Dustin announced, bounding into the kitchen with the blanket from outside slung over one shoulder. He dropped it dramatically on the low coffee table.. “Gonna camp out here. Plenty of room, and besides—” He glanced at Mike sprawled across the cushions, then grinned wickedly. “—I can always push Wheeler onto the floor.”
From outside, his voice carried: “Hey, Lucas! You crashing too?”
“Yeah!” came Lucas’s reply, muffled through the porch. “But only if Letty still has that stupid amount of pillows on her bunk.”
Letty’s voice followed, light but firm: “Go for it—but leave my fluffiest one. I’m already gonna have to squeeze past El later.”
That earned a laugh from Lucas, Dustin, and even a sleepy groan of protest from Mike, who rolled onto his side but didn’t bother opening his eyes.
Steve shook his head, lips tugging despite himself as he bent to set the bag of food on the counter. The cabin was loud again, messy again—but it didn’t feel like something he wanted to escape. By the time Steve stepped back into the living room, Dustin and Lucas were already dragging the coffee table across the rug with far too much noise for the hour.
“Bathroom barricade,” Lucas explained with a grin, bracing his shoulder against the table until it wedged perfectly across the door. “Guarantees no one steals our spot.”
Dustin dropped his sleeping bag dramatically on the other side and yanked open the hallway closet, tossing Lucas a blanket before grabbing one for himself. “Perfect. Tactical advantage.”
Mike stirred on the couch, mumbling something unintelligible about cheaters, but neither of them paid him any mind. The floor was theirs now.
Steve shook his head, fighting a smile. “You guys are menaces.”
“Strategists,” Dustin corrected, crawling into his sleeping bag. “There’s a difference.”
The screen door creaked just then, cool night air slipping in. Letty was in the yard, metal bucket swinging at her side. Steve watched through the screen door as she tipped it, the water hissing as it met the fire. Smoke curled up into the stars, and just like that, the glow was gone. The yard looked ordinary again, like nothing had happened there at all.
She set the bucket aside and stood for a beat, arms folded loosely, gaze tipped toward the tree line. Then she turned back toward the cabin, her steps light on the porch boards.
Steve shifted, suddenly restless, and opened the door; meeting her at the threshold as she came inside. For a second they both paused, caught in that narrow space between porch and living room.
“Thanks for the food,” he said, lifting the bag a little. “Guess that makes me officially spoiled.”
Her mouth tugged into a small, tired smile. “You earned it. Babysitting duty’s a full-time job.”
“Yeah, but usually people don’t pack me leftovers.” His tone softened as he added, “Not complaining, though. Might have to start hanging around more if this is part of the deal.”
Her green eyes crinkled in the corner, amused but a little softer than before. “Careful, Harrington. Keep talking like that and I’ll think you really do want me to babysit you too.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing, especially if i get to go bags like this.”
From the floor, Dustin’s muffled voice broke in, half-asleep but smug: “Told you she’s the coolest.”
Lucas snorted. “Go to sleep, man.”
Steve swallowed whatever else he might’ve said, settling for a quick smile instead. “Night, Letts.”
“Goodnight, Steve,” she returned, gentle in the way she said it.
He slipped past her toward the door, the bag swinging at his side. The cabin behind him buzzed with the low hum of settling kids, the creak of bunks, the shuffle of blankets. Out in the yard, the fire was nothing but damp ashes, the night stretched wide and quiet.
Steve paused halfway down the porch steps, glancing back once. Through the door he caught a glimpse of Letty tugging the blanket from Lucas’s shoulder to drape it properly, shaking her head at Dustin’s dramatic snoring. The scene looked easy. Comfortable. Like she’d been part of their orbit forever.
He drew a breath, slow and uneven, and pushed a hand through his hair. He didn’t know why it was sticking with him—why her smile at the doorway lingered sharper than it should, why Dustin’s earlier words kept circling back. Babysitting. Coolest.
It was stupid. He knew that. She wasn’t even—he shook his head, cutting off the thought before it could settle. None of his business.
Still, as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, the image rose unbidden: green eyes crinkled in the corner, a voice soft but sure saying goodnight, Steve.
The headlights swept across the empty yard, catching the faint curl of smoke from the extinguished fire. And even as he pulled away, gravel crunching beneath the tires, the cabin stayed sharp in his rearview, like something he wasn’t ready to leave behind.
The sun was merciless, hammering down on Hawkins’ public pool with the kind of heat that made the chlorine sting sharper in the nose. Kids cannonballed off the diving board, shrieking as water slapped up into the air. Radios played tinny pop songs in overlapping bursts, the air thick with coconut tanning oil and the saccharine tang of grape soda.
Billy made his entrance the way he always did—slow and deliberate. Sunglasses perched on his nose, towel slung across his shoulders, flip-flops smacking the concrete. He knew the eyes that followed him before he even looked. The moms, lined up in their loungers with glossy magazines folded open but forgotten. Their laughs were pitched too high, their swimsuits a little too new, their makeup fighting valiantly against the humidity.
Then he saw her. Letty was perched on the pool’s edge, paperback half-folded in her lap, legs dangling lazily into the turquoise water. Her braid hung damp down the slope of her shoulder, sunglasses sliding low on her nose as she squinted at the page. She was completely absorbed, utterly unaware of anyone else around her.
Billy shook his head, tugging at the edge of his towel. “Princess,” he called, loud enough for her to hear, “You can’t sit there like that. This isn’t Sports Illustrated—save some suspense for the rest of us.”
Letty glanced up, one eyebrow raised, the corner of her mouth twitching into a half-smirk. “This is a pool,” she shot back. “You really want me in a wetsuit?”
He grinned, grabbed his towel, and—without a warning—flung it at her. It landed squarely over her head. “There. Consider yourself… suitably covered.”
Letty sputtered, yanking it off with a curse before hurling it back at him. “Really? You're not my fuckin dad Billy.”
Billy caught it midair, shaking his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey, you asked for it.”
El popped up beside her, splashing. “Hi Billy!”
Billy spared her a half-wave as he passed, shooting Max a glare hot enough to fry eggs on the pavement. Max grinned, evil. “Your fan club’s waiting.” She tilted her head toward the mom section, where the women were already shifting in their seats, sunglasses dropping down their noses.
Billy ignored her, hauling himself up into the lifeguard stand. Still, his eyes drifted back toward the recliner where Letty had settled again, pretending not to notice.
“Didn’t peg you for the pool type, Princess,” he called down the stand. The word slipped sharp, defensive, but there was humor under it, a jab to cover the fact that he wasn’t quite sure why she looked so at ease.
Letty only laughed, tipping her head back against the lounger, braid sliding further down her shoulder. “Well, I couldn’t exactly show up in full garb, could I? Stick out way worse. Besides, my makeup would wash right off in the water. Why even bother?”
A ripple of muttering rose from the mom section, low and disgruntled. Billy didn’t have to look to know they were grumbling about her—about the way she didn’t even try and still managed to draw eyes.
One of them leaned forward, manicured hand tapping the arm of her chair. “Billy,” she cooed, “I heard you give swim lessons. Think you could squeeze me in?”
El, catching the words but none of the meaning, shot upright in the pool. “Oh! I want swim lessons too!” she shouted, delighted.
Letty blinked, caught mid-turn, brows furrowing. For a split second she seemed ready to correct El, to cut in with what the mom really meant—but she stopped herself, lips pressing together. Then, softer, she said instead, “Actually…if you have time, she would benefit from some tutoring.”
Billy blinked. That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.
Letty lifted her book again, a small smile tugging at her mouth as she added, “I wouldn’t know where to start. Can’t swim myself. Pool water and my hair don’t mix, so it’s not even worth learning.” Her tone was easy, casual—but it carried weight. A quiet insistence: I’m not like them. I’m not asking you for that.
El beamed, splashing again, already picturing lessons that didn’t mean what they meant to the moms.
And Billy, sunglasses hiding the twitch of something unsteady in his expression, leaned back in the lifeguard chair, towel draped loose over his shoulders. Every time he told himself to focus on the pool, his eyes drifted back—drawn to Letty: the way she kept looking at him with that furrowed expression; concerned tinged with something else—irritation?
He adjusted his glasses again, jaw flexing. Jesus Christ, he didn't need a mother hen.
He could feel the weight of the moms’ eyes on him, waiting for a reaction, their murmurs laced with expectation. Normally, this would’ve been easy—smirk, wink, charm—and they’d lap it up. But Letty wasn’t looking at him like that. She wasn’t laughing or cooing or leaning in. She was just… watching, alert, and he knew she’d noticed the way he’d been acting, the little performance he put on.
Before he could talk himself out of it, his mouth worked. “Monday,” he called, voice cutting clean across the water. He pointed lazily with his whistle toward El. “Come back then. Day off. I’ll give you your lesson.”
El lit up like fireworks, splashing so hard Max groaned and shoved her away.
And Letty—smile soft, eyes clear and sharp at the same time as she tugged her glasses up—said, “I’ve got work in the morning, but I can be here after.”
Billy swallowed, hiding the mix of relief and chagrin in his chest with a practiced smirk. “Good. Don’t be late.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she returned, already settling deeper into her recliner, as if the conversation hadn’t shifted anything at all.
And still, he couldn’t look away—not because she had drawn him in, but because she had picked up on him in a way no one else had. Her quiet concern, subtle as it was, grounded him. She wasn’t judging. She wasn’t teasing. She was noticing. And that… tugged at him.
Notes:
Can you hear me screaming through the void? I have a lot of feelings this week so i hope everyone is having a good week and is excited for their weekend.
If you notice grammatical errors please let me know, English is not my first language even though im shit at my mother tongue these days, But I am currently re-learning it so my tenses are off due to me forgetting what language im supposed to be writing in. :)
also a comment: those women were so wrong for that shit they did to him omg. Idgaf Billy was still a kid, well young man rather and sure he was shitty and going through it but omg they did not need to do that. how tf you gonna be married with kids and look at this 18/18 yr old and go "lol yea ima hit that." MAAM???
Chapter 5: Chin-checks and Chinese
Chapter Text
Letty nearly tripped over the gate latch in her hurry, canvas bag smacking against her hip as she shoved El’s sneakers down into its depths. With the other hand, she yanked out the bright orange floaties, voice tight and breathless as she waved El forward. “Go on, go, just don’t run—”
Of course El ran anyway, squealing “Billy!” across the pool deck.
Billy’s head jerked up from where he leaned against the wired fence, towel looped loose around his neck. He’d been halfway through laying it on thick with one of the other lifeguards, grin sharp and lazy, when the shriek cut through the whistles and splashing. His eyes bounced from the kid barreling toward him straight to Letty—frazzled, out of breath, her braid loose, sunglasses shoved back on her head. The hideous red vest from the arcade was still buttoned up over a graphic tee, and those grey capris clung so tight it looked like she’d been poured into them. She tread carefully in her sneakers, the rubber soles squeaking against the wet pavement, her hand instinctively gripping the fence like she expected to eat it at any second.
“Christ,” Billy muttered under his breath, then called out, louder, “Nice of you to show up Princess.” he snorted then, pushing off the fence.
“What, Hawkins Arcade doesn’t let you change clothes before storming the pool now?” His smirk carried more bite than humor—something he knew was more for himself than for her.
Letty didn’t flinch. She just threw him a harried look, cheeks flushed with exertion like she’d sprinted straight from one life to another and launched into an apology. “I’m so sorry, Billy, Gareth was late again and then the till—God, it doesn’t matter. If you don’t mind, I swear we won’t keep you more than an hour. ”
He raised a brow, enjoying how out of breath she was, how her words tumbled in one frantic stream. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, sliding into the pool.
He sighed, rolling his shoulders, letting the smirk tip back into place as El made her way into the shallow end.
The lesson started simple—float, kick, don’t drown. El beamed up at him through every correction, eager and bright-eyed, while Letty hovered at the pool’s edge, sneakers kicked under a chair, arms folded loosely as if that might disguise how much she stuck out fully dressed among sunbathers and bikinis.
She clapped and encouraged El and Billy glanced up once, just to test her. “You probably need lessons more than she does.”
Letty arched a brow, but before she could retort, the water beside her exploded. A kid cannonballed into the pool with a triumphant yell.
“‘EY—no cannonba—” Billy’s bark cut off halfway when he heard the sharp squeak at the edge.
Letty stood there dripping, braid plastered wet against her shoulder, vest and t-shirt clinging to her curves, capris darkened nearly black. Her glasses slid down her nose, and her mouth pinched into a furious line before the expression crumpled into one of weary resignation. Of course.
Behind her, a chorus of snickers rose from a clutch of moms on loungers.
Her cheeks went crimson.
Billy swore under his breath, hauled himself out of the pool, and shoved his towel at the nearest guard. “Watch her,” he snapped, jerking his chin toward El, before striding over to Letty.
“Come on,” he said, voice lower, no room for argument. “Employee lockers. You can change.”
She blinked, startled, and opened her mouth like she might protest—then closed it again, swallowing as she nodded once. The walk back was quiet, save for the slap of her wet feet.
“Here. Dry off before you turn into a statue,” he said, tossing a shirt at her without warning. “Put it on. No one’ll notice.”
She peered down it before holding it back from her chest, recognizing it instantly. “Billy—this is your shirt.”
“So?” He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, towel dripping. “Better than wandering out there like the target for a crossbow. You’re already standing out enough.”
Her nose scrunched, cheeks hollowing as she sucked in a deep breath. “I—I don’t have sunscreen on.” she rushed out then.
He scoffed, exasperated. “Jesus, you’re worse than Max.” But he shoved himself upright, stepping out of the locker room to give her privacy, letting the door shut behind him.
It took her a few minutes. When she finally stepped into the office, Billy sat at the desk, rifling idly through the drawers. His smirk faltered for half a second before he caught himself.
The shirt—his shirt—hung loose, but he noticed how she tugged at the sleeves and hem, twisting it over a patch of pale skin on her waist, faint scratches that didn’t belong to the pool. Noticing them, he felt a twinge in his chest, a quiet recognition. He jerked hard on the desk drawer, yanking out the first thing he could grab and a pair of swim trunks hit her in the chest.
“Put those on,” he muttered gruffly. “Its a pool, not a damn photoshoot.”
The swim trunks hit her chest with a damp thwap. She caught them awkwardly, fingers fumbling on the nylon as her eyes flicked up to meet his. For a heartbeat, the air between them felt too thick—his stare unyielding, her face still flushed from both the drenching and the moms’ laughter outside. When she finally stepped back out, he leaned against the desk, letting out a low sigh. She tugged at the waistband, adjusting, muttering, “How is this too big and too small at the same time."
He dragged a hand down his face, scoffing under his breath. She stood there shifting awkwardly, tugging at the hem like she could make it longer. Billy only managed a grunt, leaning harder into the desk.
“Christ,” he muttered, voice exasperated, “should’ve just tossed you a towel and called it a day. Way less drama than wrestling with that thing.”
Letty blinked, then, instead of shrinking under the bite, she fired back. “Well, you’re the one who threw the uniform at me! Next time I’ll just borrow a towel and save us both the drama.”
“It’s like dealing with a taller, more annoying version of Max. And don’t think I’m letting you walk back out there like that again.”
"Should've just wore my underwear, would've been the same."
Billy’s jaw flexed, a corner of his mouth tugging into a reluctant grin. “Yeah, well, I’d rather not give the moms a heart attack. Or El a coronary if she saw you strutting around like a daredevil.”
Letty rolled her eyes, tugging the trunks up one more time. “Bite me, Hargrove. It’s a pool, not a coronation.”
“Exactly my point,” he muttered, leaning back against the desk. “try not to give me gray hairs before my shift’s over, alright?”
She snorted, finally settling the waistband. “No promises, Captain Lifeguard.”
The sun hit hard, the pool deck buzzing with kids’ shrieks and the low hum of women gossiping. The moms quieted as Billy reappeared, Letty trailing behind, wet hair plastered to her shirt.
From a cluster of lounge chairs, a voice lifted.
“You know, Billy,” one of them said, light and casual but pitched to carry, “maybe you could show me a few tricks in the water sometime. Outside your usual hours.”
Letty’s head turned—then froze. She knew that face. Mrs. Wheeler. Mike’s mom.
Her pulse kicked. She’d seen her every other week, leaning out the front door every time Mike ran down his steps. She should’ve pegged her last time.
Mrs. Wheeler’s gaze flicked to Letty—standing too close to Billy, dripping wet—and her smile faltered. Her eyes darted away, realizing she’d been watching.
But Letty had already pieced it together. She shot Billy a look sharp with disbelief.
“No way,” she muttered, then louder, voice cracking, “Really? Really, Billy?”
The disbelief rolled across the deck. Mrs. Wheeler’s face drained further, fumbling for her tote bag and grabbing Holly’s hand. “Holly, come on. Charlotte, maybe—you misunderstood…”
Letty waved El over urgently. “C’mon, towel off. We’re leaving,” she called.
El clambered out of the pool, confused. “But—you were getting to know Billy? Yes?”
Letty forced a brittle laugh, shaking her head so her braid slapped against her chest. “Dry off,” she hissed, shoving the canvas bag against her hip as if the weight could steady her.
She practically ran for the gate; Billy barked instinctively, “No running by the pool!”
“Fuck you, Billy!” she shot back.
The gate clattered shut behind her. Billy stood there, jaw tight, every eye on him. His chest felt… off. A tight, weird pinch he couldn’t name, something unfamiliar that settled like gravel. It wasn’t panic, or guilt, or embarrassment exactly — just a quiet awareness that he hadn’t liked that feeling at all.
He ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself back toward the pool, barking orders at the kids roughhousing in the shallow end. But Letty’s retreating figure stayed burned in his mind, and the pinch in his chest lingered, sharp and unclaimed.
In the parking lot, Letty slammed the passenger door shut as El plopped onto the seat, the towel barely clinging to her shoulders. She was fumbling for the keys when Mrs. Wheeler’s voice reached her.
“Charlotte—wait.”
She turned, and there she was—perfect hair slightly mussed from the heat, Holly balanced against her hip, the same apologetic tight smile she’d seen on Nancy more than once.
“Whatever you think you saw, it wasn’t—”
Letty cut her off, words sharp as broken glass. “Don’t.” Her voice wavered, then snapped hard again. “Don’t you dare. I already watched Nancy pull that same shit; leaving Jonathan to whisper with Steve. I should’ve guessed it was a family trait. Homewrecking.”
Mrs. Wheeler flinched like she’d been slapped. Her face went stiff, lips parting and closing without sound.
Letty slammed the car door behind herself, muttering under her breath as she all but peeled out of the lot. It wasn’t until she’d hit the first stoplight that her hands tightened on the wheel, barefoot pressing into the break when the sick twist of realization cut through her chest.
Her clothes. Her sneakers. Still back at the pool.
She cursed softly, jaw clenching. There was no way in hell she was turning back. Not with the eyes of every bored housewife burning into her spine, not with Billy Hargrove standing there in all his sun-drenched smugness. Forget it. She’d just…buy new sneakers, she told herself, even if the sting of the waste made her stomach twist.
Back at the pool, Billy’s whistle hung loose around his neck, forgotten as his gaze lingered on the spot where her car had pulled out. Something in his chest itched—something he refused to name. A laugh bubbled from one of the moms nearby, sharp and knowing, and he snapped his eyes away, scanning the deck for anything that’d shut them up.
That’s when he spotted it.
The Grey sneakers tucked beside the chair her bag had been resting on, and he swing his head around to look toward the office, flinging open the door to the locker room to take in the ugly red vest draped over the back of a chair, a damp t-shirt and pants drying half-heartedly across the rail. All hers.
For a second, he just stood there. Then, wordlessly, he snatched it all up, shoving the clothes into a crumpled ball and hooking the sneakers through two fingers. He tossed the bundle behind the desk, muttering something to himself about the janitor tossing them if he didn’t.
He’d give them to Max. Yeah. She’d be over at Letty’s soon enough, anyway. No big deal. Just making sure the stuff didn’t go missing. That was all.
But even as he dropped the sneakers down with a dull thud, he caught himself thinking about the way her face had flushed—anger, disappointment, maybe something else—and the way she hadn’t looked back.
The drive back to the cabin was quiet, Letty’s knuckles white on the steering wheel. El shifted in the passenger seat, towel bundled around her shoulders, wet feet squelching against the floor mat.
“You were getting to know Billy? Yes?” she asked, tone curious, almost innocent.
Letty’s grip tightened. “Seatbelt, El.”
By the time they pulled into the gravel drive, Letty was moving fast—too fast. She shoved the gear into park, yanked the keys out, and all but barreled up the steps with El jogging to keep pace.
“Hey,” Hopper called from the couch, leaning back with a half-empty beer in hand. He tipped his chin toward her, brows lifting. “How was swimming?”
Letty didn’t answer. She kept moving, shoulders tense, head down. El drifted in behind her, waving a little at Hopper in passing.
“Clothes look good on you, kid,” Hopper added, trying for encouragement when he caught sight of her damp shirt clinging to her. “Looks like you had a good time.”
The words landed wrong—hit somewhere low and heavy in her gut. Letty’s breath stuttered, face twisting, and without a word she slammed the bathroom door behind her. The lock clicked, final and sharp, and then the rush of water crashed against the shower wall.
Hopper blinked, confused. “What the hell was that about?”
El, already pulling her towel tighter around her, tilted her head. “She was getting to know Billy.” She said it matter-of-factly, as though it explained everything.
Hopper’s face pinched. He stared at the bathroom door, then at El. “…Getting to know Billy?”
“Yes,” El repeated, nodding solemnly before padding off toward her room, leaving him alone with his confusion and the steady, muffled sound of the shower running behind the locked door.
Letty let the water run hot, scalding at first, letting it wash over her shoulders and hair. She didn’t move much; she wanted it to sting, wanted it to drown out the image of Mrs. Wheeler leaning too far forward, her words like poison in the air, the way Billy had glanced between her and the moms without missing a beat. Every small, chaotic piece of the afternoon collided in her chest.
She braced both palms against the tile, bowing her head, hair heavy and wet down her back. Her stomach knotted—not from embarrassment over him, but over herself: drenched, awkward, caught in the middle of the absurdity of it all. The moms, the glare of Mrs. Wheeler, the way she’d barked at Billy. The absurdity of the whole day made her feel like a mess, and it stung.
God, she could still hear El’s voice, innocent and curious: “You were getting to know Billy? Yes?” She blew out a breath, shaking her head. “Ridiculous,” she muttered. “Absolutely ridiculous.”
Steam blurred the edges of the mirror. No amount of water could wash off the humbling, mortifying weight of having been seen drenched, frazzled, yelling at a mom, and still having to tolerate Billy’s casual swagger.
The knock at the bathroom door was light, hesitant.
“You’ve been in there a while, kid,” Hopper said.
Letty flinched, pressed her face harder to the wall, letting the sound of the shower drown out everything else.
There was a pause, then Hopper’s voice again, softer. “I, uh—didn’t take anything out for dinner. What do you say we go out instead?”
Before she could respond, El’s cheerful voice cut in from the bedroom. “Chinese food!”
Letty let out a short, hollow laugh. She twisted the towel tighter around her hair and wiped at her face. Drenched, tired, humiliated, and slightly exasperated, she finally stepped out. Hopper waited in the hall, brows twitching at the sight of her soaked clothes and wet shoes.
“Where’d your sneakers go?” he asked absently.
“—at the pool!” El supplied helpfully, tripping over her own excitement.
Letty didn’t slow down, yanking open the cruiser door with the urgency of someone desperate to escape the chaos of the afternoon.
The restaurant smelled faintly of soy and ginger, the low hum of the ceiling fan barely covering the sizzle from the kitchen. Their table was tucked in the back corner, a square one with its plastic tablecloth wrinkled from years of use. Letty had wedged herself into the seat against the wall, chopsticks idly stirring through the glossy noodles on her plate, gaze flickering between the condensation running down her glass and the pale yellow of the lo mein. She hadn’t eaten more than a bite.
Across from her, Hopper leaned back in his chair, one arm draped along the top as if even here, in this cramped little restaurant, he had to take up space. El was perched on the edge of her seat, posture straight, the chopsticks in her hand clumsy but determined.
“So, what do you think?” Hopper asked, gesturing at El’s plate with a nod. “Better than Pizza?”
El chewed, considering with unusual seriousness before answering. “Different,” she said at last. “Pizza is…Pizza. This is…” she tilted her head, trying to find the word. “Salty. Good.”
Hopper grunted like that settled it, reaching for his spring roll. “Kid’s a food critic now. Next thing you know she’ll want to write reviews for the paper.”
El blinked at him, earnest. “I could do that?”
He coughed around a laugh, shaking his head. “No, no—that’s not… Never mind.”
Letty kept her gaze trained on her plate, chopsticks tangling and untangling noodles without any intention of eating them. Her ears picked up Hopper’s chuckle, El’s careful chewing, the scrape of plates on plastic tablecloth — all of it muffled, like she was underwater. She told herself to say something, anything. To cut through the coil of thoughts still gnawing in her gut. But every word she considered withered before it reached her tongue.
Hopper started grumbling about portion sizes when El piped up, sudden and bright:
“Mike likes noodles.”
Letty’s head snapped up so quickly her hair tumbled over her shoulders. Her chopsticks clattered against the plate, the sound too sharp in the small restaurant. El didn’t seem to notice; she was still chewing, eyes wide and thoughtful.
Hopper gave her a sidelong look, raising his brows in mild confusion before going back to his plate.
Letty blinked down at her food again, stomach pitching, the mention of Mike dragging her thoughts right back to the poolside whispers and Mike’s Mom’s face blanching when she’d realized Letty was standing there. Her grip on the chopsticks tightened until they creaked in protest.
Hopper’s eyes flicked from El to Letty, lingering a moment too long. He raised his brows, then leaned back in the cramped booth, folding his arms across his chest.
“You okay there, kid?” His tone was casual, but his gaze wasn’t. It was the sort that saw more than she wanted it to.
Letty ducked her head, fumbling for her glass, watching condensation trail down the sides. “Fine.”
El’s voice, bright and oblivious, carried on: “Mike would probably eat all of that if he was here.”
Hopper’s jaw flexed. “Kid’s got a hollow leg, I swear.” His gaze lingered on Letty. Something in the way she hunched in the booth, fingers fidgeting, made his chest tighten. Letty could feel Hopper’s eyes on her like a brand, and before the silence could strangle her, she forced a crooked grin.
“Guess I’ll have to guard my plate then. Can’t have Byers’ number one fan swooping in and stealing my lo mein.” It was flimsy, too sharp at the edges to land as genuine, but Hopper huffed a laugh anyway and reached for his own egg roll.
El, however, only blinked and said brightly, “I wouldn’t mind if Mike came. We could all share.”
Letty nearly choked on her sip of water, sputtering into her napkin. “Yeah, well, not tonight,” she muttered, setting her glass down harder than intended.
“Not tonight,” Hopper echoed, his tone dipping lower. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, fixing El with a look she clearly recognized, because she immediately sat up straighter in her seat. “Actually, kid, that reminds me. We need to talk about this… running off, popping up at places you’re not supposed to be.”
El’s lips pursed, chopsticks frozen midair. “I was careful.”
“You were lucky,” Hopper corrected, pointing a thick finger at her. “There’s a difference. I can’t be at the station wondering if you’ve bolted across half of Hawkins while I’m working, and Letty can’t be running herself ragged trying to cover for you either.”
El shot Letty a quick, guilty glance. Letty shook her head, forcing another smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t look at me, kiddo. He’s right.”
But Hoppers already in the middle of laying it out plain: “No more sneaking off to Wheeler’s, no arcades unless one of us is with you, no midnight adventures—”
El’s chopsticks clattered onto her plate. “Why can Letty go out whenever she wants?” she shot back, voice sharp with that teenage sting.
“Because Letty’s not thirteen,” Hopper said evenly, though his gaze flicked toward her with a warning edge.
El’s lips curled into something sly. “Well… Letty smokes.”
The laugh ripped out of Letty before she could stop it, loud and incredulous. “You little weasel!” she barked, tossing her napkin at El across the table.
Hopper turned slowly, eyes narrowing at Letty. “You what?”
“Oh, don’t look at me like that—” she started, but her defense tripped over itself as she jabbed her chopsticks toward El. “She’s not innocent either! She stays up all night whispering on the phone with Max and Mike.”
“Letty!” El screeched, cheeks flaming as she slammed both palms down on the table. “You’re a bad secret keeper!”
“You started it!” Letty snapped right back, leaning forward across the table.
“Homewrecker!” El hurled, the word cracking sharp and loud in the cramped restaurant.
Every muscle in Letty went taut. Hopper’s chair groaned as he leaned forward, his voice like gravel. “Hey—enough. Letty is not—”
“Getting to know Billy and Steve!” El blurted before he could finish, her tone triumphant, certain she’d landed the killing blow.
The chopsticks slipped from Letty’s hand as she shoved back from the table, the chair legs scraping hard against the tile. She slammed her palms down flat, rattling the soy sauce bottles and water glasses, and hissed the words like venom.
“Asshole!” Letty snapped, voice brittle. “Don’t start throwing labels around like you understand!”
El pouted, lips pressed tight. “But I was just saying—” The whole restaurant seemed to still around them, Hopper’s fork halfway to his mouth, El’s chin jutting defiantly despite the wobble in her lip.
“No,” Letty hissed, shaking her head, hair slapping her face with the force of it.
“No, you don’t get it.” Her hands shook slightly, chest tightening in that familiar coil that promised panic if it didn’t unspool. Her breath hitched. The noise of the restaurant—the scraping of chairs, the clatter of dishes, the faint chatter from other tables—pressed down, crowded her lungs. Letty’s lips parted to speak, then closed again, panic starting to curve the edges of her vision. She shoved back from the table, grabbed her napkin, wiping at her mouth, her movements quick and jittery.
“We’re leaving,” she snapped, voice trembling despite her attempt at control. Hopper opened his mouth, Half sputtering out a comment about his Egg roll. But Letty’s chest was already heaving; once, twice, before she turned on her heel and stormed for the door, the bell above it jangling violently as it swung shut behind her. The tension clung to the booth long after Letty’s exit, the bell above the restaurant door still shivering from the force she’d left with. Hopper didn’t speak, didn’t even look at El as he gathered up their plates into a pile and shoved them to the end of the table, a huff leaving his lips. El sat with her arms crossed tight, chin stubbornly lifted even though her cheeks burned red.
By the time he stood at the register, wallet already in hand, the silence had calcified into something heavy. The older woman behind the counter glanced between him and El, then through the fogged glass of the front window where Letty was slouched against the cruiser, cigarette glowing in her fingers like a warning light.
Her shoulders were hunched, nails pressing into her palms as she took a slow, deliberate drag, smoke curling lazily into the night air. She didn’t bother to be discreet—Hopper knew now, and it didn’t matter. Her gaze stayed fixed on some point beyond the streetlights, though her thoughts spun in tight loops she couldn’t catch. The edges of her vision felt sharper, louder, like the hum of the restaurant, the scrape of chairs, even El’s earlier words were still ringing in her ears.
Each exhale rattled through her chest, shallow and uneven, and for a moment, she thought she might just collapse into the curb. Instead, she gripped the cigarette tighter, drawing in another shaky breath, trying to steady the chaos that was clawing its way up from inside her.
Hopper slid a twenty across the counter, gruff as ever. “Keep the change.”
The woman didn’t take her eyes off Letty, lips pursed into something close to disapproval.
“She isn’t really a homewrecker,” Hopper muttered, the words leaving him before he could catch them.
Finally, the woman looked at him—one sharp eyebrow arched high, the corner of her mouth quirking. She counted out his change anyway, voice low enough not to carry but still barbed.
“Teenagers are messy, girls more so” she said, slipping the bills into the till. “That’s all I’ll say.”
Hopper grunted, jaw tight as he pocketed his wallet and gestured for El to follow. She slid out of the booth, eyes downcast now, her defiance curdled into something heavier. The bell above the door gave another sharp ring as they stepped outside into the night air, Letty’s cigarette smoke curling in thin, ghostly threads around the cruiser. El's steps echoed, stomps thudding onto the asphalt as she flung open the passenger door and practically threw herself into the seat. She didn't spare a glance when she slammed it shut, feet pressed into the dashboard as she kept her glare out the front windshield.
Hopper’s hand brushed lightly against the cruiser roof as he fixed El with a stern look, his attention shifting to Letty as he watched her, voice low, careful. “Hey… slow down, kid. You don’t need to rush. Nothing’s going to happen.”
Letty’s nails dug into her palms, cigarette smoke curling around her like a veil she couldn’t see through. Her eyes flicked from the street to the shadows beyond the lot, jittery, like someone could spring from anywhere. “I’m… I’m not getting to know anyone,” she snapped, voice tighter than she intended. “I don’t have room for—boys, or—shit, I’ve got work… if I can like we talked about then I might even graduate after winter break.”
Her hands trembled despite her effort to steady them, the cigarette swaying between her fingers. Hopper stepped a little closer, keeping his tone gentle, unhurried. “It’s okay. You’re not behind, you don’t have to prove anything. Just… breathe. One thing at a time.”
Letty shook her head, eyes darting like prey, scanning for threats that weren’t there. She wasn’t thinking about Billy, or Max, or any of it—her chest felt tight, her head buzzing, every little noise in the night exaggerated. “No… no, you don’t get it. I can’t—”
“Then don’t,” Hopper interrupted softly, leaning back just enough to give her space. “You don’t have to. Not tonight.”
She inhaled, shaky, exhaling a little of the tension through her nose, but the trembling in her fingers refused to quit. El’s small cough came from the cruiser, quiet, hesitant, and Letty’s lips twitched, half a smile, half a grimace. She knew El meant well, but she also knew exactly where that word had come from—she’d said it herself, earlier today, about Mrs. Wheeler.
“Yeah… well, El doesn’t get it,” she muttered, tone low, frustrated, gripping the cigarette like a lifeline. “And I’m not getting to know anyone, alright? Not now, not… ever if I can help it.”
Hopper just nodded, quiet, patient. “Okay. Then we’re just here. No one’s gonna jump out at you. You’ve got this.”
The smoke twisted upward, the streetlight catching it in ribbons as Letty pressed the cigarette into her lips again, fingers shaking, shoulders taut. She took a few more drags, long and uneven, before finally dropping it into the gravel with a soft hiss, grinding it into the pebbles.
Hopper leaned a little closer, voice soft, careful. “You been sleeping at all?”
Letty shrugged, arms hugging herself, eyes down. “Not really. Not since… summer started.” She didn’t explain that she hadn’t been able to stay off edge, that her body refused the rest it craved, that every day blurred into the next with barely a moment to catch her breath.
“Mm,” Hopper said, nodding slowly. “Well… try to get a little, alright? You’re running yourself thin.”
She shook her head again, shifty, gaze skittering over the lot like someone might spring out from the shadows. “I… I’ll be fine.”
Letty finally eased herself into the back seat, hunched over, shoulders tight, hands still fidgeting in her lap. The residual tremor in her fingers made her feel exposed, even with the dim glow of the dashboard. She avoided looking at Hopper or El, eyes scanning the seat cushion, the edges of the window, anything that didn’t demand her attention.
El sat still, arms crossed, chin lifted, glare sharp enough to pierce the darkness. “I can’t believe she—” she started, then paused, scowling at the seatbelt before muttering, “Never mind.”
Hopper’s gaze shifted between them, slow and steady. Letty curled slightly into herself, a small, imperceptible sigh escaping as she tried to ground herself. El’s foot tapped against the floor, a steady rhythm of irritation and pent-up energy, punctuating the silence.
“You two… sit,” Hopper said softly, voice calm but firm. “And… breathe. One thing at a time.”
Letty’s hands tightened in her lap, nails digging into her palms. Her chest felt like it had contracted a little too sharply, and she forced herself to exhale, shallow but steady, willing her shoulders to loosen. El, still scowling, finally slumped back against the seat, crossing her arms with a grudging huff, but didn’t protest further.
Hopper let his gaze linger a beat longer on Letty, noting the fine tremor in her hands, the way her jaw was set tight enough it looked like it might crack, the subtle sheen of sweat along her hairline. Then, quietly, he looked to El, the contrast stark—her energy loud and defiant, a protective shield that Letty had once wielded herself.
“You’re both fine,” Hopper said finally, a soft reassurance that didn’t demand acknowledgment. “But Letty… try to slow your heart down a little. You’ve been running hard all day, yeah?”
Letty nodded, barely, head dipping lower. “Mm,” she murmured. The words barely left her lips, but it was enough. Enough for Hopper to let the pause stretch, to let the quiet sit in the car with them like a soft blanket, giving each of them a moment to breathe. He waited a moment before adjusting the rearview, eyes flicking between El’s pout and Letty’s hunched frame in the back. He let the silence stretch a little longer, long enough for the engine’s low rumble to fill the space, before clearing his throat.
“All right,” he said, voice steady but not sharp. “Somebody want to tell me what that was back there? Because from where I’m sitting, it looked a hell of a lot like you two were trying to tear each other apart in the middle of a restaurant.”
El’s head whipped toward the window, chin jutting higher. “She started it,” she muttered, arms crossed tighter.
Letty’s laugh came out dry, humorless. “Yeah, okay.”
“Hey.” Hopper’s tone cut through the sniping—not angry, just firm enough to put a stop in it. He shifted his weight in the driver’s seat, glancing at El, then meeting Letty’s reflection in the rearview. “I’m not asking whose fault it was. I’m asking what it was. ‘Homewrecker’? ‘Getting to know Billy’? What the hell does that even mean?”
El shifted in her seat, uncomfortable now, her bravado faltering. She glanced back at Letty once, then away quickly. “I just… said it,” she mumbled, suddenly less sure.
“Uh-huh,” Hopper grunted, gaze narrowing slightly. Then, softer: “Words like that don’t just come outta nowhere.”
Letty’s nails pressed into her palms again, the cigarette smell still clinging to her fingers even after she’d crushed it out. Her chest squeezed, throat thick with words she didn’t want to give air to.
“She doesn’t even know what that means,” she muttered finally, voice tight, low. “She just… repeats things.”
El shifted in her seat at that, twisting the hem of her towel-dry shirt between her fingers. Her voice came small, careful. “Getting to know people is just… getting to know people. Like Mike.”
Hopper’s brows lifted in the rearview, his gaze flicking between the two of them. He cleared his throat. “That’s true, kiddo. But when Letty said it, she meant it… differently. Not just as friends. More like… romantically.”
El scrunched her nose, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “With Billy?” She said it like the word itself tasted sour. Hopper is sighing, rubbing at his jaw as he works over the words and reasonings.
"With Billy it wasn't romantic, it was friendly."
“Why friendly? He’s mean. He’s a bully.”
Letty’s lips parted, some instinct rising up sharp and hot—because it wasn’t that simple. Because she knew more than El did. Too much. Her tongue pressed hard to the back of her teeth, but the words jammed up tight, stuck. If she said it—if she said why Billy was the way he was—she could already picture Hopper at the Hargroves’ front door, jaw set, badge flashing, dragging sunlight into shadows that didn’t want it. And it would only make it worse.
So instead she shut her mouth, the silence so sharp it hurt. Her nails dug deeper into her palms, her throat thick as she forced her gaze back to the window.
Hopper’s gaze cut between them, heavy in the dark cab. His voice came even, not sharp but firm enough to hold. “You two can’t go at each other like that. You’re sisters. Sisters fight, sure—but you can’t just volley insults like you’re trying to draw blood. You gotta learn to talk it out. That’s how this works.”
The silence that followed was thick and stubborn, neither of them daring to be the first to break it. The only sound was the low rattle of the cruiser over the gravel road.
Finally, Hopper cleared his throat, eyes still on the stretch of blacktop ahead. “That everything? Anything else I should know about?”
“No,” Letty and El blurted at the same time, too quick, too rehearsed.
Letty’s stomach dropped like a stone. Bile rose sharp in her throat, her palms damp where they pressed into her jeans. She scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, nails catching against her lashes. It’s not that serious. He wouldn’t be mad. It’s stupid. Stupid to even think about saying it.
Out of the corner of her vision, she caught the flick of Hopper’s gaze in the rearview mirror, quick but steady. He didn’t say anything—not a word—but he didn’t look away either. His eyes lingered, watching the way her shoulders curled in, the way her fingers tapped restless against her thigh.
He wasn’t unaware. He never was. Just… new at this. New at figuring out when to press and when to leave the silence be.
So he let it hang, the weight of his stare enough to tell her he’d clocked every shift, every twitch. He didn’t believe her no—not really. But for now, he let it stand.
And that almost made it worse.
Chapter 6: Roll Saving Throw
Notes:
mentions of anxiety/anxiety attack, some ptsd and stuff. whooop.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Hopper house smelled faintly of those cedar citronella candles, coffee and lingering scent of Letty's clove cigarettes, the TV left on low with static fuzz whispering at the edges of a commercial. Letty shuffled out of the bedroom, hair a lopsided mess, one sleeve of Hopper’s old shirts slipping down her shoulder. She squinted against the daylight leaking through the blinds.
The living room was occupied.
Dustin and Mike were camped at the coffee table like they owned it, hunched over a sprawl of graph paper and dice. A line of nail polish bottles marched across the wood between them, caps popped, the chemical tang of acetone sharp in the air.
Letty stopped dead, blinking.
“...The hell is this?”
Neither boy looked up. Mike was bent close, painting painstaking detail onto a tiny warrior figure with a glittery teal brush. Dustin, tongue poking out the side of his mouth, held a miniature under the lamp, squinting.
“Careful with that one,” he muttered. “That’s Dragon’s Breath.”
“That’s my Dragon’s Breath,” Letty snapped, stepping forward. “And that—” she pointed at the array of bottles, incredulous, “—is my entire collection. What are you even doing?”
Dustin finally looked up, grin wide under his curls. “Improvising. Eddie said nail polish is cheaper than model paint and just as good.”
Letty stared, mouth open.
“Who the fuck is Eddie?”
Mike, deadpan, didn’t even glance up from his miniature. “Our Dungeon Master.”
“Your what?”
Dustin’s grin widened. “Eddie Munson. He runs Hellfire. Genius. Master of detail. He says nail polish is perfect for minis because it doesn’t chip—”
Letty cut him off with a scoff, dragging both hands down her face. “Oh my god. If I hear ‘Eddie says’ one more time, I swear to God, I’ll—” She gestured helplessly at the table. “Do you have any idea how much that bottle costs?”
“Three bucks?” Dustin offered.
“Six-fifty,” she shot back.
Mike snorted, not looking up. “Still cheaper than model paint.”
Letty’s jaw dropped. She pressed her palms together like she was praying for strength. “Where is El? Who let you guys in? And why is every single one of you out to ruin my life today?”
Neither boy answered. Dustin was already unscrewing another bottle, tilting it under the lamp with reverence. “Eddie’s gonna lose his mind when he sees this shade. Look at that coverage—perfect for a half-dragon cleric.” Letty groaned, grabbing a throw pillow and dragging it over her face. Will emerged from the bathroom, damp hand towel over his shoulder as he held a tiny miniature up toward the light, peering up at it with a worried brow, his gaze jumping from the figure to the plastic bottle in his other hand.
“Uh… acetone isn’t really doing the trick,” he said, voice careful, like he didn’t want to step on anyone’s creative toes.
Letty spun around, eyes wide. “That’s because you’re holding fucking witch hazel, Will! You’re supposed to use the acetone—” She snatched the bottle out of his hand, shaking it for emphasis.
Will shrugged, a small, sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I… thought it looked similar.”
Letty exhaled through her nose, tossing the bottle onto the table, and pivoted back to Dustin and Mike. “Seriously. Why are you doing this here? With my nail polish? Why aren’t you raiding Nancy’s or—God, anyone else’s?”
Will padded closer, peering at the miniature figures under the lamp. “Because you have the fun colors.”
Dustin leaned back, crossing his arms with mock solemnity. “Expecting a no-judgment atmosphere, considering your whole vampire aesthetic and all.”
Letty blinked, looking between the three of them. Her chest still thrummed with a mix of irritation and disbelief. She opened her mouth, paused, then asked the question that had been curling tighter in her stomach all morning.
“Okay… fine. But where the fuck is El?”
Will pointed toward the front door with a tilt of his chin, fingers brushing over one of the minis to dry it with a puff of air. “Front porch.”
Letty’s eyes followed, and sure enough—Max and El were perched on the front steps, knees drawn up, talking in low voices, oblivious to the chaos inside. Letty’s lips twitched in a half-grin, half-exasperated groan.
“Why the hell is everyone in my living room?” she muttered, voice raw, not fully awake, dragging herself to the edge of the table. “Shouldn’t you guys be at the Byers’ or—” she gestured vaguely toward Mike, “the Wheeler house or whatever?”
Dustin looked up, wide-eyed and innocent. “We can’t go to the Wheelers.”
“Dude,” Mike hissed, swatting at Dustin’s arms. “Shut the—”
“My mom’s cleaning the basement, and… dust particles are… overly obvious on a small scale.” Will interjects then
Letty blinked at him, her brain catching up in pieces. Her eyes flicked between all three of them, cheeks flushed, hair still clinging damply to her neck. She exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through it. “So my house is the default?”
Dustin grinned, oblivious to her frustration. “Nah, it’s more like… a tactical headquarters. We need full access to the nail polish and the terrain.”
Mike leaned back, arms crossed, trying not to laugh but failing. Will just shrugged again, eyes flicking toward the scattered minis. Letty’s eyes landed on Dustin, who was hunched over a miniature like it was the center of the universe. She just stared. Blinked once. Blinked twice. Her brain slowed down for a second, watching his hair fall into his eyes, the way he tilted the figure in his hand, the tiny precision he gave to each brushstroke. It was oddly hypnotic, and for half a beat, she almost forgot how raw she felt. He cursed then, Leaning back to groan as she dropped the figure to the table and dragged his hands through his hair.
"Eddie said i should use a thinner brush, god."
Letty’s eyes widened, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “A thinner brush? Eddie? What the hell does he know about—” She stomped toward her bedroom, muttering under her breath, the words tumbling faster than she could catch them. Her foot caught the edge of the rug and she yelped, arms flailing before she yanked the door open.
She threw herself inside, letting the door slam behind her with a crash that rattled the frame. She pressed her back against it, chest heaving, hair sticking to damp skin, eyes darting around the room as if the walls might swallow her whole.
For a long moment, the house was silent. The low hum of birds and breeze through leaves outside barely reached her ears. Then, a soft, careful knock:
“Uh… Letty? You got… maybe a small, thin brush?” Will’s voice floated through, tentative, almost nervous.
Her jaw clenched. She blinked once, then slowly exhaled, a shaky laugh escaping. “You really think I’m gonna give you my brushes right now?” she snapped, though the edge in her tone didn’t carry the full weight of her tension—it was just enough to keep him at bay.
Another pause, then, quieter this time, “C’mon… just one? Please?”
Letty flung the bedroom door open, hair sticking to her damp face, hands gripping the frame for balance. “I don’t have a small brush for you, Will!” she snapped, voice carrying more frustration than she’d intended.
Suddenly, Dustin and Mike were in the doorway, eyes wide and slightly frantic.
“We have to go buy one,” Dustin insisted, arms waving as if that would make the words more true. “We can’t work under these conditions—this is a catastrophe!”
Mike, calmer but no less insistent, had already snagged her car keys from the hook by the door, holding them up as if they were some sort of demand. He gave her a look that made her feel like she’d grown a second head overnight. “Well? Let’s go,” he said flatly.
Letty just blinked at the two of them, stunned, her chest still tight from the earlier tension. She turned slowly toward Will, who hadn’t moved an inch, eyes downcast and sheepish, like he knew she was justified in being irritated but was hoping for a small mercy.
She let out a sharp, exasperated sigh, dragging a hand through her hair. “…Fine,” she muttered, the words tasting like defeat, but at least she didn’t have to face just Dustin and Mike’s chaotic energy alone.
They probably only gave her five minutes to get dressed before the blaring car horn outside reminded her she wasn’t moving fast enough. She barely managed to twist her hair into a messy bun atop her head, shoving her damp strands into place as she stomped out of the bedroom, cursing under her breath at the lack of sneakers. She jammed her feet into a pair of flats by the front door instead, grimacing as the sunlight hit her red-rimmed eyes. The dark circles looked worse than she cared to admit.
Max and El waved off her offer to ride along, already claiming the couch and flipping through TV channels, muttering about having better things to do than tag along to the stupid hobby shop. Letty threw them a half-hearted wave over her shoulder and ignored their grins.
She grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lighter from the dining table, shoving them into the back pocket of her jean shorts. The oversized Metallica T-shirt she’d bought earlier that year hung loose on her frame, the stretched collar slipping half off her shoulder as she bounded down the steps, cursing again at the chaotic start to her Thursday afternoon.
Letty slammed the car door behind her, shoving the key into the ignition before settling into the driver’s seat. The leather of the steering wheel felt overly warm against her palms, and she gripped it tighter than necessary, knuckles white under the early sunlight streaming through the windshield. She kept her gaze on the road, just in front of the hood, tuning out the world as much as she could.
Will slid into the passenger seat, adjusting his backpack on his lap. “You okay?” he asked cautiously, voice low, as if testing the waters.
Letty didn’t answer. She just tapped her foot, staring out the windshield, pretending to check the speedometer as she took a deep breath.
From the backseat, Dustin leaned forward, “Honestly, the brush probably works better for you long term, could use it to do nail art or something”
“Sureee,” Mike snorted, flipping through a comic. “Letty totally has the patience for that.”
Letty’s hands tightened a notch on the wheel at each word. She breathed shallowly, nodded, but didn’t say anything. Her jaw flexed, chest pressed tight, but she kept driving. Will watched her, patient, quietly taking in the subtle tremor in her shoulders and the way her eyes kept flicking to the side mirror as if expecting trouble.
“Hey,” Will tried again, softer this time. “You—yesterday… did anything happen?”
“Nothing,” she murmured, still looking forward, voice calm but distant. Her hand gave a brief squeeze of the wheel, just enough to remind herself she was still present.
“Also, Eddie said we should thin the paint a bit more,” Dustin said, voice cutting over Will’s question, “makes it way easier than messing it up like last time.”
Mike elbowed him, hissing, “Dude!”
Letty just exhaled through her nose and kept driving, letting the backseat chatter wash over her. Will didn’t push. He just let her be, keeping a quiet presence beside her, noticing without comment how her shoulders shook with tension, her nails pressing into the wheel, and the faint tremor in her jaw.
By the time they reached the main street toward Hot-Licks, she was fraying, yes, but still holding herself together, and Will’s steady gaze beside her was the only thread keeping her from tipping further over the edge.
By the time they rolled into the parking lot, Dustin was practically vibrating in the back seat. “The man! The myth! The legend!” he shouted, practically punching the air.
Mike didn’t wait for the car to stop, He bounded out and across the lot yelling, “EDDIE!”
Eddie, halfway into the shop, froze mid-step, eyebrows shooting up, before giving a slow, bemused smile.
Letty stayed behind the wheel, hands still lightly gripping it, staring at the kid in the doorway. Her brow arched, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite herself. She leaned back slightly and glanced at Will.
“That’s Eddie? Heavy metal dropout over there?” she muttered, voice low but incredulous. “He looks like he works in dive bars… who is this kid?”
Will shrugged, trying not to grin. “Dustin knows him from the game shop in the mall. He does Dungeons and Dragons too, he’s… uh, a friend.”
Letty blinked, still taking him in. Her chest tightened slightly—not anxiety exactly, more the leftover fray from the last twenty-four hours—but she let herself watch, curious, eyes flicking back to Will, who just shrugged again, calm and quiet as ever.
Dustin leapt from the back seat, already halfway out of the car. “C’mon! We’ve got minis to paint, man! No judgment, all skill!”
Letty finally let her gaze slide from Eddie to Will, eyebrows lifting in a half-smirk. “So… new Dungeon Master? You’ve been usurped?” She shifted the car into park, cut the engine, and yanked the keys from the ignition with a soft clink.
Will’s fingers drummed lightly against his leg, shrugging. “Uh… not exactly. Eddie’s in the Hellfire Club. It’s the D&D thing at school. Doesn’t really start until school does but we’re planning to join.”
Letty’s smirk softened, just slightly, curiosity flickering in her tired eyes. “Hellfire Club, huh? Sounds… intense.”
“Yeah,” Will said, voice low, almost careful. “It’s… you know. Roleplaying. Miniatures. Strategy. Eddie’s good at it.”
Letty leaned back, one arm draped over the door, letting the tension in her shoulders loosen fractionally. She cast another glance at the shop’s doorway where Eddie and Dustin were already arguing over mini placement. Yea?”
Will gave a small, quiet grin. “You’ll see. He’s… interesting.”
Letty climbed out of the car, dusting off the oversized Metallica tee that had twisted itself around her frame. Will was already ahead, moving toward the shop’s narrow door with the ease of someone who knew exactly where he was headed. She followed, hands stuffed into her jean pockets, eyes scanning the front display windows: stacks of old vinyl leaning precariously, the familiar smell of paper, dust, and faint cigarette smoke that always clung to Hot-Licks.
The bell above the door jingled, announcing them as they stepped inside. The air was thick with the faint hum of a record player spinning somewhere toward the back, the kind of scratchy, warm sound that reminded her Jonathan sometimes got first pick of tapes before they even hit the shelves; perks of him knowing the owner and all that.
Eddie was already crouched near a low shelf, meticulously inspecting a set of miniatures, hair falling into his eyes, sleeves rolled up like he was ready to fight dragons at a moment’s notice. Dustin was jabbering at him, arms flailing, while Mike hovered, grin splitting his face at some joke only the three of them understood.
Letty paused near the door, letting her eyes wander over the cluttered shop. She felt the familiar tug of nerves at the base of her stomach, the edge of the day’s tension threading through her. But there was curiosity too—a quiet, prickling interest in this half-chaotic, half-orderly space. She caught Will’s glance and offered a half-shrug, brushing at her hair. “Always figured there would be more music.”
Will grinned, his tone low, like he was letting her in on a secret. “Well yea, but a little of everything goes a long way right?”
She took a hesitant step forward, letting the door close behind her. The smell of old vinyl and plastic, the soft hiss of a tape re-winding filled the space. And there he was: Eddie, half-bent over a display, focused, unaware—or maybe just choosing to ignore—the new arrivals. Letty lingered near the counter, arms crossed loosely, watching Eddie tilt a miniature in his hands with meticulous care. Dustin and Mike had migrated to the back, whispering and nudging each other as they plotted out some tiny conquest with the miniatures. Will was beside her, leaning casually against a shelf, giving her space while keeping one eye on her.
Eddie finally looked up, noticing her presence, and grinned slightly. “You’re the one driving this motley crew, huh?” His voice was easy, teasing, but not too forward.
Letty raised a brow, tugging at a stray strand of hair. “I’m just along for the ride,” she said, dryly, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
He chuckled, shrugging. “Yeah, right. You’re the one keeping all of them from completely destroying the place.”
A small laugh escaped her, soft, almost reflexive. Eddie caught it and tilted his head, clearly pleased. “Good laugh. Surprised I didn’t hear it back at the library…”
Letty’s eyes narrowed. “Library?” She tilted her head, suspicious.
“Yeah… the Library Wraith,” he said, grinning like it was some kind of revelation.
She blinked at him, incredulous. “You’re… fucking what?”
Eddie held up his hands defensively. “Okay, okay—don’t roll your eyes yet. You helped out in the library during school. I don’t think we had classes together. Just… saw you around, quiet, moving like you owned the place. Library Wraith—it’s not a terrible nickname, right?”
Letty let out a half-laugh, shaking her head. “Library Wraith. Jesus Christ, you’re dumb.”
Eddie just shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe. But hey, it’s memorable. And you laughed, didn’t you?”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Yeah. I laughed. But don’t let it go to your head.”
He leaned back just enough to give her a casual nod. “No promises. So… you gonna join in on the miniature chaos, or just supervise?”
She glanced at Dustin and Mike, who were quietly trying to look nonchalant despite their obvious excitement, then back at Eddie. “Maybe… maybe just supervise for now.”
Eddie tilted his head, smirk softening into something warmer. “Fair. But you know… chaos has a way of dragging everyone in.”
And for a moment, Letty let herself forget the weight she’d been carrying all morning, just a little, watching him gesture to the minis with practiced care, his focus sharp but inviting. Maybe, she thought, this could be… tolerable.
“Careful there,” she said, nodding toward the boys. “I’d expect no less from the degenerate who told them to steal my nail polish to paint their little lizard people.”
Eddie’s grin widened. “Ah—guilty as charged. But look at them—they’re thriving under the influence of your supplies.”
She shot him a sideways look, lips twitching. “Thriving, huh? Yeah, in a tiny, horrifying, painted-to-death kind of way.”
He laughed again, easy and unbothered. “Well, it’s a start. And now you get to supervise the masterpiece in person. Lucky you.”
Her eyes flicked to the boys, who were trying not to giggle, and back to Eddie. There was something oddly comforting in his casual, teasing tone—like he wasn’t judging her for snapping, and maybe even got it.
“Yeah,” she muttered, shaking her head with a smirk, a little of the tension from the morning seeping out in small, careful doses.
Letty shifted on the edge of the counter, glancing between Eddie and the boys, the fluorescent lights above her flickering just enough to make her skin crawl. Somewhere behind the counter, the shop owner muttered to himself, tinkering with a radio that hissed and popped with static, and every tiny noise—the scrape of minis, the clink of paint jars, Dustin narrating his next move—felt amplified. Her fingers itched to grip something, anything.
“Yeah, lucky me,” she huffed, pushing herself off the counter and letting her legs carry her toward the door. Eddie followed at a casual pace, hands in his pockets, not crowding her. The bell over the door jingled, the hum of the Indiana heat hitting her in a wave of relief as she stepped outside.
She pulled a cigarette from her pack, her fingers trembling just slightly, though nowhere near as bad as yesterday. The sun was angled cruelly over the parking lot, baking the asphalt, but the edge of the building gave her some shade. She dragged on the cigarette, letting the smoke curl around her and the tension in her chest ease, even if just a fraction.
Eddie leaned casually against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching her without saying anything. It was quiet, except for the distant scrape of a chair from inside and the faint hum of an old AC unit.
“Need a break?” he asked finally, voice low, teasing but soft enough not to demand an answer.
Letty let the smoke escape her lips in a thin plume, eyes narrowing. “Yeah. Just… outside.” She took another slow drag, rolling the cigarette between her fingers, letting the warmth of it anchor her for a second.
“You okay?” Eddie asked again, tilting his head slightly, genuinely concerned this time.
Her eyes flicked toward him, then back to the lot. “Better than inside. Too many… things.” She gestured vaguely toward the shop with the cigarette, not ready to admit how overstimulating it all had felt—the lights, the music, the clutter, the noise, the kids.
He gave a small nod, like he understood without needing to pry. “Fair.”
For a few moments, they stood in silence, the distant city sounds muted by the edge of the building. Letty exhaled slowly, fingers tapping lightly against her thigh. It wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t calm. But it was quiet, and that was enough for now.
Finally, Eddie smirked, voice soft, teasing again. “You know, if you supervise too long out there, you might start enjoying it.”
Letty let out a short laugh, half bitter, half amused, shaking her head. “Don’t push your luck, dive-bar philosopher.”
“So… how much do you know about the game?” he asked, voice light, teasing. “Or are you just the reluctant babysitter for these miniature delinquents?”
Letty snorted, a short, almost harsh sound that made Eddie grin. “I don’t play,” she said, waving a hand vaguely at the table inside where Dustin and Mike were still elbow-deep in paint. “I just… monologue the characters Will or Dustin write. Usually the big bad of the night. Last time I was a bog witch. Right now, we’re debating making me a vampire.”
Eddie grinned, leaning slightly toward her. “Vampire, huh? Going full Vampiria on them?”
Letty rolled her eyes so hard she nearly looked cross-eyed. “Wow,” she muttered, flicking smoke into the breeze. “Two people made that joke already. I didn’t think it was funny the first time.”
He chuckled, hands raised in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, fair enough. But… still, sounds like you make a killer villain.”
She gave a half-smile, shrugging. “Depends on the audience. Sometimes exposition, sometimes moral commentary, sometimes just… making sure they’re paying attention.” She held out her cigarette with a small tilt of her hand. “Take a drag if you want. Clove. Not gonna judge.”
Eddie took it carefully, inhaling lightly. “Clove? Fancy. I can work with a storyteller like you.”
Her fingers twitched slightly around the cigarette, betraying the tension underneath her smirk. “Don’t expect mercy,” she warned, dragging out the smoke and flicking it toward the pavement.
He grinned, leaning back casually. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Honesty is way more fun anyway.”
Letty held the cigarette between her fingers, passing it back to Eddie after a drag, her hand trembling just slightly. She did her best to ignore the tightness crawling through her chest, the way her stomach coiled and her thoughts scattered like debris in a storm.
“You… already graduated?” she asked, voice low, careful.
Eddie huffed a laugh, taking the cigarette. “Nah. Gotta repeat, but I’m hoping they just send me off with a diploma before Christmas break. Fingers crossed.”
Letty snorted, shaking her head. “Yeah… same. Luckily I wasn’t held back, but… could’ve been a thing.”
He nodded, inhaling slowly before exhaling, smoke curling into the sunlit air. “Started in the middle of the year, right?”
She gave a small nod, eyes drifting to the lot. “Family stuff. Messy.”
“I get that,” Eddie said softly, earnest now, not teasing. “I do.”
For a moment, the conversation hung between them, quiet but not heavy—just shared understanding, a breath of normalcy in the middle of everything. Letty offered a small, wry smile, letting some of the tension slip through, even if only a little.
Letty tilted her head, eyes sweeping over him. “Seriously… your outfit. Is that for real? You look like a frontman in a metal band or something.”
Eddie grinned, leaning back casually, smoke curling around his face. “Oh, it’s real. Totally real. And you’re about to be schooled in good taste, I promise.”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured, snorting. “Says the guy who looks like he wrestled a thrift store and lost.”
“Wrestled, maybe,” he shot back with a grin, “but I own it. Speaking of which—what do you listen to? You look… like a Cure girl, am I right?”
Letty laughed softly, smoke drifting from her lips. “Guilty. But I can appreciate metal, too. Just… from a distance.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, mock horror on his face. “Distance? You don’t know real music then. That’s tragic.”
She laughed again, shaking her head, the sound light and teasing. “Jonathan tells me the same thing. Small universe, huh?”
“Apparently,” he said, grinning. “Guess I’m just here to expand your horizons… one terrible band at a time.”
Letty offered a half-smile, curling her fingers around the cigarette tighter, letting the moment linger. It was easy, easy enough that she could forget the tight coil in her chest for a few beats—but not enough to completely let go.
Eddie kneeled down, elbows resting on his knees, eyes alight with enthusiasm. “Yeah, I’ve got a band. Mostly cover stuff, you know—classic rock, a little metal—but I’ve been trying to write my own music too. Something with a little bite, a little edge. You ever try writing?”
Letty tilted her head, giving a polite hum, not wanting to dismiss him but also not wanting to volunteer more than she had to. “Mm, no. Not really.”
“Yeah?” he said, grinning. “Figures. You strike me as someone who’d be good at it, though. Monologue your characters, right? A theatrical thing you do?”
She shrugged, giving a small laugh, trying to sound casual, humming along absentmindedly as he strummed an imaginary guitar on the tabletop. “Yeah, something like that. I… I guess it helps sometimes. Helps push the story mostly.”
Her chest felt tight again, that coil she’d been trying to shake off this morning, pressing in like someone was sitting on it. The faint prickling at the back of her neck returned, slow and insistent, and she shifted slightly, rubbing her thumb over her palm where the cigarette had left a slight sting.
Eddie didn’t notice—not yet. He was caught up in talking about chord progressions and how he wanted to experiment with tempo changes, voice inflections, and storytelling in lyrics. Letty nodded along, humming lightly, offering the occasional polite word—but inside, the weight pressed harder, subtle but insistent, like she could feel it gathering in the small space between her ribs.
She tilted her head, offering him a drag from her cigarette to occupy her hands, to ground herself, and hoped the smoke would carry some of the tension off into the humid Indiana afternoon.
“Yeah, I get it,” Eddie said at last, pausing mid-thought, “sometimes it’s hard to start something new. But when you do… it’s worth it. Even if it’s messy.”
Letty’s lips twitched in a small, strained smile. “Messy’s… my specialty,” she murmured, and for a second, the words felt heavier than the cigarette in her hand, heavier than the sun beating down through the shop windows.
Just as Eddie passed the cigarette back, the bell above the door jingled sharply. Dustin and Mike were filing out, Dustin clutching an assortment of tiny brushes like treasure. “Finally! I’ll be able to do proper shadows back at the cabin,” he was jabbering, waving the brushes in front of them like a victory flag.
“Good luck with your shitty color scheme,” Mike snarked.
Will stayed right beside Letty, leaning against her as she pressed the tip of the cigarette into the rough brick, snuffing it out with a soft hiss. She watched the smoke curl upward and vanish, the sharp Indiana sun warm against her back.
“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” she said, her voice light, warm, the tension in her shoulders easing just enough for a real smile to bloom across her face. It was charming, effortless—even with the weight still pressing somewhere low in her chest.
Eddie grinned, tipping his head. “Likewise, Library Wraith.”
She laughed softly at the nickname, shaking her head, then turned toward her car. Will followed, subtly close enough to lean on her shoulder for a moment, grounding her as she slid behind the wheel.
The boys were left in the shade of the shop, voices fading as she started the engine, the quiet click of the door and the hum of the car somehow punctuating the end of a small, chaotic interlude. For a moment, she just breathed, letting the tension loosen in the steady rhythm of the engine.
The cabin was cooler than outside, shaded and quiet except for the low hum of the fan in the corner. El was perched on the arm of the couch, her hands folded in her lap, eyes tracking Letty as she stepped inside.
“Max left,” El said simply, her voice soft. “She left a bag in the bedroom.”
Letty froze for a beat, keys still in hand. She didn’t have to look to know what bag El meant. The weight of it—chlorine-soaked shorts, sun-bleached tops—pressed against her chest like an itch she couldn’t scratch.
On the table, the miniatures the boys had been working on were still scattered, paintbrushes drying stiff in the jar. Dustin and Mike hovered there now, carefully lifting each figure and settling them into a battered shoebox as if handling glass.
“El cleaned the nail polish,” Dustin said, a little too casually, nodding toward the clear surface where bottles had once cluttered. His voice was quick, already moving on. “Steve’s meeting me at the arcade later.”
“I’m coming too,” Mike piped up, zipping his bag. He turned toward Will, hopeful. “You wanna come?”
Will was already toeing off his sneakers, dropping down onto the couch beside El. He shook his head, soft curls bouncing. “Nah. You guys go have fun.”
Dustin shrugged, looking toward Letty. “You working tonight?”
She shook her head, setting her keys in the dish by the door. “Not till tomorrow.”
“Cool. Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dustin said brightly, and Mike nodded, both boys hefting their bags with exaggerated care. Gravel crunched under their bike tires moments later, their voices drifting until the sound faded into the trees.
The quiet that followed settled like a stone. Will turned his head, studying her from where he’d sprawled against the couch cushions. “Do you wanna talk about… whatever’s bugging you?”
Letty stood by the table, fingers brushing absently against the rim of the shoebox, her reflection faint in the glass of the window. She swallowed, throat tight, and then looked at him.
“I don’t even know,” she admitted, her voice quiet, fraying at the edges.
Will blinked, his brows knitting, like he wanted to press but knew better. El shifted on the arm of the couch, her gaze still following Letty, steady in a way that made her skin itch.
The fan hummed. The shoebox lid clicked shut under her fingertips.
“I’m gonna—” Letty started, but the words snagged. She gestured vaguely toward the hallway, toward the bedroom. “I just need—”
Neither of them said anything, and somehow that was worse. Will gave the smallest of nods, letting her slip away.
The bedroom felt colder, darker, even with the sunlight leaking in around the curtains. She closed the door behind her with a soft click that seemed to echo too loud.
The bag was there, right where El said. Waiting. Daring her. Chlorine and asphalt and heat bloomed in her nose like memory turned rancid. She skirted around it, climbing onto the bed instead, curling up on her side like the room might stop spinning if she made herself small enough.
The hum of the fan from the living room still reached her, faint through the wall. Will’s voice, low. El’s answering in single syllables. She pressed her palms to her ears anyway. It wasn’t enough.
The air felt wrong—too thick in her lungs, too heavy against her skin. Her thoughts slipped sharp:
Why are you here? Why do they even let you stay? You’re just—
She squeezed her eyes shut, hard, as if she could stop them with pressure alone. But the words only grew louder in the dark behind her eyelids, circling, relentless, until all she could do was press her face into the pillow and breathe around the knot in her chest, trying not to drown in her own head.
the smell of detergent hit her—cheap powder, not the kind her mom used, but close enough. And that was it. The pit opened.
It wasn’t just the pool.
It wasn’t just Billy.
It wasn’t just being embarrassed, or anxious, or tired.
It was all of it. The way her mother’s absence still fit into her like a missing tooth. The way she could still taste the sweetness of her perfume even while hating her for leaving. The guilt of missing someone who’d made her life a mess. The shame of even thinking about it.
Her fists curled in the sheets.
Her brain spun sharp: Stop thinking about her. Stop wanting her. Stop being like this. Just stop.
But her chest only tightened. The more she clawed at the feeling, the slicker it got, slipping through her fingers until it filled every breath.
On the other side of the door, the faint murmur of Will’s voice reached her, then El’s soft reply. She turned her face into the pillow, pressing until she could hardly breathe, like she could muffle it all.
She told herself she just needed five minutes. Five minutes and she’d get up, go back out, smile. Five minutes and she’d claw herself out.
But the pit didn’t care about minutes.
Her thumb was already raw, the skin at the edge of the nail ragged and bright with a smear of blood. She sucked at it without thinking, the metallic taste just another thing to swallow down. Her other hand was in her hair, gripping hard enough to sting, pulling like she could drag the noise out of her skull by the roots. The cigarettes weren’t working anymore. They’d dulled her for a while—burn, inhale, exhale, repeat—but now even that edge was gone. Just ash and a smell clinging to her fingers, no relief.
She curled tighter on the bed, knees to her chest, forehead pressed to her arms. The itch was in her skin, under it, everywhere. Stop thinking. Stop feeling. Stop. Her breathing hitched, shuddered, caught in her throat. She wanted to crawl out of herself, but there was nowhere to go. And then, without warning, it just… cut off. Like a radio falling silent, static gone. The noise didn’t fade; it simply wasn’t there anymore.
She blinked at the wall, eyes burning.
Air slid back into her lungs, slow.
Her hands fell away from her hair, palms empty and trembling.
Nothing was fixed. Nothing had changed. But she could breathe.
Letty pushed herself upright, wiping at her face with her sleeve, smudging mascara into faint gray streaks. Her mouth shaped itself into a smile—not bright, but passable, like she’d practiced it a thousand times.
She stood, shoulders rolling back, and for a moment she almost looked like someone stepping out of a perfectly ordinary nap.
She inhaled once. Deep.
Exhaled.
Again.
When she opened the door, light from the hallway cut across her face. The living room was quiet—El perched on the arm of the couch, Will curled in the center and his miniature from earlier rested in the center of the coffee table.
“Hey,” Letty said, voice bright, casual, like the last two days hadn’t happened at all. “You guys want burgers? I’ll drive.”
Her tone was almost chipper, the kind of easy normalcy that made the kids look up instinctively, confusion flickering in their eyes. El’s eyebrows lifted slightly, just enough for Will to catch it. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second—a silent conversation passing between them.
She’s doing the thing.
Will’s lips pressed into a thin line, shoulders tensing. He knew exactly what she was trying to do: shove it all down, mask the fraying edges, pretend it hadn’t happened. He’d been there before. And he also knew that any mention of it now might shatter the fragile calm she’d built from nothing.
El chewed the inside of her cheek, torn. Stay home, she thought. Protect her from herself. But maybe… maybe letting her out, letting her make this small choice, could actually help.
She gave Will a small shrug, almost imperceptible, before looking back at Letty. Her gaze softened. Let’s let her do this.
Will nodded imperceptibly, and for a heartbeat, the three of them simply existed in the quiet understanding, the unspoken acknowledgment of the storm just beneath the surface, before Letty’s grin and voice cut through it like sunlight.
She smiled wider. “C’mon. My treat.”
The three of them moved toward the door, slow, measured, like stepping over thin ice. Letty led, shoulders just a little less rigid, though her hands still twisted the hem of her shirt as she passed through the cabin doorway. Outside, the evening air was softer than the day had been—Indiana heat finally relenting, a low breeze moving through the trees. The faint scent of gravel and pine replaced the oppressive warmth of the cabin, and Letty drew it in, small and cautious, like testing the water before a plunge. Will fell into step beside her, easy, quiet, careful not to crowd, letting her dictate the pace. El stayed a few steps behind, one hand loosely gripping her jacket zipper, the other brushing a stray hair from her face, silently waiting for the signal that it was safe to relax.
Letty’s eyes flicked toward her car, the fading sun catching the metal of it, and for a heartbeat she allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible exhale. Her hands unclenched slightly. The chain of tension in her shoulders slackened a notch.
Letty slid into the driver’s seat, hand brushing over the wheel, and for just a few moments, the weight of everything—the pool, Billy, the mornings’ chaos, the gnawing guilt—receded into the background, soft and quiet like a radio fading between stations.
It wasn’t gone. Not really. But it was far enough away that she could breathe.
Notes:
I love when im editing this as i post it and realize I dont like what i already had down so now i have to edit it even more and then is slowly becoming less the original story I wrote years ago and now something different.
yay ;-;
Chapter 7: You could douse with nurture
Notes:
PTSD/Anxiety Attack, mentions of self harm.
Idk if ya'll have read my other works, but this is significantly less Angsty and prose-ful like my other works. Idk, maybe I need to up the allegory ?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The bell above the door jingled, and Steve looked up from where he was half-slumped across the counter, spinning a VHS box in lazy circles.
“Whoa,” he said, eyebrows lifting. “Didn’t expect to see you here. You lose a bet with the gremlins or something?”
Letty stepped in, pulling her sunglasses down just enough to glare at him. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“In the neighborhood?” he echoed, leaning forward like he didn’t buy it. “Sure. Just happened to wander past this fine establishment of cinematic excellence.” He gestured vaguely to the wall of tapes, all alphabetized within an inch of their life.
Letty smirked despite herself. “You sound proud of this place.”
“Hey, it’s a respectable gig,” Steve said, holding up a finger. “Keeps me in air conditioning and free movie rentals. You can’t beat that.”
“Mm,” she hummed, arms crossing. “Living the dream, Harrington.”
“Exactly.” He grinned, but it softened when his eyes caught on her face — a little pale, a little hollow. “You, uh… look like you’ve been through it.”
Letty blinked. “Thanks?”
He winced immediately. “I mean— not in a bad way. You just— you look tired. Like, emotionally jet-lagged tired.”
She laughed, short and sharp. “That’s… actually not far off.”
Steve nodded, trying to play it cool but obviously hovering between concern and confusion. “Kids driving you nuts?”
“Always.”
“They do that,” he said with a sigh, grabbing a soda can from behind the counter. “You gotta start charging babysitting tax. Emotional damages or whatever.”
Letty arched a brow. “You offering to handle the negotiations?”
“Absolutely not,” he said immediately. “They scare me. Especially Wheeler. That kid’s got the eyes of someone who’s seen war.”
That earned a small, real laugh from her — the first one in a while that didn’t sound forced. She rubbed her thumb against the edge of the counter, still smiling faintly.
Steve tilted his head, watching her. “Hey, for real though… you doing okay?”
The way he asked it was clumsy, but not empty. Not fishing, either. Just… there.
Letty shrugged, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. Just tired, you know? Summer.”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning back and taking a sip from the can. “Hot, sticky, emotionally jet-lagged summer. I get it.”
He paused for a second, then rummaged under the counter. “Here—” he said, pulling out a tape and setting it in front of her. “This one’s good. Dumb, but funny. Might help with the whole… zombie-eyed vibe you got going on.”
Letty snorted. “That’s flattering.”
“Yeah, well,” Steve said, shrugging one shoulder, “honesty’s part of the Family Video experience. But— it’s on the house. Customer of the month privileges.”
“I don’t even rent movies here,” she said.
“Exactly,” he replied. “Zero returns, zero late fees. You’re killing it.”
Letty shook her head, but there was a real smile this time. “You’re ridiculous.”
Steve grinned. “Takes one to know one.”
For a moment, she just stood there — hand on the VHS, eyes softer now. And Steve, for all his fumbling, didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.
Steve watched her thumb the edge of the VHS case, his grin lazy but genuine. “Seriously. Take it. It’s got explosions, bad dialogue, everything a growing girl needs.”
Letty looked up at him, brow raised. “You’re being awfully nice for someone who’s usually allergic to sincerity.”
He blinked. “Wow. Allergic?”
She smirked faintly. “Yeah. I figure if you say one more nice thing, you’ll break out in hives.”
Steve laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone. Harrington’s reputation can’t survive being caught doing something decent.”
Letty’s mouth twitched, but she still didn’t pick up the tape. “You don’t have to— you know. Be nice.” Her tone was lighter than the words, but the undercurrent was there. Defensive. Uneasy.
Steve leaned his elbows on the counter, considering her for a moment. “You say that like it’s some huge favor.”
She shrugged. “I’m just saying, you don’t owe me charity rentals and pep talks.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” he said easily. “I’m just not a dick. Most of the time.”
Letty snorted. “Debatable.”
“Hey, I’m growing as a person,” he shot back, grinning. “Haven’t you heard? Ex–King Steve, now part-time guidance counselor.”
She rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders softened. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But I’m right.”
She looked at him then — really looked — and something in his expression, easy but unforced, made her chest ache a little. Like he actually meant it.
“Fine,” she said, finally taking the tape. “But if it sucks, I’m blaming you personally.”
“That’s fair. I’ll take the hit.” He smiled, small but real. “See you around, Letts.”
Her lips twitched and she rolled her eyes one last time, but the sound that escaped her on her way out was a quiet laugh.
The movie flickered in washed-out color across the small TV, the sound tinny from the built-in speakers. Letty sat cross-legged on the floor, bottle of dark red polish between her knees, careful strokes painting slow lines over her nails. Her hair was still damp, curling around her neck, and every now and then her hand twitched—barely noticeable, but enough to make her hiss under her breath when she dragged the brush too far.
“Damn it.” She blew on the finger, glaring at it like it had betrayed her before going back in for another coat.
El’s voice floated from the couch, quiet but clear. “You’re shaking again.”
Letty didn’t look up. “Yeah, well, caffeine and poor life choices’ll do that to you.”
El frowned, not buying it. “You haven’t had coffee since morning.”
Letty capped the bottle, staring at the glossy red sheen on her nails. “Guess that rules caffeine out, huh?”
There was a beat of silence, the movie’s explosions filling the space. El shifted, resting her chin on her arm. “You get like this sometimes.”
Letty gave a short, humorless laugh. “What, domestic and tragic?”
El didn’t smile. “Quiet. Like… you’re trying really hard not to feel bad.”
That one hit closer than Letty wanted it to. She sighed, rubbing her thumb over the edge of her palm, smudging one of the nails she’d just finished. “It’s fine, El. I’ll live.”
“You said that last time,” El murmured.
Letty glanced back then—just a second, her eyes tired but soft. “And look at that. Still here.”
El’s mouth pressed into a line. “Will worries, you know.”
“Will worries about everything. He’s got a PhD in worrying.”
El’s brow furrowed deeper. “Dustin worries too.”
Letty exhaled slowly through her nose, turning back to the TV. “Yeah. I know.” She reached for the lighter on the table, flicked it once just to hear the sound, then set it back down. “I’m trying, okay?”
El studied her for a long moment, then nodded, sinking back into the couch cushions. “You always say that.”
Letty’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Yeah,” she said softly, eyes still fixed on the screen. “But this time I almost mean it.”
The movie carried on, tinny laughter and gunfire filling the silence that followed. Letty blew gently across her fingertips, the faint chemical scent of polish cutting through the air between them.
“You get nightmares and wake up screaming most nights,” she said, not looking up, her tone quiet but steady.
“And that isn’t me telling you to worry about yourself—just me saying we all deal with stress differently.” She paused, squinting at a nail, then gave a faint, crooked grin.
“Last day of school, Will threw up when he saw those burnt spaghetti noodles, remember?”
El made a face, her nose wrinkling. “That was gross.”
“Yeah,” Letty said, softly amused. “Trauma rears its ugly head in weird ways.”
El shifted, sitting up a little, watching her sister’s hands move with careful, trembling precision. “You should talk to Hopper.”
Letty groaned quietly, setting the polish down beside her and leaning back on her palms. “Oh my god, don’t start.”
“I’m serious,” El said. “He listens.”
“He lectures,” Letty corrected, lifting her brows toward the ceiling. “And then he gets that look—you know, like I’m a car engine he can’t fix but he’s gonna keep poking at anyway.”
El tilted her head. “That’s because he cares.”
“Yeah,” Letty muttered, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, “and that’s exactly why I don’t wanna dump this on him.” She blew at her nails again, the motion slow, almost methodical. “It’ll stop at some point. It always does.”
El didn’t answer right away. The fan hummed in the corner, the light flickering faintly from the TV. Finally, El said, “What if it doesn’t this time?”
Letty gave a small, tight laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “Then I’ll just fake it better.”
She looked over her shoulder and tried to smile, gentle and tired. “Now hush before you make me mess up the other hand.”
El’s lips parted like she was about to say something—something sharp or maybe just pleading—but the words caught somewhere in her throat. Instead, she let out a quiet huff, leaning back against the couch with her arms folded tight across her chest.
She didn’t get it. She didn’t get her.
El had never understood how Letty could just… bury things like this. Pretend everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t. When she felt bad, she said it. Hopper had told her that was healthy, that talking helped—but Letty just laughed things off or pushed them away until they built up behind her eyes like storm clouds.
Her gaze lingered on the back of her sister’s head, at the way a few strands of damp hair stuck to her neck, the way her shoulders lifted just a little too tight when she breathed. The tremor in Letty’s hands was small but constant, the kind that made the polish brush wobble before she steadied it again.
El’s chest felt heavy with the silence. She didn’t like it—it made her stomach twist. She could hear the shaky breath Letty let out, the one she tried to pass off as a sigh.
El stared for another long second, chewing at the inside of her cheek, before quietly murmuring, mostly to herself—
“I don’t think it ever stops if you don’t talk about it.”
But Letty didn’t seem to hear her, or maybe she just didn’t want to. The TV flickered over them, painting the room in pale blue light, and El sank back into the couch, curling her knees up to her chest, pretending she wasn’t watching her sister fall apart one breath at a time.
Letty gave a little snort at whatever was on the screen, though it didn’t sound like real amusement. She set the polish down to blow on her nails, her voice coming out low, matter-of-fact.
“It just feels… disingenuous,” she said finally, still watching the TV instead of El. “Crying about my problems to you, when you were literally raised in a lab and fought—” she flicked her fingers vaguely, “—cosmic horrors with mind powers. Or Hopper, who’s seen the same things and is still trying to keep his drinking under control.”
Her tone wasn’t sharp. If anything, it was too even, like she’d rehearsed the thought a thousand times in her head.
She glanced down at her hand, noticing the faint tremor in her fingers again, and sighed, more like she was exhaling something heavy than expressing annoyance.
“I’m not trying to be mean about it,” she added, softer now. “It’s just… I know I’ll get over it. It’s that, or kill myself, and honestly—” she gave a short, humorless laugh, “—I’ve got too many things to do for the second option to really be feasible.”
She picked the brush back up, steadying it with her other hand as she dragged the color across another nail. Her eyes were fixed on the tiny motion, like if she focused hard enough it would stop the shaking.
Behind her, El didn’t say anything at first. The TV flickered pale light over both of them, the sound muted against the weight of what Letty had just laid bare without ever raising her voice.
El shifted on the couch, propping her chin in her hand. For a second, she looked like she was going to say something sharp, but it came out quiet instead.
“You always do this,” she said. “You keep everything inside until you’re shaking and—” her eyes flicked to Letty’s trembling hand “—and pretending it’s fine. It’s not fine.”
Letty’s brush hesitated mid-stroke. She blew on her nails like that would steady her breathing, then set the polish down with a small click.
“I am fine,” she said, not looking at El. “I just have to… cry about it or whatever. It passes. It always does.” She reached for the cap of the polish, fingers brushing it without picking it up. “Besides, it’s my job to take care of you. Not the other way around.”
El sat up straighter, eyes narrowing a little. “It’s my job—and Hopper’s job—to take care of you too,” she said, her voice firmer than before. “But if you’re not letting us, how are we supposed to help?”
Letty gave a soft, dry laugh at that, no real humor in it. The sound was thin, almost brittle.
“You’re right,” she murmured, finally glancing back over her shoulder at El. “You’re absolutely right.” Her mouth twitched into something that was almost a smile but didn’t quite make it. “Doesn’t change anything though.”
She turned back to the TV, brushing the edge of her thumb across her cuticles as if the conversation were finished, though the weight of El’s words still hung between them.
El’s voice cracked through the quiet again, sharp and sudden. “You always say that.”
Letty blinked, halfway through brushing another coat of polish. “Say what?”
“That you’re fine,” El snapped, sitting forward now, eyes bright and angry. “You say you’ll tell Hopper if it gets bad, but you never do. You just sit there pretending it’ll go away.”
Letty’s laugh came out soft and frayed. “Because it does, El. It always does. I get sad, I cry, I sleep it off, I move on—”
“That’s not the same as being okay!”
Letty froze. The silence between them stretched, the muted chatter from the TV filling the space where her answer should’ve been. She set the bottle down and pressed her thumb against the tacky paint, smearing it just to have something to do.
“El,” she said quietly, not looking at her. “You’ve got enough to worry about. You don’t need to babysit me on top of everything else.”
“I want to worry,” El said, voice trembling now. “You’re my sister. That’s what you do for people you love.”
Letty’s jaw worked, breath catching in her throat. She turned, finally meeting El’s gaze—and the worry there nearly undid her. “I know,” she said softly, her voice thin with fatigue. “And I love you too much to let you drown in my shit.”
“You should tell Hopper,” El insisted.
“I will if it gets bad.”
“It’s already bad!”
Letty’s voice snapped, breaking before she could catch it. “God, El, will you just—please—worry about yourself for once?”
El recoiled a little, the anger draining into hurt. Letty squeezed her eyes shut, her voice coming out quieter, frayed at the edges.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m not mad at you. I just—” she ran a trembling hand through her hair “—I’m tired. I’m so damn tired, and I don’t want to fight again.”
The air between them softened, heavy but still. El swallowed hard, the tension slowly ebbing out of her shoulders.
“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she murmured.
Letty gave her a small, exhausted smile—thin and apologetic. “Yeah,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Me neither.”
Letty dragged a hand down her face, forcing the corners of her mouth into something resembling a smile. “I’m just—stressed,” she said after a moment, voice soft but steadying. “That’s really all it is.”
El frowned, unconvinced.
“I just need structure again,” Letty continued, brushing her damp hair off her forehead, trying to sound like she believed it. “Once school starts up, I’ll get back on a schedule. That always helps. It’s just the summer—it throws everything off, you know?”
El didn’t answer right away. She watched Letty swipe the smudge of nail polish off her thumb, the faint tremor still there, the too-careful precision in her movements.
Letty forced a quiet laugh, waving her hand dismissively. “Seriously, El. It’s nothing worth Hopper worrying over. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
The words hung in the air, too practiced, too polished—like she’d said them enough times to almost make them true.
El leaned back slowly against the couch, still watching her. “Okay,” she said finally, but her tone wasn’t convinced. It was soft, cautious—the kind of okay that really meant I don’t believe you, but I’ll let it go for now.
Letty nodded, pretending not to hear the hesitation. “Good,” she said lightly, reaching for the remote and turning the volume up just a little too loud. “Now stop worrying about me and tell me what’s going on with Mike. He’s been calling the cabin like it’s a hotline.”
El rolled her eyes, a reluctant smile pulling at her mouth despite herself. “He’s annoying,” she muttered.
“That’s just what love is, sweetheart,” Letty said with mock wisdom, leaning back and blowing on her nails to dry them. “Annoyance and poor phone etiquette.”
El huffed a small laugh. It wasn’t enough to erase the unease that lingered, but it made the silence that followed softer, easier to bear.
And for the first time in a while, Letty felt like she could breathe again—if only for a moment.
A couple of afternoons later, the sunlight was soft through the haze of summer heat, casting long, dappled shadows across the quiet suburban street. Letty had sprawled across the hood of her Chevy, arms crossed, cigarette clutched loosely between her fingers. She let the smoke curl lazily into the warm air, exhaling slowly, letting herself sink into the quiet.
El and Will were a few yards away, trying to teach Dustin and Mike how to balance their bikes on the thin curb of an empty lot. The kids’ laughter and clumsy falls carried over the grass and asphalt, a comforting backdrop to the muted buzz of cicadas and distant lawnmowers.
Letty watched them without moving, letting the edges of her chest prickle slightly. It wasn’t panic—not yet—but the tiny tension at the base of her neck and the flutter in her fingers reminded her she wasn’t fully at ease. She tugged lightly at a strand of damp hair, flicked ash from her cigarette, and offered a small, wry grin to herself. She could pretend to be fine here; no one would really know.
Steve was leaning against the passenger side of the cruiser, sunglasses shading his eyes from the sun, watching the chaos with quiet amusement. “You know,” he said, voice low and easy, “I think they actually listen to you more than me sometimes. That’s… impressive.”
Letty snorted softly, exhaling smoke. “I just let them think they’re winning,” she said. Her hands tightened briefly on the cigarette before relaxing again. “They’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Steve chuckled, tipping his head. “Smart. You’re sneaky like that.”
A soft breeze stirred, carrying the scent of cut grass and the faint tang of sun-warmed asphalt. Letty inhaled, letting it wash over her for a moment, grounding herself in the here and now. Her fingers twitched just slightly, brushing against the hood of the car, and she exhaled another puff of smoke, slow, deliberate.
Dustin tumbled off his bike, arms flailing, and Mike caught him with a laugh. Will ran over to help straighten Dustin’s bike, glancing back at Letty briefly. She gave him a small nod, an almost imperceptible acknowledgment, and then leaned back against the hood again, pretending the tension wasn’t there.
Steve followed her gaze, quiet for a beat. “You holding up okay?”
Letty shrugged, lips twitching into a faint, controlled smirk. “Yeah. Just… enjoying the chaos from a safe distance.”
He grinned. “Smart. Probably safer that way anyway.”
For a while, there was nothing but the soft sound of wheels on pavement, cicadas, and the occasional clatter of a bike hitting the curb. Letty let herself lean a little more into the warm afternoon, taking slow, measured drags from the cigarette, convincing herself she was fine—at least for now.
Flicking the ash from her cigarette, Letty turned toward Steve, only to find him already watching her. She froze for a beat, then shook her head slightly, trying to figure out how to ask without sounding rude.
“So… what’s going on with you and Nancy?” she asked, voice casual, though the curiosity was clear.
Steve raised a brow, smirking. “You… interested in Nancy or something?”
Letty laughed, shaking her head. “Not even close.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not into girls,” she continued , shrugging. “And even if I was, I feel like Robin would be more my type anyway. But seriously—don’t run from the question.” she pointed at him, a mock sternness in his expression.
Steve rolled her eyes, then nodded. “Alright, fair.” He pursed his lisp then, mulling over his words before he spoke.
“We were together for a while,” he admitted, a faint shadow crossing his face. “It’s hard not to still gravitate toward someone you gave so much to.”
Letty nodded slowly, getting but not really understanding. “So you’re just… friends now, after all that?” Letty asked, blowing a small stream of smoke out between words.
Steve laughed, shaking his head. “Do we look like we’re just friends?”
Letty tilted her head, smirking. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been in the same room with you both once. Besides… with my family kinda mixing with the Byers because of, you know, the parentals dating, it’s not like I don’t know Jonathan. ”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “And how’s that going?”
Letty shrugged, flicking ash into the tray. “Weird. Always weird when your parent starts dating someone else.”
He looked at her, curiosity written all over his face.
“What?” she asked, noticing his expression.
Steve waved her off. “Nothing. Can’t relate. My parents… they’ve been together forever.”
That has to be nice, though,” Letty said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Knowing your parents have been together that long… isn’t it romantic?”
Steve laughed, shaking his head. “Romantic? My parents? Anything but. My mom would be home right now if she didn’t distrust my dad on every single one of his business trips.”
“Is it… because she’s worried he’ll cheat or something?” Letty asked, curiosity soft in her tone.
Steve’s gaze flicked away for a beat. “Already happened once. Probably before I even hit middle school. The moment my mom realized I could take care of myself, she started gallivanting across states with my dad.”
Letty’s eyes softened. “So… you’re alone a lot?”
He looked at her, not sure if her concern was genuine or just pity. He didn’t answer right away.
“You’re more than welcome to come sit at the cabin, then,” she added, voice gentle but firm. “I meant it when I said I’d babysit you if you needed someone.”
Steve smirked, leaning back against the railing, clearly trying to play it cool. “Babysit me, huh? You sure you want that kind of responsibility?”
Letty rolled her eyes, flicking ash from her cigarette. “I’ve handled worse. You’re basically a big kid, right?”
He chuckled, a little quieter this time, and there was an ease in his posture now, like he’d accepted the invitation without needing to say it aloud. “Alright, I’ll take you up on that. But fair warning—I don’t do chores, I don’t follow rules, and I complain a lot.”
“Perfect,” Letty said, a faint grin spreading. “Sounds like you’re the ideal cabin guest.” She tilted her head, studying him for a second, and then added more softly, almost offhand: “You won’t feel alone there. Promise.”
Steve’s smirk softened into something less guarded. “I’ll hold you to that.”
She snorted, but there was a warmth behind her eyes as she flicked her cigarette butt into the dirt. “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, and for the first time that afternoon, it felt like the tension in the air had shifted—lighter, easier.
When Letty told Steve he could come by whenever he felt lonely, she hadn’t actually thought he’d take her up on it.
Not that he wasn’t welcome—he was—but the timing couldn’t have been worse.
She’d just finished crying her eyes out, that kind of ugly, chest-caving sob that left her shaking. Now she was deep into the post-storm ritual—cleaning every inch of the cabin like control might stitch her back together. Hopper had tried to help, really had, until he’d knocked over the Pine-Sol and she’d nearly bit his head off. He’d taken the hint, muttering something about “space” and retreating outside to hang comforters with El’s help.
Dustin had been dropped off somewhere in the middle of her frenzy—his mom called into the hospital—and Letty immediately pressed him into service. He’d wiped down cabinets while she cursed softly under her breath, moving faster than reason demanded.
Now the kitchen gleamed, every surface scrubbed raw, and Letty was balancing precariously between a dining chair and the counter, reorganizing the cereal boxes for the fourth time when Steve stepped inside.
Hopper, halfway out the door, had clapped him on the shoulder and told him to go on in. Something about picking up takeout with the kids. Then the cruiser pulled down the gravel drive, leaving Steve standing awkwardly in the quiet living room.
He caught sight of her in the kitchen and blinked.
“Jesus—you’re gonna fall,” he said, stepping forward automatically. His hand landed on the back of the chair to keep it from sliding.
Letty flinched, the movement sharp, but she didn’t move away. “Don’t crowd me from behind,” she murmured, eyes still on the shelf, voice too soft to be defensive.
Steve froze, backing up a little. “Got it. Just—didn’t wanna watch you break your neck.”
Letty didn’t answer. She shifted a box of pancake mix to the far end, then back again, her movements precise, almost mechanical.
Steve exhaled through his nose, watching her. “You know, most people don’t alphabetize their cereal.”
She huffed without looking at him. “Most people don’t live with children who think the kitchen’s a demolition zone.”
“Right,” he said, eyes flicking over the perfectly lined-up boxes. “But I’m guessing the Fruity Pebbles didn’t end up next to the Rice Krispies because of El and Dustin.”
Her shoulders stiffened at that. The box she was holding hovered midair before she set it down—too hard, too final. “I’m just keeping things tidy.”
“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “Looks… tidy.”
That earned him a glance, just one—her eyes rimmed red, the faint tremor in her fingers betraying the calm she was trying to rebuild.
“You come here to be babysat ?” she asked, trying for flippant but landing somewhere tired.
He smiled, gentle, not pushing. “Guess I’m off duty. Figured I’d check in. You said I could come by.”
“I didn’t think you actually would,” she admitted after a beat, climbing down from the chair.
Steve shrugged. “You said the door was open.”
“Yeah, I meant it—” she started, faltering. “Just didn’t think you would ”
“Good thing I’m great at taking things at face value.” he said, a lopsided grin cutting through the tension.
A tiny laugh slipped out of her—dry, but real. She rubbed her palms over her thighs, grounding herself. Steve caught the subtle shake of her hands, the too-bright glint in her eyes, and decided against mentioning either.
Instead, he reached over and nudged one of the cereal boxes out of alignment. “There. Perfect imperfection.”
Letty looked at it, then at him, lips twitching. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah,” he said easily, leaning back against the counter. “But now you gotta fix it.”
And just like that, she rolled her eyes and exhaled—long, slow, not quite a laugh but close. The room didn’t feel so tight anymore.
“Hey,” Steve said after a moment, glancing up at her still perched between the counter and the chair. “I think the cabinet’s officially organized to death. Come down before you break your neck.”
“It’s fine,” Letty replied without looking down, shifting another box over half an inch.
“It’s fine,” he mimicked under his breath, stepping closer until he was right beside the chair, one hand hovering near her knee like he was ready to catch her if she so much as wobbled. “You’re gonna fall, and then Hopper’s gonna kill me for letting you fall.”
Letty laughed softly, shaking her head. “I’m not gonna fall, Steve.”
He didn’t look convinced. “You say that, but you’ve got, like, one foot on the chair and one on the counter. That’s not exactly OSHA-approved.”
That earned him a real laugh this time, small but warm. “You worry too much.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, tilting his chin up toward her, “somebody’s gotta.”
She hesitated at that, her expression flickering—something tired and soft—and then she shifted her weight. When she moved, his hands came up instinctively, palms open like he was bracing for disaster.
“I’ve got it,” she said, smiling faintly, and then—almost an afterthought—she placed her hands on his forearms as she stepped down. Her fingers were light, barely there, but the contact froze him in place.
Her bare feet hit the chair, then the floor, steady. She didn’t let go right away.
“See?” she said quietly, looking up at him. “Didn’t fall.”
Steve huffed out a small laugh, something caught between relief and nervous energy. “Yeah, well, you almost gave me a heart attack anyway.”
“You’re dramatic,” she teased, finally pulling her hands back and brushing at the faint dust on her palms.
“Occupational hazard,” he said, leaning against the counter again, trying to seem casual while his pulse evened out.
Letty leaned back beside him, the edge of her hip brushing his arm. “You’re not very good at relaxing, are you?”
“Says the girl who just risked a concussion to alphabetize cereal.”
That got her—she ducked her head, a grin tugging at her lips despite herself. “Touché.”
Letty turned back to the counter, rearranging the spice holder just for something to do with her hands. The silence between them stretched—comfortable on the surface, but humming underneath with something neither of them wanted to name.
Steve watched her for a moment, his hand tapping a slow rhythm against the counter’s edge. “You, uh… you always clean like this when you’re stressed?”
Her hand froze mid-motion, the can of soup half turned. “What makes you think I’m stressed?”
He gave her a look, half-smile, half-concern. “I don’t know. The industrial-grade level of organization? Hopper said you threatened to kill him over a spill.”
Letty snorted, the sound sharp but faintly amused. “I didn’t threaten him.”
“He said you had murder in your eyes.”
“That’s just my face.”
That made him laugh, and she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Steve leaned a little closer, his voice softening. “My mom used to do that too, you know. The cleaning thing. Every time my dad left for another ‘business trip.’ She’d scrub the whole place until the house smelled like lemon and bleach.”
Letty’s laugh was small and hollow, fading almost as soon as it started. “Yeah… mine too. Except it wasn’t lemon, it was vodka and Pinesol.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them, and her throat went tight. She dropped a can into place a little too forcefully, the metal clinking against the shelf.
Steve didn’t flinch or change the subject. He just nodded a little, looking at her in that steady, quiet way that told her he wasn’t pitying her—just listening.
“Guess it’s a universal coping mechanism,” he said finally, like he was offering her an out.
Letty exhaled, brushing her hands off on her jeans. “Yeah. Guess so.”
She leaned her hip against the counter beside him, staring at the neat rows of cans she couldn’t even remember sorting. “I’m not really sure what else to do with myself when it gets bad.”
Steve didn’t say when what gets bad. He just nodded again. “You don’t have to do anything. You can just… sit down for a bit, you know?”
Letty turned her head toward him, eyes glassy but dry. “You’re really not good at letting people spiral in peace, are you?”
He grinned faintly. “Not one of my strong suits.”
That got her to laugh for real—quiet and worn around the edges, but real.
Letty’s laughter faded into something thin, trailing off as she ran her thumb along the edge of the counter. The air between them felt… still, like static before a storm.
“Alright,” she said finally, pushing off the counter and wiping her hands on her jeans. “If you’re going to stand there and judge my compulsive cleaning, at least make yourself useful. There’s a whole second shelf of chaos in there.”
Steve smirked but didn’t move. “You’re deflecting.”
“I’m delegating.”
“Uh-huh.” He stepped forward anyway, grabbing a few stray cans and lining them up beside hers. “You know, most people just take a nap or something when they’re stressed.”
“Most people don’t have this much soup,” she shot back, voice flat but edged with humor.
He chuckled, but when she reached for another can, he caught her wrist—lightly, careful not to startle her. “Hey. You can stop now, okay?”
Her breath hitched for just a second. Not enough for him to fully notice, but enough that she felt it. She forced a small smile, pulling her hand back gently. “I know. I just… want to finish this shelf.”
She crouched down before he could argue, sorting boxes that didn’t need sorting, rearranging things that were already perfect. Her movements were efficient, almost mechanical, as if the order she was building on the shelves might bleed into her chest if she just kept at it long enough.
Steve crouched beside her, elbows on his knees. “You know, I don’t think Hopper cares if your alphabetizing system’s off.”
She snorted softly, not looking up. “Yeah, well, I do.”
There was a tremor in her hands again. Small, but there. She steadied it by gripping a box too tightly.
He noticed this time. “Letty,” he said quietly, not unkindly. “You don’t have to do this.”
Her head tilted, but her voice was too even, too composed. “Do what?”
“Pretend everything’s fine.”
That made her pause, only for a heartbeat. Then she reached for another can. “I’m not pretending. I’m just… cleaning.”
Her smile didn’t meet her eyes, and her voice wavered at the edges, barely audible over the hum of the fridge.
Steve sat back on his heels, studying her. He could see it—the way she kept her hands moving like stopping would break her. The way her breaths came too shallow, too quick.
But he didn’t push. Not this time.
Instead, he reached past her, grabbed a can of soup, and held it up. “Chicken noodle. Classic comfort food. You want me to make it?”
That got a small exhale from her—almost a laugh. “You can cook?”
“Barely. But I can boil water.”
She glanced up at him, a faint, grateful smile flickering there for a second. “Yeah. Okay. Soup sounds good.”
Steve nodded, rising to his feet. “Soup it is.”
As he turned toward the stove, Letty watched him go, her hands falling still for the first time in hours. Her chest felt tight again, but she forced a slow breath, eyes flicking to the window where Hopper’s cruiser headlights glowed faintly through the trees.
Everything’s fine, she told herself. Just soup. Just noise. Just something to do.
The front door creaked open before Steve could even find a pot big enough for the soup.
“Hey, housekeepers,” Hopper’s voice rumbled through the cabin, followed by the smell of grease and salt. “Hope you’re hungry.”
Letty turned from the counter just as he stepped in, a paper bag balanced on one arm and a pair of drink carriers dangling from his other hand. Steve glanced over his shoulder, the can of Campbell’s chicken noodle still open in his hand.
“You brought burgers?” Letty asked, blinking like she was still catching up to the sudden noise.
“Yeah. Double cheese, extra pickles,” Hopper said, setting the bag down with a heavy thump. “El and the boys wanted to hang out at the Byers’ tonight. Figured I’d bring back something for you two.”
Letty nodded, a little too quickly. “That’s good. They… they need that.”
Hopper hummed, tearing into his burger wrapper as his eyes flicked between her and Steve. His gaze landed on the can of soup sitting half-open on the counter. “You two making… that?”
Steve didn’t miss a beat, flashing that trademark grin. “Yeah. It’s a side dish.”
Hopper snorted. “Right. Canned soup and cheeseburgers. Real culinary genius.”
Letty gave a quiet laugh, brushing her hair out of her face. “It was just something to do.”
The way she said it—too light, too dismissive—had Hopper glancing at her again, longer this time. He didn’t say anything though, just took a slow bite of his burger, chewing as if weighing his words and deciding against all of them.
Steve poured the soup into a pot anyway, setting it on the stove like he hadn’t heard. “Well, we’re committed now,” he said, tone easy. “Might as well make it gourmet.”
Letty leaned against the counter, fingers tapping against the laminate surface. “You gonna sprinkle salt in there and call it a day?”
“Maybe a little pepper if I’m feeling fancy.”
She smiled, small and fleeting, but real enough that Steve caught it before she looked away.
Hopper, still chewing, gestured at them both with his burger. “You two are weird. Soup and cheeseburgers—never thought I’d see the day.”
“Never say never,” Steve said, smirking.
Hopper grunted, but there was warmth under it. “Just don’t burn my cabin down.”
Letty raised her hand in a lazy mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t ‘sir’ me. You’ll make me feel old.”
“You are old.”
That earned her a look—but the kind that came with the faintest ghost of a smile.
The room settled after that, quiet again except for the hiss of the soup warming on the stove and the low hum of Hopper’s chewing. The air felt calmer, even if Letty’s hands still shook when she reached for a napkin.
The next morning, Letty woke up lighter. Or maybe just empty enough that it felt like lightness. The weight that had been sitting on her chest the night before had eased, leaving only a dull ache behind. She stretched, blinked at the soft light creeping through the curtains, and told herself this—this—was good. Normal.
The cabin was quiet, the kind of quiet she could move through without bumping into anyone else’s mood. Hopper had taken the cruiser out early with El to grab groceries, the coffee pot was half-full and still warm, and for once, she didn’t feel like the air itself was pressing down on her.
She poured a mug, leaned against the counter, and took a long sip—too long. The burn hit before she could stop it, sharp and instant, the bitter taste clinging to her tongue. “Shit.” She hissed and set the cup down hard enough to slosh it over the rim. A second later, she laughed at herself under her breath. Of course. Couldn’t even drink coffee right this morning.
The phone rang before she could find something else to do.
“Letty,” came Keith’s voice, already thick with apology. “You’re gonna hate me, but can you cover the tail end of my shift today? Gareth can’t come in earlier, and I feel sick as fuck. You’d only need to stay till he gets here.”
She didn’t think twice. “Yeah, sure. Extra money’s extra money.”
Keith made a noise that might’ve been gratitude or relief, and she hung up before he could get sentimental.
The shower helped at first. Hot water, clean towel, the faint hum of the radio on the counter. But when she tried to dry her hair, it refused to cooperate. First too damp, then too frizzy, then falling limp no matter how many times she brushed it. She muttered curses at her reflection, tugging at a section that refused to sit flat.
By the third attempt, she gave up, letting it hang down her back and telling herself it didn’t matter. It was just the arcade. Nobody cared what she looked like there.
Except—her last cigarette was gone. She’d left the pack on the windowsill the night before, and now it sat there empty, just the silver foil grinning at her like it knew something she didn’t. She stared at it for a long moment, jaw tight, before crumpling it in her fist and tossing it in the trash.
It was fine. She could pick up another pack on the way. Maybe. If she remembered.
She threw on whatever clothes were clean—stockings, skirt, boots that looked better than they felt—and stood in the doorway for a second too long, the quiet stretching around her like an elastic band ready to snap.
Then she locked up, grabbed her keys, and told herself the day would be simple. Work. Noise. Distraction.
Something easy.
By the time she reached the arcade, the sun was already high, glinting off the peeling paint and neon signs. She pushed through the doors, the familiar hum of 8-bit music and clinking tokens washing over her. It should’ve felt like home—but today, it just scraped against her nerves.
Her own clothes sat untouched at the cabin, folded neatly in the plastic bag Max had left behind. Letty couldn’t bring herself to open it—too many reminders, too much weight, too many reasons to spiral. She yanked on the employee vest she’d dug out of the supply closet—a giant, shapeless thing that reeked faintly of stale popcorn and something metallic she couldn’t name. It hung off her frame like she’d stolen it from a linebacker. The smell was cloying, sour, and she wrinkled her nose as she tugged it into place. Perfect. Another thing to add to the pile.
Her boots—wrong for the job, too tight across the toes—thudded heavy against the floor. She missed her sneakers like oxygen, the kind of shoes meant for moving, for running. Instead she got these—cute, sure, but they pinched, and the wrongness of them dug deeper into her mood with every step. Her stockings hadn’t survived either. Snagged in god knows what in the cabin one what out; ripping a neat hole just above her knee, and no amount of tugging the fabric down would hide it.
She looked like hell. Frankenstein’s monster done up in eyeliner.
Keith was behind the counter, reorganizing the stack of tickets, and the moment he spotted her approaching, he bolted toward the back door like a kid caught in a heist. “I’ll handle the till!” he called over his shoulder, disappearing before she could even register what he meant.
Letty blinked at the empty counter, tugged at the vest again, and muttered, “Sure. Whatever.” She dropped into position behind the register, chin resting in her hand, trying to steady the tremor in her fingers as she watched the kids dart between machines and the sound of roller skates on hardwood echoing around her.
For a moment, it felt manageable. Like maybe she could do this. Maybe the day wouldn’t spiral.
And then Dustin Henderson barreled through the doors, backpack thumping, grinning like the universe hadn’t just dumped a ton of bricks on her chest. He skidded to a stop at the counter, nearly tipping his backpack over. “Load me up!” he exclaimed, already digging for quarters. His grin was wide, oblivious to the tiny storm brewing behind the counter.
“Afternoon, gremlin,” Letty muttered, sliding a handful of tokens toward him. Her voice was flat, tight, trying not to give anything away.
“Okay, okay, so—get this!” Dustin leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to reveal state secrets. “I saw Max at the grocery store yesterday. Bread aisle. Moms were talking coupons or something. Anyway, she said she can’t hang out today ‘cause Billy’s in one of his moods. Surprise, surprise.” He rolled his eyes, completely missing the tension coiling in her chest.
Letty forced a laugh, tossing a token across the counter. “What a shame.”
“And get this—Mike! He said his mom’s acting weird about you picking him up or if Nancy should do it instead. I was gonna tell you last time, but Mike was all ‘no dude, don’t.’ Totally cagey. Weird, right?” Dustin’s words piled up like bricks, each one heavier than the last.
Her fingers dug into the edge of the counter, nails clicking against laminate as her pulse kicked up. “Great,” she muttered, voice thin.
“And Steve—” Dustin’s grin widened, piling it on. “—he asked about you too. I think he thought you were Hopper’s secret love child... may have let it slip you’re actually his niece. Totally blew the mystery, sorry. But hey, he was definitely interested. Definitely.”
The tokens slipped from her hand, jingling against the counter. Letty’s stomach churned, heat rising in her chest, throat thick. Billy. Nancy. Steve. All dropped into her lap in the span of two minutes, shoved into her awareness like she could control none of it.
“You’re… exhausting,” she muttered, finally shoving his last token toward him. “Go make history before I kick you out.”
“Love you too!” Dustin called over his shoulder, already racing to the nearest machine.
The arcade’s hum swallowed him, but it didn’t ease the pressure tightening behind her eyes. She wanted to vanish into the neon glow, to escape the names, the expectations, the endless people she was supposed to navigate.
Dragging herself behind the counter again, Letty pressed her forehead to her palms. Every beep, every coin drop, every shout felt amplified, each one scraping against her nerves like sandpaper.
She moved as if on autopilot, checking machines she knew were fine, pressing buttons she knew worked, each motion a shield between her and the avalanche of stimuli.
Then, across the arcade floor, Dustin’s triumphant yell pierced the haze. “NEW HIGH SCORE, BABY!”
Letty slammed a cabinet closed harder than she needed to, the sound echoing sharp over the din. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream or laugh. Maybe both.
The vest felt like it weighed ten pounds on her shoulders, and the smell turned her stomach the longer she wore it. Every time she shifted, the stiff canvas rubbed at her collarbone. Every step in the wrong boots bit at her toes. The snag in her stockings itched. Her chest felt tight, her brain looping and looping and looping—danger, Will Robinson, danger—until the words weren’t fun retro camp anymore, they were a klaxon behind her eyes.
She made it as far as the counter before her trembling hands tore at the vest like it was choking her, ripping it over her head and tossing it down in a crumpled heap. The arcade buzzed behind her—machines dinging, kids shouting—but all she could hear was her pulse in her ears. She stumbled through the swinging door behind the counter, and it was sheer cosmic mercy that Gareth was actually on time for once. She nearly collided with him as she rushed toward the back door.
“Hey—uh, you okay?” he called after her. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her stomach lurched, and she barely made it through the back door before doubling over and vomiting onto the asphalt; the sound wet and sharp.
“Jesus Christ—Letty?!” Gareth’s voice pitched high, but he didn’t move closer, just hovered at the doorway like he might be sick himself.
She collapsed to her knees against the cracked lot, chest heaving, fingers clawing at her arms as if she could dig the panic out of her own body. Sob after sob ripped free, ragged and choking. Her hair clung to her damp cheeks, her vision a chaotic whirl of blurred lights and shadows. The world shrank down to the pressure in her skull, the sting of bile at the back of her throat, the sound of her own pulse thumping like a jackhammer in her ears.
Danger. Danger. Stop. Stop. Can’t. Can’t. Too much. Too loud.
“…Letty?”
Her head lifted just enough to see Will, pale and wide-eyed, frozen a few feet away. Her chest convulsed again, and she gagged, nearly vomiting once more.
His wide eyes darted from her hunched body to the puddle on the ground and back again. “What’s wrong? What happened?!”
“I—I don’t know,” Gareth stammered, wringing his hands. “She just—she ran out and then—”
Letty’s sobs escalated, a violent, jagged rhythm that clawed through her chest. Her nails scraped at her arms, digging into the soft flesh, desperate to punish herself into silence.
Will’s face crumpled in panic. “El. I need El.” He bolted for the door, skidding past Gareth into the building as Garreth shouted something about finding her emergency contact
“El! El, where—?!” His shout got lost in the whirl of kids and machines, and El was nowhere in sight. Instead, he ran smack into Dustin.
“What’s your problem, dude?” Dustin snapped, clutching a cup of tokens.
Will's voice cut through the chaos of the arcade frantic as he grabbed Dustin by the sleeve and attempted to yank him toward the back. “It’s Letty, she’s sick—she won’t stop crying—I don’t know what to do, El usually makes it stop but I can’t—” His words tangled, frantic, spilling over themselves.
“What do you mean she’s sick? Like, puking sick?”
“She won’t stop,” Will said, wringing his hands, eyes huge. “She’s crying and—please, I don’t—”
Dustin froze for half a second. Then he dropped the cup, coins spilling everywhere, and bolted toward the door. But not the back one—he took off toward front, weaving through the crowd of kids, because his brain had already decided what to do.
He sprinted full tilt across the parking lot, lungs burning, nearly getting clipped by a station wagon as he tore straight into Family Video. “STEVE!” he yelled, so loud the walls rattled. Customers turned. Robin startled behind the counter. “Steve, Steve, you gotta come now—it’s Letty, she’s freaking out—she’s—she’s not okay!”
Steve was already vaulting the counter before Dustin finished, shoving the kid toward the door. “Where?”
“Back lot—arcade—”
And then Steve was there, running out into the night and finding her crumpled by the brick wall, damp hair plastered to her face, her body folding in on itself as she gagged again. She was swiping at her mouth with trembling fingers, chest heaving, eyes red and wild like she’d been cornered.
“I can’t—” she gasped, voice breaking, raw. “I can’t get it to stop.”
Steve dropped to a crouch without a thought, one hand hovering but not quite touching her, like he wasn’t sure if she’d shatter under it.
Garreth’s voice was distant, garbled like someone shouting through glass. Letty’s vision tunneled until all she could see was the cracked asphalt beneath her hands, the tiny weeds sprouting between seams. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stop. Her chest convulsed, sobs clawing up her throat until she was choking on them, gagging and heaving all at once. Her nails dug into the soft flesh of her own arms, sharp and punishing—if she could just hurt herself enough maybe it would all quiet down, maybe it would stop.
Danger, Will Robinson.
Danger. Danger.
Stop.
But she couldn’t. The alarm bells in her head shrieked louder than her own breath, like drowning with her lungs full of air. She gasped and choked and it wasn’t working—her body was betraying her.
“Letty—hey! Hey, no, look at me!” Steve’s voice cut through the storm, ragged at the edges with panic; hands fumbling at her shoulders. “Jesus Christ—you’re—shit—come here, come here—”
He hauled her into his chest like she weighed nothing, his arm banded tight across her back, the other hand gripping the back of her head. He bent low, his mouth at her crown, whispering fast and rough like it might tether her. “I got you, okay? You’re okay, just breathe for me—slow down, it’s fine, you’re safe.”
She clawed harder at her arms, a broken whine escaping, and his hand shot down to catch her wrists, trying to stop her from tearing herself apart. “No, no, don’t do that—hey, look at me, Letty—shit, you’re bleeding, stop, stop—” His words cracked into a near-plea.
“Steve!” Will’s voice cracked, shrill with fear. “We have to do something, she’s gonna—she’s—”
“She’s not—” Steve’s own voice trembled before he snapped, louder, firmer, “Dustin! Call Hopper. Now!”
Dustin was already fumbling with the arcade phone, nearly tripping over the cord. “On it! On it!”
Steve pressed Letty closer, rocking slightly, his palm stroking circles between her shoulder blades. She was all heat and trembling and jagged sobs against him, her gasps hitching so hard she choked on them, each one like it might split her ribs apart.
He pressed his face into her hair, muttering so low it was almost for himself. “Shit, what do I do—what do I do—” He wanted to run her straight to the car, slam the gas, and just go. House, station, hospital, anywhere but here. But if she passed out on the way? If she stopped breathing?
“C’mon, Letts, just hang on for me,” he whispered hoarsely, tightening his hold until she could feel his chest rise and fall, steady and strong, like he was trying to force her body to match his rhythm. “I got you. I swear, I got you.”
But her own thoughts kept spinning, scrambled and sharp, cutting her up from the inside:
He can’t fix it. No one can. You’re broken. A monster. Frankenstein’s monster. Stitchwork and screaming and nothing works nothing works—
Her breath hitched again, ragged and raw, her nails scraping against his shirt now instead of her skin. She wanted to tell him she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t breathe, she was sorry—so sorry—but the words drowned in another wave of choking sobs.
Steve’s heart hammered against her temple, wild and panicked, but his arms never loosened. “Hopper’s coming,” he whispered, over and over, like a promise. “Just hold on.”
Dustin nearly ripped the arcade phone off the wall trying to dial, the receiver slipping in his sweaty hand. “C’mon, c’mon—pick up, pick up—”
“Hawkins Sheriff’s Office.”
“Hopper! It’s Dustin! You gotta come right now!” His voice cracked so loud half the arcade turned their heads. “It’s Letty—she’s—she’s—”
Will shoved up against him, grabbing the edge of the receiver with both hands, practically shouting into Hopper’s ear. “She can’t breathe! She’s throwing up and crying and Steve’s trying but she won’t stop! You have to get here now!”
A third voice, Garreth’s, stumbled into the line—he’d followed, wide-eyed, shouting over their shoulders. “She’s outside, behind the building—something’s really wrong—”
“Stop yelling! One at a time!” Hopper barked, but all three voices collided anyway, Dustin squeaking, Will’s voice breaking, Garreth swearing under his breath.
Meanwhile, outside, Steve was drowning too. He had her in his arms, her weight sagging heavy against his chest, and she was still fighting him—weak shoves, desperate and sloppy, like she needed him gone even as her body collapsed.
“Letty—hey, hey—look at me, it’s fine, it’s just me—” His words cut off when her whole body lurched. He felt the hot splash hit his shirt and chest before he even processed it.
“Oh—shit—okay, it’s fine—it’s fine, I got you—”
She gagged again, sobbing between heaves, the words breaking apart on her lips. “I’m s-s-sorry—I’m so sorry—”
“No, no, no—don’t do that, don’t apologize—it’s okay, you hear me? It’s fine.” His voice was frantic, trembling now. He tightened his hold as she shook violently against him, her breath rasping harsh in his ear. “Just breathe—please, Letts, please.”
And then—she went slack.
“Letty—?” His voice pitched higher, panic ripping through. He shook her lightly, then harder. “Hey—HEY! Don’t do this! Don’t you dare—”
Will and Dustin came tearing through the doorway just in time to see her limp in his arms.
“Is she dead?!” Dustin shrieked, voice cracking.
“She’s not dead!” Steve barked, too loud, too panicked, his own voice breaking. “Stop saying that! She’s breathing—she’s still—she’s fine—she’s fine—” But he was rocking her now, wild and desperate, like maybe if he kept her close enough he could will it into being true.
Will was sobbing outright, words stumbling over themselves. “But she—she’s not moving—she’s not—”
“She’s not dead! Shut up!” Steve’s voice cracked sharp enough to cut. His chest heaved, his face blotchy, as he pressed his ear against her mouth, clinging to the faint rise and fall.
And then—over all of it—the wail of a siren split the air, rising fast, closing in.
The boys froze, whipping their heads toward the sound, and Steve’s arms locked tighter around Letty.
“She’s gonna be okay,” he rasped, though his own throat burned with terror. “She’s gonna be okay. Hopper’s here.”
The sound of sirens cut sharp through the haze. Steve barely heard it over Letty’s ragged breaths against his shirt, his own voice trembling as he begged her to hold on, to breathe, to stay with him.
Then the cruiser door slammed.
Hopper’s boots hit the pavement heavy and fast, but when he reached them, he wasn’t shouting. His voice was low, steady—so steady it froze every other sound.
“Steve.” Just his name, clipped, a command. Steve startled, looking up, chest heaving, eyes wide.
“Put her down,” Hopper said. No bark. No roar. Just flat, even—like stone. And it was worse than yelling.
Steve’s arms shook as he tried to shift her, sputtering, “She—she just—she stopped, I couldn’t—”
“Now.”
Steve obeyed, lowering Letty into Hopper’s waiting arms.
“Letty,” Hopper said, quieter still as he dropped to a knee on the cracked pavement, one big hand bracing against Letty’s damp temple, the other finding the frantic pulse hammering at her neck. “C’mon, kid. Stay with me.” Too fast. Far too fast. His jaw worked tight as he leaned closer, listening to her uneven breaths, feeling the hitch of them stall in her chest before breaking into shallow gasps again.
Will and Dustin hovered uselessly behind Steve, their panic bubbling over into overlapping shouts: What’s wrong with her? Is she dead?
“Enough.” Hopper didn’t look at them, didn’t raise his tone, but the weight of that single word dropped like an anvil. Both boys snapped their mouths shut.
The only sound left was the distant wail of the cruiser’s still-turning siren, the shallow hitch of Letty’s breathing, and Hopper’s low, relentless murmurs: “You’re alright. I got you. You hear me? I got you.”
For a long moment he just stayed there, a statue crouched in the parking lot, all the movement of town still happening around them but the world shrunk down to the rasp of Letty’s breathing. Then he stood, decisive.
He turned to Steve. “You’re with me. Keep her upright in the backseat—head against your chest, keep her airway clear. Don’t let her slump.” His voice carried no argument.
Steve nodded sharply, eyes wide, already reaching to steady Letty as Hopper shifted her into his arms. She was boneless, small in a way she never allowed herself to look when awake. Hopper adjusted her easily, but the line of his shoulders was stiff with something perilously close to fear.
He jerked his chin at Dustin and Will. “You two—call your moms. Go home. I’ll update you later. Don’t hang around here, got it?” His voice cracked like a whip, but the boys only nodded, wide-eyed.
“Garreth.” Hopper’s gaze snapped to him. “Inside. Now. Everything’s fine.”
It wasn’t, and every one of them knew it, but the force of Hopper’s tone sent Garreth scuttling back through the arcade door.
Then Hopper was moving, long strides toward the cruiser, his grip tightening just once around Letty before he opened the back door. Steve climbed in beside her without needing to be told again, pulling her against his chest and holding her upright as Hopper slammed the door and rounded to the driver’s side.
The engine roared to life, red and blue lights flickering across the pavement. Hopper’s jaw was iron as he pulled out of the lot, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh like a rhythm he couldn’t quite keep steady.
The cruiser felt smaller than it ever had before. The siren wasn’t on, but the engine groaned loud against the hush of the car, every bump in the road jostling Letty’s limp weight in Steve’s arms. Her cheek pressed damp against his shirt, her head rolling faintly with each turn, and Steve kept trying to adjust her upright, to keep her breathing steady like Hopper said. His chest felt tight, the recycled air of the backseat going thin too fast.
Hopper’s eyes kept flicking to the rearview mirror, the lights of Hawkins streaking past his window in dull smears. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
“What happened,” he said at last, low and flat, like gravel dragged over asphalt.
Steve swallowed hard. “She—she just… she lost it, Hop. One second she was fine, just—working, I guess, and then she bolted outside I think. Started throwing up, crying—like, hard. I tried to talk her down, like—like I’ve done with the kids, y’know? Nothing was working. She just kept choking on it, like she couldn’t get a breath.” His voice cracked, too fast, too desperate. “Dustin called you, I was just—I was trying to keep her upright, keep her from—”
He cut himself off.
The silence afterward was brutal. Hopper’s stare locked on the road, the muscle in his jaw twitching, his hand tapping restlessly against his thigh in a rhythm that wouldn’t settle.
“You did what you could,” he said finally. His voice was still iron, but the words sounded scraped out from somewhere softer. “Just—hold her. Don’t let her slip.”
Steve tightened his arms around her, the back of her head damp against his chin, and counted every rise and fall of her shallow chest until the glow of the Hawkins General Hospital sign broke over them.
The cruiser screeched to a stop in the drop-off lane, Hopper out before the tires had even settled. He yanked open the back door and gathered Letty into his arms like she weighed nothing, his badge swinging as he shouldered through the sliding glass doors.
“Nurse!” His bellow filled the sterile air instantly. “Need a stretcher, now!”
People turned. A receptionist fumbled for the phone. Within seconds, a nurse was jogging up with a gurney, and Hopper laid Letty down with a gentleness that belied his bulk. Her hair clung damp to her cheeks, her lashes sticky with tears, her lips pale.
Notes:
yay. cant help but think i should've put this one off a bit more, but also I too had my own breakdown this weekend that resulted in much vomiting and crying.
also might do some drabble stuff on the side. idk writing does indeed help :D
Chapter 8: Broadview
Notes:
this chapter is brought to you by Broadview- Slow pulp.
I love this fucking band yall. this song along with Falling apart is perfect for a Theme for Letty. idc
triggers/warning: Hospital!
EDIT: 10/15/25: added the rest of the chapt, realized i didnt post the edited version. sorry
Chapter Text
His brain wouldn’t stop replaying it, looping the way her body had felt in his arms—too hot, too small, trembling so hard he thought her bones might shake apart. The way her nails had dug into her own skin, like she was trying to claw her way out. The awful sound of her choking sobs.
And that voice—her voice—breaking between gasps, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.
Sorry for what? He wanted to scream. He’d whispered back that it was fine, that she didn’t need to apologize, that he’d handle it—but the words had fallen flat, swallowed by the ragged noise of her panic.
He could still feel the weight of her when she went limp. Heavy. Wrong. His stomach twisted all over again, nausea rising to meet the guilt gnawing at the back of his throat. What if he’d waited too long to call Hopper? What if he should’ve done something else—anything else—besides just hold her while she came apart?
The waiting room was too bright, too quiet, every second stretched thin like a wire about to snap. His fingers drummed unconsciously on the edge of the vinyl chair; the leather squeaked under the rhythm. Every beep of a monitor, every whisper down the hall, made him flinch.
Somewhere down the hall, a nurse’s voice carried, brisk and efficient, and his heart lurched like maybe it was about her. He leaned forward, straining to catch any detail, but then it was gone again, swallowed by the hum of hospital air.
Steve dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, pressing until sparks bloomed behind his lids. He’d fought monsters, broken his body bloody in parking lots, dragged kids through hell itself—and none of it had scared him half as bad as watching Letty collapse in his arms.
And the worst part? He had no idea if she’d wake up angry, embarrassed, or not at all.
The double doors swung open again. Hopper looked worse for wear but less frayed than before—like whatever storm had torn through him had dulled into a steady drizzle. His steps were heavy, his eyes shadowed, but his voice, when he spoke to Steve, was softened around the edges.
“If you’re willing to wait till Joyce gets here,” Hopper said, giving him a once-over, “she’ll take you to get your car.”
Steve nodded mutely, gripping his arms as if they might hold him up.
“But,” Hopper added, jerking his head toward the sliding doors, “come on. Walk with me.”
Outside, the night air clung heavy with dampness. Hopper dug into his coat pocket, pulling out a familiar black-and-gold pack. He shook one loose, lit it with a practiced flick, and dragged hard before immediately coughing, gagging on the smoke.
“Christ,” he wheezed, waving the cigarette in annoyance before taking another drag anyway. “How she likes these damn things, I’ll never know. Smells like she’s smoking perfume.”
Steve almost smiled at that, almost. But his stomach was still twisting, still hearing Letty’s broken sobs ringing in his ears. He pressed his fingers to the wheel, knuckles white.
“What’d they say?” he asked, voice thin.
Hopper exhaled, the clove-sweet smoke curling between them. His tone lowered, gentled again. “She woke up. Just for a minute. Panicked. Didn’t know where she was. They had to… sedate her. To keep her calm. She’s sleeping now.”
He didn’t tell Steve what he’d really seen—how wild she had looked, feral with terror before the needle, thrashing against three nurses. But Steve read it in the lines bracketing Hopper’s mouth, in the way he dragged too hard on the cigarette.
Before Steve could say anything else, headlights washed across the lot. Joyce’s car pulled in fast, brakes squeaking as she parked. Will and El were in the backseat, faces pale behind the glass.
The second El was out of the car, she demanded, “Where is she? Can I see her? Now?” Her voice cracked with urgency.
“El,” Hopper said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Hospital etiquette, alright? They’ve got rules. And listen—if you start feeling stressed, you tell me and we go right outside. I don’t need both my kids hitting panic at once, you hear me?”
El’s chin lifted, her eyes steely. “I’m staying,” she said, stubborn as stone.
Will leaned out of the back window, eyes red-rimmed, lashes still damp. He didn’t speak, just hugged himself tighter.
Joyce circled the car and stopped at Hopper’s side, giving him a strained but warm smile. “I’ll come right back with some clothes for you,” she said. Hopper exhaled, shoulders sagging slightly. The look he gave her was heavy, loaded.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“Of course,” Joyce murmured, then motioned for Steve. “Come on. You’re with me.”
Steve slid into the passenger seat numbly. Joyce’s voice cradled him as she started driving: “She’ll be fine, Steve. She’s strong. Stronger than she knows.”
Steve stared out the window. “Yeah.” His voice was brittle. “I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head, glancing at the back seat: “Will. You’ve… you’ve seen this before? What happened to her?”
Will shifted, chewing his lip. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Not like this. Not this bad. But… sometimes, it’s like she just… shuts off. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t move. It usually lasts a few minutes, then El can bring her back.”
Joyce’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, somber.
Will lowered his voice. “There was one time at the mall a couple weeks ago. She froze in the middle of everything. I thought she was gone, but El grabbed her hand, and she came back. This? Tonight? It was like she was… drowning. And none of us could pull her out.”
The car was quiet for a beat, just the hum of the road beneath them.
“She’ll be alright,” Joyce said gently, though her eyes in the mirror betrayed her worry. “She’s been through more than most, and she’s still here. That counts for something.”
Steve didn’t answer. He pressed the palms of his hands hard against his knees, replaying the sound of Letty’s sobs, the way she’d clung to him like she was sorry for existing.
Joyce kept her promise. She swung them by Family Video, the lot half-dark now, just a few overhead lamps buzzing against the evening quiet. It was well after seven, and Steve doubted Robin had kept the place open after the earlier scene.
“Go get some rest,” Joyce told him as she pulled up beside his car. Her voice was gentle but firm, the kind that made arguing impossible. “You’ve done enough tonight.”
Steve nodded, mumbling a quiet thank you. Halfway across the lot, he spotted movement near the storefront. Garreth sat on the curb, a dented can in hand, shoulders slumped. When he noticed Steve, he lifted his head.
“She’s good!” Steve called out. His voice carried across the empty pavement.
The words echoed, bouncing off brick and glass. Garreth’s posture sagged with relief, the can crumpling loudly in his grip before he tossed it aside and yelled back, “Thanks, man!” His voice cracked under the weight of it. Then he got to his feet, brushing his palms against his jeans, and slipped back inside through the front door.
Steve stood there a moment, letting the quiet swallow everything up before finally unlocking his car and sliding behind the wheel. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, a low, nervous rhythm, replaying every jagged second of Letty in his arms, the panic still buzzing like static in his chest.
The drive home was silent. The hum of tires, the muted swish of passing streetlights, the faint rattle of the air vent—all pressed in like a lull after a storm. He wasn’t circling the drain anymore, wasn’t spiraling like before. But the tension lingered, taut in his shoulders and jaw.
He thought fleetingly about leaving Hopper his number—so he’d know if there was news. Then he caught himself, reprimanded the thought before it could spiral further. Hopper had it handled. He didn’t need Steve Harrington hovering on top of it.
Still.
Maybe it wouldn’t be too much if he showed up tomorrow. Just to check in.
He could bring her flowers.
Girls liked flowers. Nancy had.
His grip tightened on the wheel, knuckles pale in the glow of the dashboard. Yeah. Flowers. It seemed… right.
Steve shifted the flowers in his hands, the paper crinkling under his palm as he leaned onto the counter at the nurses’ station.
“Uh, yeah—I’m here for Letty Hop—” He stopped himself, pulse tripping, and quickly corrected: “Charlotte Hopper.”
The nurse smiled knowingly, jotting down a room number and sliding the slip of paper across to him. Her gaze flicked to the bouquet and softened. “That’s very sweet. It’s always nice when boyfriends do things like that.”
Steve blinked. Boyfriends. The word snagged, caught, and hung there in his head like a burr. He managed a tight smile, muttered something like thanks, and tucked the paper into his pocket before making his way down the hall.
He was scanning the door numbers when a familiar voice caught him.
“Steve.”
He turned to find El, her hair brushed and her face brighter than the night before. She moved toward him, hands tucked in her sleeves. “We’re going to the cafeteria. They make Eggos here. Not frozen.”
Her expression was so serious, so earnest, that Steve’s lips twitched into a laugh before he could stop it. “That’s… good to know. I’ll keep that in mind.”
She gave him a small smile before heading down the hall in Hopper’s shadow, and Steve turned back toward Letty’s room.
That’s when he heard it. A man’s voice, calm and even—her doctor.
“…we’ll talk about medication, and I’d like to refer you to a therapist. These things don’t make you weak, Charlotte. It’s hard being a kid sometimes, harder for you.”
Steve slowed his steps, breath catching in his throat. He shouldn’t listen, but his feet refused to obey.
“I’ll talk to your father,” the doctor continued, softer now, coaxing, steady. “Counseling, sleep… get out in the sun a little more, hm? No more living like a vampire.”
There was a small laugh—Letty’s laugh, tired but genuine. It tugged at Steve’s chest, twisting it painfully.
He ducked back against the wall as the doctor stepped out a moment later, tucking his clipboard under his arm and heading in the opposite direction. Steve gave it a few beats, forcing down the nerves buzzing in his chest, then lifted his knuckles and knocked lightly against the door.
A pause. Then, faintly: “Come in.”
He slipped inside.
Letty was propped against the pillows, a blanket—obviously one from home—draped over her legs. Her hair was braided in two uneven plaits that screamed of El’s work, one fat, one thin, both crooked. The hospital gown she wore was pale and shapeless, the bandage on her arm standing stark against her skin. Her makeup was gone, washed away, though faint smudges still clung to her lash line. She didn’t glow the way she had under firelight at the barbecue. She just looked… tired. Not beaten, not done, but like she’d lost a battle she hadn’t wanted to fight.
Her eyes found him, widened slightly. “Steve.” Her voice cracked on his name, surprise blooming into a nervous shift of her hands.
He lifted the bouquet, the bright blooms a clumsy splash of color in the sterile room. “Brought you these. Figured… y’know. Hospital rooms are kind of depressing.”
Her lips twitched, an almost-smile, and she reached to take them, fingers brushing his. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
She set them carefully on the side table, fussing with the stems for longer than she needed to. “I, um—” Her throat worked. “I’m sorry. About last night. I must’ve—scared you. Or grossed you out. Or—”
“Hey, no.” Steve cut her off, sharp enough that she blinked at him. He shook his head, firm. “Don’t. You don’t need to apologize. Not for any of it.”
She ducked her gaze, eyes fixed on the blanket pooled over her legs. Her voice went softer, thinner. “I just… I don’t want you to think different of me now. Like I’m—bad. Or… or some charity case you have to check in on.”
“Letty.” His tone gentled, carrying the weight of reassurance that made her glance up. “I don’t think that. At all. I’m here because I wanted to be. That’s it. No charity, no pity.”
Her mouth pressed into a small line, unsure whether to believe him, but there was the faintest crack in her armor—the way her fingers stilled on the blanket, the way her shoulders eased just slightly.
Steve pulled the chair closer and dropped into it, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Besides,” he added, trying for levity, “I’d never forgive myself if those flowers went to waste in the lobby.”
That got a small huff of a laugh from her, quiet but real.
The silence stretched, heavy with something unspoken. Letty twisted a corner of the blanket between her fingers; Steve tapped his thumb against his knee. The air between them hummed with uncertainty, but neither moved to break it. Until he reached out—or maybe she did, maybe it was both of them at once—and their hands met in the middle. Tentative, shaky, but real.
Neither said anything more. They didn’t need to. The quiet itself was the comfort, and the weight on Steve’s chest lightened, just a little.
Letty had been sprung from the hospital for two days now, and Hopper hovered like he hadn’t quite trusted the discharge papers. He lingered in the kitchen that morning with his mug, muttering about paperwork, and that night again as he jangled his car keys like a man who couldn’t decide whether to stay or go.
“Y’know, I can stay home,” he said for the third time, standing in the doorway like a human roadblock. “You, me, and the couch again. Find out if that lady ever slaps her twin sister on Days of Our Lives.”
Letty, burrowed into her quilt on the living room floor, shot him a look. “Pretty sure that’s not until season three. And I’ll be fine, Dad. It’s not like I’m gonna sneak out and join a biker gang.”
He didn’t smile at the joke, just tipped his head, studying her like she might slip through his fingers if he blinked too long.
“Go,” she told him, softer. “Seriously. El’s with Max, right? You already did your ‘responsible adult’ check.”
“I did,” Hopper admitted, scratching at his jaw. “Neil’s out of town. Just Susan there. No Billy.” The last name dropped like a stone between them, unspoken weight curling at the edges.
Letty looked away, tugging at a loose thread on the quilt. “See? Covered. I’m just gonna re-read Interview with the Vampire and listen to that mixtape Jonathan smuggled into my room like contraband.”
Hopper let out a grunt that might’ve been a laugh. He bent, kissed the crown of her head, and murmured, “Take your meds before bed.”
She rolled her eyes, lips curving. “Yes, Dad. Thank you, Dad. Should I keep a chore chart too, or…?”
“Smartass,” he muttered, but his hand lingered a beat longer on her shoulder before he finally headed out.
The screen door creaked shut behind him, leaving the house hushed in his absence. Letty padded back to her room, the emptiness settling over her like another blanket. She kicked the door shut with her heel, crawled up onto her bunk, and let the quiet stretch.
Later, she was sprawled beneath the glow of her fairy lights, the window cracked to the summer night. Cicadas droned outside. Her book balanced on her knees, The Cure humming low from her cassette player, a clove cigarette burning lazily between her fingers she barely remembered to ash. Reading, not really reading, letting the words blur—until a knock at the front door snapped her upright.
She padded down barefoot, tank top slipping off one shoulder, velvet shorts creased from lying in bed. Hair piled on her head, eyeliner long since washed away. She opened the door.
Will Byers stood there, awkward and lanky, his bike propped against the porch railing, a sleeping bag tucked under his arm.
“Uh,” Letty said, one eyebrow lifting. “Does your mom know you’re here?”
Will huffed, shifting his weight. “I’m paying it forward, okay? Babysitting you.”
That earned him a startled laugh. “Babysitting me?”
“You did it for me,” he muttered, not quite meeting her eyes. “After last summer. Figured I owed you.”
She leaned on the doorframe, studying him, then stepped aside. “Fine. But if you snore, you’re out.”
They ended up cross-legged on her bedroom floor, the sleeping bag ignored, books and cassette cases scattered around them. She was honest with him in the way she wasn’t with anyone else, laying out pieces of what had landed her in the hospital without sugarcoating. WIll listened, nodding, chewing on his lip. Then he admitted his own weight: the pressure of school, the dreams he couldn’t shake from last summer, the fear that things might never be normal again.
“Normal’s overrated,” Letty said, tossing a cassette box at him. “You’d hate it.”
He smirked, but his shoulders eased.
They sat like that a while, Cure lyrics bleeding softly from her tape deck, two kids in pajamas trying to stitch themselves back together with shared truths.
The crunch of gravel outside made Letty glance toward the bedroom door. She barely had the front door open when Dustin bounded up the porch steps, a massive pizza box balanced precariously in his arms.
“CHARLOTTE HOPPER, YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE the drama you missed while you were on your little vacation,” he blurted before she could get a word in. “I’m talking serious, soap-opera-level scandal. Like, if you thought Tommy Hagan’s mullet was bad—”
“Jesus, Dustin, not the full legal name” Letty cut him off, laughing despite herself. “You’re a gossipy bitch.”
“Excuse me, I prefer ‘well-informed,’” Dustin said loftily, already pushing past her into the living room with his pizza.
Dustin cut through the silence like a firecracker.
“By the way, I’ll need to run back to the car for my sleeping bag. But it’s fine—my mom said I could stay the night, so all the bases are covered.”
Letty’s brows shot up, her mouth tugging crooked. “Oh, well, if Mrs. Henderson says it’s fine, I guess I have no choice. Who am I to argue with the boss?”
“Exactly,” Dustin declared, striding into the living room to set the pizza triumphantly on the coffee table. He was winding up to dive right back into his gossip stream when Letty’s bedroom door opened.
Will stepped out, sleep-sack spread out on the bedroom floor. Dustin froze mid-sentence, blinking.
“…Wait. Did you steal my idea telepathically? Because that’s cheating. If I’d known you were gonna be here, I would’ve brought my new game manual. Instead all I’ve got are comics, which I was going to thematically read to Letty.”
Letty groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “God, please don’t.” But under it, there was a note of relief—because already the boys were talking over her, launching into a debate about continuity as they headed out toward Steve’s car.
They didn’t make it back inside. Instead, their voices drifted through the screen door as they sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the porch steps, flipping through the first issue in Dustin’s stack and arguing page by page whether the reboot was “absolute dog-shit” or “kinda okay if you squint.”
She almost missed the car door shutting over Dustin's chatter. Almost. Her eyes flicked past the pizza box to the driveway just in time to catch Steve stepping out of his BMW, a two-liter of soda in one hand and a few cans of beer dangling from plastic rings in the other.
The porch light caught him as he came up the walk—hair a little mussed, no gel for once. He wasn’t in his Family Video get-up or pressed polos; just a soft, washed-out gray Henley with the sleeves shoved to his elbows, dark joggers, and beat-up white sneakers. Comfortable. Like he’d just rolled out of his own living room.
Letty leaned against the doorframe, one brow arched. Her sleep-shorts and velvet tank weren’t exactly meant for company, but she didn’t move to cover herself either. For a beat, they just looked at each other—the air between them a little heavier than it had been yesterday, but warm, almost safe.
Steve broke it first, his voice pitched light. “Guess I showed up overdressed.” His eyes flicked, just for a second, to the bow on her tank before he coughed and shifted the soda higher in his grip.
She laughed, short and low. “Hardly. You look less country club than usual. I’ll allow it.”
That earned her the faintest grin, crooked at one corner, and for the first time all evening she felt some of the tightness in her chest unwind.
Letty exhaled, motioning Steve inside and toward the couch. He set the drinks down and dropped into the cushions. She folded herself beside him, legs tucked under, careful to keep about an arm’s length between them.
For a moment, the only sound was the muffled chatter from outside and the faint hum of The Cure still playing from her cassette deck. Then Steve shifted, glancing sidelong at her.
“So,” he said, voice light, “does the velvet tank top mean it’s, like… a special occasion? Or are you always this fancy when you’re home alone?”
Her laugh came quick, deflecting. “Yeah, Steve, this is my usual couture. Velvet tank tops, cigarette ash, and fairy lights. Very high fashion.”
He grinned, leaning back into the couch. “Beats my sweatpants-and-leftover-pizza look.”
“You? Sweatpants?” she teased, mock-gasping. “What would the country club say?”
“They’d probably revoke my membership,” he deadpanned, then smirked. “Which, honestly, wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
Letty shook her head, biting back another laugh, but her gaze lingered a second too long. The air between them hummed—comfortable, but charged, like both of them knew they were sitting on the edge of something neither was ready to name.
Steve let the quiet stretch a little before clearing his throat. “So… how’re you holding up?”
He said it casually, like he was asking about the weather, not like she’d spent the last couple nights in a hospital bed.
Letty gave a shrug, casual in return. “You know. Breathing, eating, occasionally reading. Crushing it.”
Steve huffed a laugh, but his eyes lingered on her. She reached for one of the beer cans he’d set down, popped the top, and took a sip. The grimace that followed made him laugh outright.
“God, that’s disgusting,” she muttered, setting it on the table. “Maybe that’s why people like it—it tastes so bad you forget you’re anxious.”
“Hey, don’t knock the classics,” Steve teased. “Some of us happen to be connoisseurs of cheap beer.”
“Connoisseurs?” she snorted. “That word doesn’t belong anywhere near Bud Light.”
Steve raised his hands in surrender. “Fair point.”
For a beat, the music from the cassette player filled in again. Then Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Hopper got plans for the Fourth? You guys doing anything?”
Letty shook her head, fiddling with lace that decorated the edges of her shorts. “Not really. The fair’s coming to town, though. El’s obsessed, so I’ll probably tag along. Put my new mental training to the test in the middle of a screaming crowd. I got a few days to think it over..”
Steve tilted his head. “That’s brave. Or crazy. Maybe both.”
“Probably both.”
He hesitated only a moment before saying, “I’ll go with you.”
Her brows shot up, and she gave a little laugh, polite but dismissive. “Steve, you don’t have to. Really—it’s fine.”
“Who said anything about ‘have to’?” He leaned back again, smirking. “I just wanna be there when you scream on one of the rides. Honestly, it’s selfish on my part.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her. “You’re terrible.”
“Yeah, but fun at fairs,” he shot back.
Her laugh was softer this time, lingering as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. For a moment, Steve’s hand twitched on the cushion between them, like he was half a second away from reaching out. But he didn’t. He just sat there, grinning at her, the air between them warm and heavy with everything they weren’t saying.
Steve shifted where he sat, leaning back against the couch, one arm draped over the backrest like it was the most natural thing in the world. In the movement, he angled just slightly closer, not enough to make it obvious, but enough that Letty noticed. She didn’t comment, though—just tipped her can again, taking another small sip like she had all the time in the world.
Steve grabbed his own, cracking the tab with a hiss. “So, uh…” He stared at the can for a beat, then risked a glance at her. “I’m glad you’re home. Hawkins proper feels… I don’t know. Different when you’re not around.”
Letty raised a brow at him over the rim of her drink. “Different how?”
He shrugged, fumbling a little. “Quieter. Too quiet, actually. Guess I didn’t realize you were kind of… the loud one.” Her mouth fell open, indignant, but there was laughter in her voice.
“I’m not loud.”
“Yeah, you are,” Steve grinned, taking a sip. “You fill up the space. In a good way.”
That cracked her smirk just enough, and she ducked her gaze back to her knees, pretending the fizzing can was suddenly fascinating. Her pulse was thrumming, but her voice stayed even. “You’re really bad at compliments, Harrington.”
He tilted his head, smirk tugging crookedly at his mouth. “Maybe. But you still smiled.”
She rolled her eyes again, but it didn’t reach all the way. The little tug in her chest did, though—and she didn’t stop him when his arm shifted just slightly along the back of the couch, the air between them buzzing like a live wire.
Steve’s eyes flicked over her face, lingering just a fraction too long before he spoke, softer now. “It’s… it’s good to see you smile again.”
Letty’s breath caught, but before she could think of an answer the front door banged open and Dustin’s voice carried in ahead of him.
“God I almost forgot about the food!” he announced, nearly tripping over himself as he lunged for the Pizza box. Will followed more quietly, already rummaging in the kitchen for plates and cups like he owned the place.
Letty tipped her head back with a groan. “You two know you’re here enough I should start charging rent.”
“Hey,” Dustin said around the box as he flipped it open on the coffee table. “That’s just because you’ve got this eerie level of organization, stuffs easy to find. It’s like—scary but impressive.”
“I’m not that over-the-top about it,” she defended, taking another sip of her drink.
Will wandered back in, balancing plastic cups in one arm. He nodded toward her room, eyes sliding to Steve with a conspiratorial little grin. “Says the girl who has all her clothes arranged by shades of black.”
Steve leaned back, craning his neck to peek. “Seriously?”
“Go see,” Dustin insisted, already halfway through his first slice. “It’s insane. Same with her tapes and records—like a library.”
Letty groaned, standing with her can in hand. She took a huge gulp as she rounded the couch toward her room. “It’s not that bad. There’s nothing wrong with organization.”
Steve followed, grinning. “This from the guy who organizes his action figures by character and the first issue they show up in.”
“That’s strategy!” Dustin squawked, choking a little on his pizza.
“Sure it is,” Will fired back, smirking.
But Steve wasn’t listening anymore. He’d followed Letty’s lead, stepping into the doorway of her room.
His throat worked. The sight hit him harder than he expected—because his own room back home was spotless, not out of care but because there was nothing to leave behind. No clutter, no warmth, no sign that it was really his except for the bed he crashed in. The contrast settled heavy in his chest, the kind of ache he didn’t want to put words to.
Dustin and Will hung back in the living room, pizza box open between them, both acutely aware that the mood had shifted down the hall. Dustin leaned closer, whispering—actually whispering for once.
“This might be a good romance,” he muttered, eyebrows waggling with glee.
Will rolled his eyes so hard it was audible. “Leave them alone,” he hissed. “Maybe Letty doesn’t want to date Steve. He’s got… baggage.”
Dustin scoffed under his breath. “Yeah, but he’s obviously not with Nancy anymore. She’s hanging around Jonathan every chance she gets—”
Will opened his mouth to argue, to defend, but stopped short. Because Dustin wasn’t wrong. It was weird. His brother and Nancy were caught in this limbo—together but not, something in-between. He shut his mouth and shoved another slice of pizza at Dustin instead.
Meanwhile, Steve’s eyes roamed the shelves of tapes and records, titles he recognized, others he didn’t. His gaze drifted to the neat line of books on her dresser, then over to the clothing rack—half muted jewel tones and endless shades of black, the other half an explosion of El’s pastels and neons. Two worlds pressed together in one narrow strip of space.
He eased down into the beanbag chair by the wall, careful not to spill his drink. The cigarette she’d left on the windowsill was still smoldering faintly, the scent clove-sweet in the air, and it tugged him back—back to that night in the parking lot, Hopper’s hand on her shoulder, the panic raw in her eyes.
Before he could get lost in it, Letty crossed the room and sank onto the edge of her bunk. The fairy lights hummed faintly above her head, and for a second it felt like the world had folded small, just the two of them held in its pocket.
Steve leaned back in the beanbag, legs stretched out, his drink balanced loosely in one hand. He watched her for a beat, the way the light caught on the red velvet of her shorts, the way her hair was piled high like she hadn’t bothered but somehow it still looked like something out of a magazine. He cleared his throat, trying to shake the thought before it showed on his face.
“You know,” he said, voice low but carrying in the small room, “this doesn’t really feel like Hopper’s place anymore. Kinda feels like… yours.”
Letty glanced at him, arching a brow. “What, cause I put up fairy lights and alphabetized my cassettes?”
Steve grinned, the crooked one he didn’t realize made him look younger. “Exactly. Real intimidating setup you’ve got going on. Definitely screams ‘queen of the castle.’”
She huffed a laugh, shaking her head, but her eyes lingered on him longer than she meant them to. “Please. More like cramped quarters for a king like you.”
His smile faltered just slightly—not because it stung, but because of how she said it. Not mocking, not resentful, just… like she saw him larger than life in a way that felt unfair but also sort of good.
Steve shifted in the beanbag, subtle, inching closer without thinking about it until his sneaker brushed the edge of her rug. “I don’t mind cramped,” he said, quieter now. “Sometimes… it’s better.”
Letty felt her chest hitch at that, fingers tightening around the beer can in her hand. She covered it with a quick sip, grimacing at the bitterness, but the taste barely registered. Because Steve was still watching her, not in that overconfident Harrington way, but like he was seeing her for the first time.
And somewhere beneath her defenses, she realized with a start that she liked it. Liked him.
Steve leaned back in the beanbag, a little too big for it, drink balanced in his hand. He looked at her perched on the edge of her bunk, a stray curl falling into her face, the cassette player still whispering low Cure lyrics.
“Y’know,” he said, voice low, “for someone who claims to be fine, you… don’t look it all the way.”
Letty gave a dry laugh, tipping her can toward him. “That’s the magic of anxiety meds. They make you look less like a trainwreck and more like… just a local disaster.”
He smiled, crooked. “Local disaster, huh? Guess I’ll stick around, make sure you don’t, like… level Hawkins or something.”
She shot him a look, but it was soft, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You volunteering for disaster relief?”
“Something like that.” He shifted, scooting just a little closer, like it was nothing, though she noticed the carefulness of it. He kept his eyes on the can in his hands, not her. “I mean, you don’t… have to do this alone. You know that, right?”
For a heartbeat, the silence was thick, charged. Letty felt it settle between them — warm, heavy, almost safe.
She almost said something reckless, but before she could, the sound of a cup being knocked over, Dustin’s whispered curse and Will’s groaning response about Coke in the carpet.
Chapter 9: 4th and Final
Notes:
okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyy
this is going to be a very filler chapter? I want to touch on some important things and build some other threads i was working through. Theres alot of feelings here i want to sort out from Letty. I feel like its all grounded in reality.
brought to you by Amber- 311.
Warning: mentions of child abuse, child neglect and an illusion to SA. (all very brief ok, the SA one is literally the beginning of a mention and then it stops. I will never go into detail about it, but it will be mentioned in moments of PTSD or panic in other ways to allude to what happened.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sun was going down, bleeding gold over the cracked asphalt behind the arcade. Someone had dumped an old pinball machine near the dumpsters weeks ago, and now it sat rusting, the glass spidered and dull. The air smelled faintly of grease and smoke and sugar — the weird mix of every Hawkins summer.
Letty sat on the curb with a soda can sweating between her hands, the fizz long gone flat. She’d been out of the hospital for five days. Five whole days of people speaking soft and careful around her, like noise might send her spiraling again.
Hopper checking in. Joyce calling twice. Steve pretending to “just happen” to be near wherever she was.
Even El watched her like she might fade if she blinked too slow.
Billy didn’t.
She heard him before she saw him — the scrape of boots on gravel, the flick of a lighter. He rounded the corner, smoke curling from his mouth, denim jacket slung loose around his shoulders.
“Thought you quit those,” she said.
He gave her a once-over, eyes flicking to the can in her hand. “Thought you quit those.”
She cracked the faintest smile. “Touché.”
Billy leaned against the brick wall, one boot propped behind him. He looked at her for a long moment, assessing but not prying. “You look better,” he said finally.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Yeah, well. It’s true.” He took a drag, voice flat, no softness in it. “Five days out and you’re back here instead of curled up at home. That’s something.”
She rolled the can between her palms, watching the condensation smear across her fingers. “You sent my clothes back. Through Max.”
He shrugged. “Figured she’d do it faster.”
“Would’ve meant more coming from you.”
His brow twitched, just barely. “Didn’t think you’d wanna see me.”
“Why not?”
He took another drag, blew smoke toward the alley’s open sky. “You got enough people hovering. Didn’t wanna be another name on the list.”
She huffed softly. “You wouldn’t be.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. The hum of cicadas filled the gaps. Somewhere inside, a round of Dig Dug blipped faintly through the wall.
When she finally did speak, her voice was quiet. “Started therapy.”
Billy’s expression didn’t change. “Good.”
“I hate it.”
“Even better.”
She glanced at him, brow knitting. “How’s that better?”
“Means it’s working.”
Letty let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “You’re kind of an asshole.”
“Yeah. You knew that before the hospital.”
She smirked, but her gaze dropped again, tracing circles in the dust with her sneaker. “They told me I’ve got panic disorder. Anxiety. Like—clinical, capital-A Anxiety.” She said it like it was a curse. “Sounds so dramatic.”
Billy flicked ash off his cigarette. “It’s not dramatic. It’s a thing. You deal with it.”
She eyed him. “That easy, huh?”
“Never said it was easy.”
Something about his tone — the weight in it — made her pause. There was a quiet there, the kind that said he understood more than he’d ever say out loud.
She looked over at him, the soft orange light catching the side of his face. “You ever get tired of being the tough one?”
“All the time.” He didn’t even hesitate. “Doesn’t mean I get to stop.”
Her throat worked. “Yeah. Me neither.”
That earned her a glance — not pity, not surprise, just something like recognition.
Billy stubbed out his cigarette against the wall. “You working tonight?”
“Supposed to.”
“Then get in there before the head nerd starts pacing a hole in the carpet.”
She stood, brushing grit off her jeans, and when she passed him, she hesitated — just long enough to say, “Thanks. For checking in.”
He shrugged, eyes forward. “Don’t make a habit of it.”
But when she pushed through the back door, she caught his reflection in the glass — still leaning against the wall, watching just long enough to make sure she was steady on her feet before he turned and walked away.
And for the first time in days, Letty didn’t feel like she was being watched.
She felt like she was being looked after.
A few days later and the hum of cicadas hung thick in the air. Evening again ;the seventh since she’d come home — and Letty sat barefoot on the porch steps, a chipped mug of cold coffee beside her knee. The porch light hadn’t been turned on yet, but she didn’t mind the dark.
Headlights swept up the driveway, cutting through the shadows. She recognized the car before the engine even shut off.
Max hopped out first, muttering something about curfew before slamming the door. Billy didn’t move right away. He sat behind the wheel, one arm hooked over it, eyes flicking toward the house.
Letty lifted a hand, a small, tired wave.
He honked once — short, sharp — then called out through the open window.
“Hey, hospital girl! C’mere.”
She squinted. “That supposed to be a nickname? What happened to calling me Princess?”
“Yeah? Work on earning that one back.” He jerked his chin. “C’mon.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I said so.”
She rolled her eyes but stood anyway, huffing and tugging down her shorts before walking barefoot down the steps.
“You know you could try asking people to hang out instead of barking orders, right?”
“Doesn’t work as well.”
When she reached the car, he popped the passenger door open with his elbow. “Get in. I gotta grab something from the shop.”
“Billy—”
“Five minutes.” He cut her off with a look that wasn’t impatient, just firm. “You can sit there and brood or come sit somewhere that smells like motor oil. Your call.”
She sighed, sliding in. “You really need to work on your sales pitch.”
He smirked. “Didn’t have to. You’re here, aren’t you?”
The shop was mostly dark, one long strip of fluorescent light buzzing above the workbench. The smell hit her first — oil, metal, something warm and sharp — but it wasn’t unpleasant. Billy dropped his keys on the counter and rolled a creeper chair toward her.
“Sit.”
“You got a thing for bossing people around, huh?” she muttered, but she sat anyway, spinning lazily as he pulled a toolbox closer. Her gaze jumped from the concrete floor to the pale pink toenails El had painted for her the previous day.
“Only when they listen.”
She watched him crouch beside the hood of a half-fixed car, sleeves shoved up, grease streaking his forearm. There was music playing low from an old radio in the corner — some rock station fuzzed with static.
“So,” he said after a minute, not looking up, “you sleeping?”
“Trying.” She spun the chair again, her voice lighter than she felt. “Therapist says I should do breathing exercises. Write down my triggers. Talk about my feelings.”
“Sounds awful.”
“Right?”
He grinned faintly. “You doing it?”
She shrugged. “Mostly the writing part. The talking part’s… harder.”
“Then don’t.”
She blinked at that, caught off guard. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t talk about it unless you want to. Everyone’s got an opinion on what’s ‘good for you.’” He tightened a bolt, voice even. “Sometimes it’s just noise.”
She went quiet for a moment, tracing the edge of the workbench with her fingertip. “You really don’t think I’m—”
“Broken?” He cut in, straightening up. “Nah. You’re just fucked up. Like the rest of us.”
She snorted. “Wow. Comforting.”
“Didn’t say it to make you feel better.” He grabbed a rag, wiped his hands, and leaned back against the car. “Just means you don’t get special treatment.”
She smiled into her lap, small and genuine. “Good. I’m tired of special treatment.”
They fell into a silence that wasn’t heavy. She spun in the chair again, the squeak of the wheels filling the space between his tools clinking and the low hum of the radio.
He nodded toward the car. “You wanna hand me that socket wrench?”
She looked over the spread of metal and picked up the wrong one twice before finding it.
He took it, brushing her knuckles as he did. “Not bad, hospital girl.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “I’m not calling you ‘garage boy,’ if that’s what you’re aiming for.”
He chuckled, low and genuine. “Didn’t think you would.”
After a while, the sun dipped fully below the tree line, leaving only the harsh fluorescent glow and the soft buzz of the radio. She felt calmer here than she had in days — no careful voices, no hovering eyes. Just grease, noise, and Billy’s unfiltered steadiness.
When she finally stood, stretching the kink out of her back, he nodded toward her. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He went back to tightening the bolt, voice casual. “If not, come by. I’ll teach you how to change brake pads.”
She smirked. “You’re a real softie, Hargrove.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said, grinning just enough to let her know she could.
When Billy said five minutes, it was in fact more like an hour before they left the garage. The road humming under the Camaro’s tires, headlights cutting through the dark in long, pale slices. The windows were cracked, summer air warm and sticky as it tangled through Letty’s hair. She had her bare feet propped on the dash, arms crossed loosely over her chest.
Billy drove one-handed, wrist draped over the wheel, cigarette flickering between his fingers. Neither of them spoke for a while.
Finally, Letty broke the silence. “You know, for someone who acts like he doesn’t care about anything, you’re really good at… fixing stuff.”
He glanced sideways, mouth tugging faintly. “You mean cars?”
“I mean everything. Cars. People. Whatever.”
Billy huffed a laugh through his nose. “People aren’t my specialty.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she said, watching the road blur past her window. “You got Max figured out. And you didn’t even stutter when you dragged me out.”
He didn’t answer, but his jaw shifted, muscle ticking once.
She turned her head, studying him. “Why do you do it?”
He shot her a look. “Do what?”
“The whole pool thing. The flirting, the married women. The fake charm. It’s like watching someone pick fights they already know they’ll lose.”
Billy let out a low whistle. “Jesus, Harrington’s been giving you the moral talks, huh?”
She smiled faintly. “No. Steve doesn’t talk about you.”
He barked a humorless laugh. “Figures.”
“Billy.” Her tone softened. “I’m serious. You don’t have to tell me everything, I just… You’re smarter than that. And you’re not stupid enough to think that kind of thing doesn’t blow back.”
The cigarette glowed between his fingers. He flicked the ash out the window, eyes fixed straight ahead. “You sound like my old man.”
“Good. Maybe someone should.”
That earned her a sideways glance — sharp, but not angry. More… wary.
“You don’t know him,” he said, voice low.
“I don’t need to.” She shifted, pulling her knees up onto the seat, facing him now. “You flinch every time someone raises their voice. You talk tough, but you don’t touch people unless they touch you first. I might not know him, but I know what that kind of person leaves behind.”
The silence that followed was tight, humming.
He didn’t deny it.
Didn’t joke, didn’t sneer. Just kept driving, eyes shadowed under the streetlights as they passed.
Then, quietly: “You shouldn’t go around saying shit like that.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause people start thinking they can fix you.”
She tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You think I’m trying to fix you?”
He finally looked at her — really looked, one hand gripping the wheel tighter. “Aren’t you?”
“No,” she said simply. “I’m just saying I get it.”
That seemed to throw him more than any accusation could’ve. His mouth parted like he had something to say, then closed again. He exhaled hard through his nose, turned the music up a notch — Tom Petty, low and warm — and muttered, “You shouldn’t get it.”
Letty smiled faintly, looking out at the dark fields rolling by. “Too late.”
They didn’t talk for the rest of the drive, but something had shifted — not lighter, not exactly easier, but truer. When he pulled up in front of her house, she didn’t move to get out right away.
“Thanks,” she said, hand on the door handle. “For the garage. And for not treating me like glass.”
He shrugged, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “Didn’t think you’d like it.”
“I don’t,” she said, smiling a little. “That’s the point.”
He grinned then, brief but real. “See you around, hospital girl.”
“See you around, pool boy.”
She stepped out into the porch light, the Camaro’s engine rumbling low behind her. When she turned to look back, he was already gone — just taillights fading into the dark.
The cabin was still. No TV hum, no creak of floorboards. Just the sound of the screen door clicking shut behind her and the low tick of the kitchen clock. Which meant the girls went to the arcade or to Wills house.
Letty leaned against the counter, hands flat on the cool surface, trying to slow her breathing. The night felt heavy on her skin — the smell of oil and smoke still clinging to her clothes from Billy’s garage, the ghost of his voice threading through her head.
You shouldn’t get it.
But she did. God help her, she did.
She’d seen the same look in the mirror — that sharp, half-angry glint that said don’t touch me, I’m fine when she wasn’t. The way his hands shook just a little when he lit his cigarette, like maybe it wasn’t just the nicotine he needed to calm down.
She pushed away from the counter, pacing slow circles through the kitchen.
It wasn’t pity she felt. Not for him. It was something quieter. Solid. The kind of knowing that didn’t need words.
Billy Hargrove wasn’t gentle. He didn’t say the right things or pretend to understand panic like hers — he just treated her like she could still handle it. Like she wasn’t something delicate that might break again if he breathed wrong.
And maybe that was what she needed.
Not soft edges or whispered you’ll be okays — just someone who saw her cracked open and didn’t flinch.
She poured a glass of water and stood at the sink, staring at the dark window above it. Her reflection looked steadier than she felt, but for the first time in a long time, she didn’t look like she was waiting to come undone.
“Too late,” she murmured under her breath, echoing herself, and smiled.
Outside, the low rumble of the Camaro drifted back for a moment before fading away entirely.
The next morning, the air was already too warm, the kind of sticky summer heat that clung no matter how early it was. Hopper parked the cruiser in the cracked lot beside Hawkins Family Counseling, killed the engine, and cracked open a battered paperback. He didn’t say much — hadn’t all morning. Just: “Take your time, kid,” and a nod toward the glass door.
Letty stood on the curb for a long moment, staring at the sign painted across the window — cheerful blue script, a sunburst over the words Healing Happens Here! — like it was a dare.
Inside, the air was cold enough to raise goosebumps along her arms. The waiting room smelled faintly of lavender and something chemical. The receptionist gave her a soft smile, said her name, and then she was being ushered down a narrow hallway lined with watercolor prints and fake ferns.
Marnie was already waiting — older, maybe late fifties, but there was something in her posture that felt young, alive. Her hair was silver but cropped short, her clothes soft and simple. And her eyes — they were the kind of kind that made Letty’s skin crawl a little, like she was already seen.
“Hi, Letty,” Marnie said gently, gesturing to the couch. “You can sit anywhere you like.”
Letty hesitated before dropping onto the far end, posture tight, backpack hugged to her knees. “You’re not gonna, like… make me lie down or anything, right?”
Marnie’s mouth quirked. “Only if you’re tired.”
That earned a faint huff of air — not quite a laugh, but close.
For a few minutes, Marnie didn’t ask anything. Just talked. About the weather. About how her hydrangeas were dying from the heat. About how she’d seen Letty’s name on the intake and recognized it from the paper — the Fourth of July parade signups. It wasn’t until Letty had stopped fidgeting that the first real question came.
“So,” Marnie said, her tone soft but deliberate, “tell me what it’s like when it happens. The panic.”
Letty’s fingers tightened around her backpack strap. “I dunno. It just—” She gestured vaguely toward her chest. “It feels like everything’s closing in. Like my body’s trying to… I don’t know. Escape itself.”
Marnie nodded. “And what do you think your body’s trying to escape from?”
Letty’s throat bobbed. She stared at the carpet.
It would’ve been easier if Marnie had written things down, if she’d made it feel like a test. But she didn’t. She just waited.
After a long silence, Letty whispered, “Sometimes I hear him.”
Marnie didn’t blink. “Who?”
“My mom’s boyfriend. One of them. I don’t even remember which. He used to…” Her voice faltered. She shook her head. “Never mind.”
Marnie’s voice stayed quiet. “You don’t have to tell me everything today. But I want you to know — what happened to you, whatever it was — it doesn’t make you broken. It makes your body smart. It learned how to survive.”
That landed hard — too hard. Letty blinked fast, jaw tight. “Yeah, well, my body’s doing a crap job of it now.”
“Or,” Marnie countered, still calm, “it’s trying to unlearn the parts that kept you safe back then. That’s messy work.”
The clock ticked. The hum of the vent filled the silence.
Letty finally looked up. “Do you always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re in a fortune cookie.”
That earned a small laugh from Marnie — real, unoffended. “Sometimes.”
Marnie tilted her head slightly, waiting, letting the silence stretch until Letty filled it.
“My mom,” Letty began, voice low and flat. “She… she didn’t really notice me. Except to tell me what I was doing wrong. Or yell at me. Or hit me. I… I mostly stayed out of the way.”
Her hands were folded in her lap, knuckles white, but she didn’t look at Marnie. Her eyes traced the edge of the couch cushion like it was a map.
She paused, letting the words land with a quiet weight, then continued, still clinical, like reporting someone else’s history.
“I learned to… shrink. To disappear. Move fast when I needed. Keep quiet. Avoid attention. That worked most of the time. When it didn’t, I… panicked. Or left. Or threw up. Or… something.”
Marnie nodded, not rushing, not judging, letting her voice echo back softly in the empty room.
Letty’s eyes finally flicked up, just for a second. “It’s… it’s probably why I… freak out sometimes. Even now. It’s… habits. Survival. Not… broken.”
“No,” Marnie said softly. “Not broken. Your body learned a way to keep you safe. We just need to teach it that sometimes it’s safe to stop.”
Letty leaned back, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling. “Right. Stop being smart. Got it.” Her tone was dry, clipped, but not hostile — just trying to make it bearable.
Marnie offered a faint smile. “We’ll get there. Slowly. No one’s asking you to forgive. No one’s asking you to forget. Just… start noticing what your body’s telling you, and how we can make it easier to listen.”
Letty nodded, just slightly, as if agreeing to a thought experiment rather than herself. The first step wasn’t feeling — it was naming.
When the hour ended, Letty was the first to stand, already reaching for the door.
Marnie didn’t stop her. “Same time next week?”
Letty hesitated, hand on the knob. “…Yeah.”
“Good,” Marnie said. “And, Letty? Try to get some sun. You look like you’re hiding.”
Letty didn’t answer — just ducked her head and slipped out into the hall.
Outside, Hopper was leaning against the cruiser, paperback open, coffee in hand. He looked up when he saw her, brow furrowing.
“You good?”
Letty squinted against the glare, shrugging. “Define ‘good.’”
He huffed, closing his book. “Fair enough. Get in, kid.”
As she slid into the passenger seat, the heat hit her full-on — the smell of old leather, the faint hum of the police radio. Hopper didn’t press, didn’t ask what they’d talked about. He just turned the ignition and handed her the half-empty coffee cup.
“Drink it,” he said gruffly. “You look like you’ve been to war.”
Letty cracked a small, wry smile, took the cup, and murmured, “Maybe I have.”
She ends up in Pop’s Garage far more often then she should be allowed; but Wayne is a sweet older gentleman who doesn't wave her off. Says she’s quiet and its not like she shows up when the works really flowing; besides, she keeps to her and Billy, doesn't talk too loud and isn't a distraction.
Apparently other girls have been a distraction.
She wonders who was the catalyst for that rule.
Max and El are at the Cabin, neither one interested in making the drive out and Letty had told them she’d bring back shakes. The two oreo ones currently sweating in the cupholder on Billy's work table, her fingers tapping on her own styrofoam cup; strawberry milkshake sticking to the inside of the straw no matter how much she tries to pull it through. The liquid is just a bit too thick.
Billy’s wiping grease of his hands, the sky amber and oil streaked; the pair of them sharing the same tired in different fonts. He hums in an appreciative manner when he drinks his own shake, a coffee flavored thing that smelt burnt in the car but Billy seems to appreciate it so who is she to judge?
“So, you’re really gonna be one of those guys huh? Covered in grease and blasting AC/DC till you’re fifty?”
He smirks, but then shrugs. “Pays better than drowning in chlorine all summer. So… yeah. Maybe.” When he’d mentioned his apprenticeship earlier he’d been half proud and half nonchalant about it, almost as if he was worried speaking it into existence would ruin his chances.
The garage was mostly dark, one overhead light buzzing weakly above Billy’s head as he leaned under the hood of a car.
You ever gonna take a night off?” she asked, watching him drag a rag down his forearm.
He grunted. “Takes money to fix cars. Gotta keep up.”
She snorted. “Yeah, but you fix cars all day. You ever just—stop?”
He gave her a sidelong look, one brow raised. “You ever stop thinkin’?”
Touché. She smiled despite herself, tracing the lip of her cup.
They sat like that for a while, the only sounds the tick of cooling metal and the distant whine of crickets. Then, quietly — like he’s been holding it — he adds: “Susan’s been packing boxes when she thinks no one’s looking. Max pretends she doesn’t notice, but she does. By spring, they’ll be gone. Probably moving out. Dad’ll end up back in California.”
Billy shrugs, eyes still fixed on the engine. “I’m thinkin’ about it. Not him—California. Maybe stay with my mom. I’m past eighteen now, I could do it if I wanted.” He wiped his hands again, slower this time. “But I promised Max I’d stick around till she graduates. She’s got friends here. El. Hell, even you.”
Letty frowned softly. “You dont like the idea of staying with Susan?” His mouth twisted, something almost fond there.
“Susan’s been good to me. Better than most. She’s workin’ at that bank out on Main—barely makin’ anything, but she tries. Always has. She’s a little busted up, but she’s kind. Deserves more than what Neil gives her.” Letty was quiet for a moment, just watching him. The yellow light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the smudge of grease at his temple. There was something steadier in him now, something she hadn’t seen before.
“So,” she said finally, “you’re stayin’ for Max.”
Billy huffed. “I’m stayin’ because I said I would. Because I’m done runnin’. Someone’s gotta see things through, right?”
Letty nodded. “Yeah. Guess so.”
A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, the boss says if I keep my head down, get started with school, I’ll have a real spot here by spring. Solid work. Keeps me outta trouble.”
She nudged his boot with hers. “So you’re a mechanic now. Billy Hargrove, domestic and reliable. Never thought I’d see the day.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was warmth in it. “Don’t push it, Hopper.”
She laughed then—quiet, genuine—and for a moment, it felt like the air between them finally settled. No pity. No pretending. Just two people who’d been carrying too much, realizing they didn’t have to explain why anymore.
The ticking clock on Marnie’s desk was steady and soft, filling the spaces between Letty’s words. The older woman sat cross-legged in her armchair, notepad balanced on her knee, watching with that same calm, too-knowing look that made Letty want to both bolt and stay in the same breath.
“So,” Marnie said, “how was your week?”
Letty picked at a thread on her sleeve. “Fine. I guess. Better than last week.”
“That’s something.”
A small smile tugged at the edge of Letty’s mouth. “Yeah.” She hesitated, then added, “I’ve been hanging out with Billy some. You know, Hargrove.”
Marnie hummed in acknowledgment. “How’s that been?”
Letty leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. “Weirdly normal? He’s not… soft about things. Doesn’t talk to me like I’m gonna break. He just—talks. About cars. About Max. About California.”
“That sounds grounding,” Marnie said gently.
“Yeah.” Letty paused. “He’s got this apprenticeship at the garage. Keeps saying he’s gonna stick around till Max graduates. He wants to see it through.” She glanced at Marnie, brow furrowed. “He says that like it means something. I think it does.”
“What does it mean to you?”
Letty thought about that, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know. He’s… moving forward, I guess. Doing something that makes sense to him. I keep thinking maybe I should do something like that too. Not therapy, not… ‘healing.’ Just—something that helps. Something that makes me feel like I’m still here.”
Marnie tilted her head. “Something that belongs to you.”
Letty nodded. “Yeah. Exactly.”
“What comes to mind?”
A long pause. Then, softly: “Nothing? Is that bad?” Her voice faltered, but she pushed on. “I mean I like reading, but not in a I Love it sort of way but I enjoy a good story, or soap opera. But who doesn't?"
Marnie’s smile was small but genuine.
Letty exhaled, something like relief breaking through her chest. It wasn’t an answer, not yet—but it was the first time she’d tried out loud in a long time.
The flashing carnival lights blinked in syncopation, glaring red and green and blue from the other side of the cracked asphalt parking lot. Letty sat cross-legged on the hood of Hopper’s Bronco, the faint heat from the metal sinking through her jeans. Her lighter clicked open and shut in her hand, the silver spark wheel rasping as she let herself breathe in time with it — steady in, click, steady out, snap. Exactly like her therapist had suggested: anchor yourself to a rhythm.
Down a few paces, Hopper crouched to eye-level with El, one big hand braced on his knee and the other gesturing sharply toward the midway. “No running off,” he said, voice rough. “Not even with Max around. You stick together, alright? Buddy system. You hear me?”
El nodded, already squinting past him toward the neon Ferris wheel spinning in the distance.
She wriggled her toes inside the returned sneakers now, relishing the comfort of solid ground beneath her. The lighter disappeared into her right front pocket with a practiced slide, her fingers tapping the left pocket once, twice, three times — making sure her smokes were there. She knew they were. She always knew. But she still checked.
The flannel she’d stolen from Hopper was tied under her bust, sleeves rolled neatly above her elbows, and ties soft against the strip of stomach her cropped tee left bare. The graphic on the shirt was cracked and faded, hem cut short just above the glint of her belly-button piercing. Her eyeliner was heavy tonight, smoky rings framing eyes that cut sharp against the tilt of her loose waves.
Beside her, El was practically glowing — highlighter-yellow romper, a bright pink scrunchie in her hair. Letty had insisted on the neon. Easier to spot in a crowd. El hadn’t fought it. She was too busy beaming at the fair.
And Hopper — for all he looked like some mountain man in a plaid overshirt and worn jeans — still carried himself like Hawkins’ sheriff. Technically, he was. His shoulders were tense, jaw working like he was chewing through half a dozen unspoken worries. Letty could practically feel the nervous buzz radiating off him. Joyce and the Byers boys were supposed to meet them here, and he was humming with an energy that looked suspiciously like nerves. Their little blended family outing.
“You sure about this?” he asked finally, voice low, the kind that carried more weight than volume.
Letty glanced up from where she was adjusting her bracelets, the light from the midway throwing soft colors across her face.
“Yeah,” she said after a beat.
“It’s been two weeks. Marnie says this kinda thing’s… exposure therapy, right? Controlled chaos.” Her mouth twitched in a small, wry smile. “Can’t get much more controlled than Hawkins Fair.”
Hopper’s brows drew together, not entirely convinced. “Controlled’s one thing. You feel that tightness coming on, you pull back. No forcing it.”
“Got it, Dad.” She lifted her hands in mock surrender. “Promise. I even took my meds.”
He grunted, but there was the faintest tug at his mouth — halfway between approval and worry. “Doesn’t mean you gotta push yourself just to prove something.”
“I’m not.” Her voice softened then, almost shy. “Just… tired of everything feeling like a landmine, y’know? I wanna see the lights without my chest closing up.”
That hit him square in the chest. Hopper nodded, slow, thoughtful. “Alright, kid,” he said finally, opening his door. “We’ll play it by ear. No hero moves.”
“C’mon,” El said, grabbing Letty’s hand. “It’s pretty.”
Letty let herself be tugged toward the glow of the fairground, the air alive with music and laughter. Behind them, Hopper lingered for a moment longer by the car, lighting a cigarette he wouldn’t finish, watching the two girls disappear into the crowd.
By the time Hopper found the ticket booth, Letty was already tugging at the empty belt-loops of her jeans, fingers threading through, unthreading, a nervous rhythm. Beside her, El bounced on the balls of her sneakers, rattling off in rapid-fire what she planned to hit first — Ferris wheel, tilt-a-whirl, maybe cotton candy in between if Hopper said yes.
“Hop!” Will’s voice cut through the noise, calling from a few rows deeper into the fairground. He waved wildly until Hopper clocked him, and then made his way over with Jonathan and Joyce trailing behind. Joyce was radiant, practically glowing at the sight of them, though her smile was thinned a little at the edges, pulled taut by nerves of her own. Jonathan’s pace was slower, steady, as if nothing around him could dictate his stride.
Hopper bought the tickets in silence, shoulders hunched, then handed the small stack off to Letty. She fanned through them and crouched a little to divvy the slips between El and Will, slipping enough for two rides into her own back pocket, pressing two into Jonathan’s palm. Neither of them looked especially excited about the rides, and that mutual shrug was enough.
Hopper lingered only long enough to catch Letty’s eye. He didn’t ask if she was okay, didn’t say a word about her medication — he knew better than to do it in front of everyone — but the silent offer was there, a weight in his look. Tag along with me and Joyce? You’ll be safe.
Letty shook her head, waved him off. He gave the tiniest grunt of reluctant approval, and in the next beat, Hopper and Joyce were swallowed by the crowd.
Left behind, Jonathan and Letty shared a look, then Will, then El. Letty tipped her chin toward the thinning space between them. “Guess that makes us the official sibling group now.”
Jonathan’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Could be worse.”
Before Letty could volley back, El tugged impatiently at her sleeve, her other hand already latched to Will’s. “Ferris wheel first,” she insisted, practically dragging the group in that direction.
They started moving, Will and El taking the lead while Jonathan and Letty hung back just a pace. She caught herself chewing the inside of her cheek, then decided subtle was better. “So… Nancy,” she started, eyes cutting toward him. “She showing up tonight?”
Jonathan’s brow tipped, a faint curve pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Thought you’d be asking about Steve.”
Letty let out a soft laugh through her nose, tilting her head at him. “Rude.”
For a second it was just that — the two of them drifting behind the younger pair, falling into an easy rhythm. Then she caught the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his mouth pressed thin like he was biting something back.
Her eyes narrowed. “Uh-oh. That’s your guarded face.”
Jonathan gave her a sidelong look. “I don’t have a guarded face.”
“You absolutely do,” she shot back, grinning now. “And since our parents are basically playing house already, you might as well let me practice being the annoying little sister. Which means you should just—” she twirled her hand in a circle, searching for the word, “—spill it. Whatever’s bugging you.”
He shook his head, but it wasn’t with any real heat.
“I won’t tell,” she pressed, holding up her hand. Her pinky stuck out in the solemn ceremony. “Swear it.”
Jonathan glanced at it, then at her, his lips twitching like he wanted to call her ridiculous. Instead, he sighed and finally linked his pinky with hers, the smallest concession.
Jonathan’s gaze lingered on their linked pinkies for a beat too long, like the gesture itself was both silly and strangely serious. Then he let out a breath, slow through his nose.
“It’s not…” he started, words already weighted, “I don’t want you to think bad about Steve. Or Nancy. Either of them. That’s not—” he shook his head, brow pinching. “That’s not what this is.”
Letty stayed quiet, just gave him the space.
“She’s just been…distant,” Jonathan admitted finally, voice low so only she could catch it under the fair noise. “Not the way she used to be. And I keep telling myself it’s just the job at the paper, or the hours, or—” His mouth pressed tight, like he didn’t want to say the rest, but it still came out. “Sometimes I feel like I’m watching her drift back toward him, and I’m—” he cut himself off, jaw clenching. “I don’t know. It’s probably just in my head.”
Letty tilted her head, watching him with that mix of softness and sharpness she was so good at.
“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” she said finally, giving his pinky the tiniest squeeze before letting go.
Jonathan huffed a quiet laugh, no humor in it. “Yeah. Well. I don’t really have anyone to say it to, so—thanks.”He gave a small shrug, like he was trying to make himself smaller.
Letty bumped his shoulder lightly with hers. “You’re welcome. But…maybe don’t keep it all locked up in that brain of yours, Byers. You’ll drive yourself nuts. If it’s bothering you this much, you should just—ask her. Before you’re spiraling over something that isn’t even real.”
Jonathan huffed, almost a laugh but not quite. “Easier said than done.”
“Most things are.” Letty’s mouth quirked into a smirk, but it softened quick. “Still doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”
And it might have gone a little deeper there, might have turned into one of those rare honest conversations that stuck to the ribs—
But then a sharp voice carried over the churn of the fair.
“EL! Will, what are you—?!” Mike’s shout had both of them snapping their heads toward the ferris wheel, where the boy was waving his arms like a traffic controller while El and Will leaned out of the slowly ascending car, laughing.
Letty groaned under her breath. “Great. The circus act is here.”
And that was when she saw them—Nancy walking in that brisk, purposeful stride she always had, Steve just half a step behind her. For a split second it was like everything in her stilled; Jonathan went quiet beside her too, his expression shuttering as his eyes fixed on Nancy.
Steve caught Letty’s gaze across the crowd, the kind of look that lingered a moment too long, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure he should.
The air between the four of them shifted, charged, all unspoken things and jagged edges. Nancy reached them first, her hair bouncing with each quick step. She stopped short, eyes flicking from Jonathan to Letty. “Hey,” she said, polite, clipped.
Letty pushed herself up a little straighter, willing an easy smile. “Hey, Nancy.” Her tone was smooth, even—trying to catch the frayed edges of the moment before they could unravel. “Fair looks like it’s already buzzing. You here for the kids or the rides?”
Nancy gave a practiced little laugh, the kind that never reached her eyes. “Both, I guess. My mom was…talking about you the other day.” She didn’t add anything else, just let the sentence hang there, unfinished, cool.
Letty’s smile faltered at the edges, but she held it steady. “Yeah? Hope it was flattering.”
“It was…something,” Nancy murmured, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder.
Steve, a half-step behind her, looked between the two girls like he could feel the static in the air, brows knitting as if trying to decode the undercurrent. His gaze cut to Jonathan, searching for explanation, but Jonathan was already staring back at him—wary, guarded, like there was something he hadn’t figured out yet about where Steve belonged in all this.
For one long beat it was just them—Letty’s smile twitching in that little tell she couldn't quite smother, Nancy’s coolness like glass, Jonathan tight in his silence, and Steve caught in the middle of a tension he couldn’t name but felt all the same.
The world tilted under her feet, stomach dropping sharp and sudden. She shifted, trying to steady herself, the chatter of the fair receding to a low buzz.
Steve saw it, the way her balance faltered. He moved a half-step forward, instinct tugging him closer—but Jonathan was already leaning in, his arm brushing hers, subtle and steady. He didn’t say anything, didn’t call attention to it, just angled himself so she had something solid at her side.
Letty exhaled slowly, grateful for the anchor.
Steve’s eyes flicked between them, unreadable, his hand tightening slightly around the tickets he was still holding. Nancy caught it too, her stare sharpening, colder now, the line of her shoulders going rigid.
Letty steadied her breath, willing her body not to betray her, mind over matter. Always.
Jonathan’s shoulder lingered at hers for just a beat longer before he eased back. His eyes flicked to her, quietly asking you okay? She gave the smallest nod, not trusting her voice. It was enough for him.
The silence stretched, thick, until—
“El!” Max’s voice cracked through the noise of the fair. She was running full tilt toward the ferris wheel, red hair flying. Billy Trailed behind her, hands shoved into the pockets of his jean jacket as his meandered toward him, his gaze jumping from rides to booths, lip curled a bit in annoyance when he got closer.
“Right,” he murmured, and then, more firmly, he turned toward Nancy. “So… are you here with Mike? Or just—”
Nancy’s head snapped toward him, her coolness shifting focus in an instant. “Just Mike, Moms home with Holly.” Her voice softened a fraction as Jonathan held her attention, his steady presence pulling her away from the stiff silence. Slowly, the two of them began edging further into the crowd, conversation drawing them along.
That left Steve and Letty standing side by side in the press of the fair.
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Steve let out a small, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… that was fun.”
Letty huffed a little through her nose, trying to smile. “Yeah. Just your average Fourth of July reunion.”
Her eyes flicked over his shoulder before she could stop herself.
Steve followed her gaze, and his jaw tightened. Across the midway, Billy Hargrove leaned casually against a game stall, arms crossed, half-smirk playing on his face. His presence radiated confidence, but to Letty, it wasn’t intimidating—just… Billy.
Steve’s expression hardened immediately. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, turning back to Letty, “Don’t let him get in your head, alright? Guy’s… Billy.”
Letty’s lips quirked, voice light, almost teasing. “Trust me. I’ve known him longer than you think.”
She brushed a hand against the lighter in her pocket, grounding herself with the familiar weight. Steve noticed and filed it away, but Letty didn’t see the flicker of his concern.
Billy finally sauntered toward them, every step measured. His gaze locked on Letty, calm and familiar. “Hey,” he said, casual, “you ever get those clothes back? The ones you left at the pool?”
Letty shrugged, meeting his eyes with a small grin. “Would’ve been nice if you’d delivered them yourself.”
His smirk widened, eyes twinkling with amusement, not menace. “Maybe next time.”
Steve shifted, jaw tight, but Letty only rolled her eyes. She didn’t need him to read Billy like a threat. She had her own sense of where she fit with him. The tension in the air was all Steve’s, and she knew it.
Letty tilted her head, tracing Billy’s smirk as he mentioned the clothes. Why even bring that up? she thought, a faint smirk tugging at her own lips. She could see it clearly: Steve bristling beside her, jaw tight, the way his eyes sharpened whenever Billy drew near. And Billy… well, Billy was clearly enjoying it. That slow, deliberate ease, the casual tone that carried just enough challenge.
Letty rolled her eyes, spinning the lighter in her pocket absentmindedly.
Ah, yes. The classic Harrington-Hargrove pissing contest, she mused.
Two grown-ass idiots, and I’m the referee by default. She almost laughed, the absurdity of it washing over her. Neither of them would admit it, neither would back down—but she could see it all, as if she were standing above the fray, untouched and amused.
Billy glanced at her mid-step, eyebrow quirking in a silent “you see this too, right?” and she grinned faintly, nodding just enough. She didn’t need to intervene. She wasn’t part of the fight—and that was the point.
Letty focused on that thought for a moment: the strange comfort in having Billy there, easy and unthreatening for her, even while the world around her tried to pull everyone else into chaos.
“Well,” she said finally, shaking her head, “I guess Mrs. Wheeler didn’t have anything nice to say about me either. Or so Nancy tells it.”
Billy laughed, easy and loud, the sound carrying just enough for Steve to notice. But Letty only smiled faintly, letting it roll off her. She had her own balance with him, one that didn’t require protection.
get a chance to ask. He instinctively stepped closer, angling himself just enough toward Letty that his shoulder brushed hers, his hand ghosting near the small of her back. He’d caught her thumb twitch toward her pocket—a subtle, nervous tell.
Billy noticed too. His smirk deepened, head cocked in that lazy, deliberate way he always did, eyes flicking between Letty and Steve. “Nancy Wheeler,” he drawled, slow and deliberate. “Still the same bitchy cul-de-sac girl, huh?”
“Hey.” Steve’s voice snapped sharper than he intended, squaring himself toward Billy. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
Billy arched an eyebrow, amused but curious. He wasn’t here to rile Steve up—or he wasnt at the start of it. “Huh. Look at you, Harrington. All protective. Guess you’ve still got the hots, huh? Or is this just the guard dog kicking in?”
Letty’s eyes flicked to Steve, warning him silently, don’t make it worse. But Billy didn’t waver. He wanted to see exactly what Steve valued, what he’d defend—and why.
“Cute,” Billy continued, voice low, casual, but cutting. “You sticking up for Wheeler, Harrington. Guess that’s just who you are, huh? Always ready to play guard dog—for someone” His gaze flicked to Letty again—not threatening, just calculating—and then back to Steve. “So tell me, Harrington… You gonna keep batting for a girl who's got a guy? Or is just ‘cause shes girl everyone already knows you like?”
Steve’s jaw flexed. “Watch it.”
Billy’s smirk turned sharper. “Flirting with me Harrington? You’re protective, sure, but I thought Nancy… I thought you were already all in on that. So what’s it mean if you’re still doing this for her?”
Letty shifted slightly, spinning the lighter in her pocket. She didn’t answer, just let the words hang, observing how the older boys circled each other. She knew she wasn’t the center here—Billy was testing Steve, and Steve was scrambling to keep his composure, trying to defend someone who, in Billy’s mind, didn’t need defending.
Steve squared up, teeth gritting. “I’m not doing it for her, alright? I’m… just—I’m not gonna let you talk about her like that. Shes not fair game”
Billy laughed softly, leaning just a bit closer. “Hmm. Fair game. Interesting.” He let the words linger, eyes flicking to Letty’s, gauging her reaction. “So you pick who’s untouchable, Harrington, and who’s expendable. I see.”
Letty caught the flash in Steve’s eyes, the defensive heat rising, and she rolled her eyes at both of them.
Billy straightened, shoulders relaxed, smirk curling wider. “Don’t worry, I’m not messing with her. Just trying to figure out exactly how far your loyalties stretch. Guess I get it now.”
Steve’s fists clenched slightly, still hovering protectively near Letty, but she could see the tension finally start to ebb. Billy’s eyes softened just enough—not kind, but watchful—like he was silently saying, You’re on notice, Harrington, and I know what I’m doing.
Letty’s stomach twisted, a tight coil of unease and curiosity. She wanted to say something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the edge, but the words stuck, lodged behind her teeth. Instead, she found herself watching, listening, parsing the way Billy circled Steve with those careful, measured jabs, and realizing just how much was being said without words.
Steve’s jaw, his fists, the tilt of his shoulders—everything he was putting down screamed loyalty, protectiveness. But underneath it all, she could feel the thread of something else: a quiet, stubborn pull toward Nancy, the soft edge of a heart he hadn’t quite untangled. And maybe that’s what Billy was probing, the subtle fissures Steve didn’t want anyone to see. She knew now, with a sinking clarity, that part of what he was doing—what he always did—was for Nancy. Protecting her, worrying for her, and maybe still… wanting her. And Letty didn’t know where that left her, except that she’d have to carve her own space in the middle of it.
Her chest tightened, and for the first time in a long while, she felt herself outside of the fight, hovering in this strange space where she could see the truth of both of them: Billy, testing boundaries; Steve, all bravado and tension, trying to sort what he owed to one girl versus another. And in the middle of it, her own pulse thrummed with a peculiar mix of caution and understanding—because she knew now, from the careful way she’d watched and listened, that she was not the center of the fight, not really. But she mattered enough that it could sting.
Her hands twitched in her pockets, and she forced herself to breathe, to let the heat of it wash through her without letting it burn. Billy’s smirk only widened at her silence, but she didn’t look away; Billy wasn’t a threat—he didn’t hover or weigh her down. He moved like someone who expected her to hold her own, and part of her liked that, trusted that.
She exhaled, a short, sharp puff of air that felt like reclaiming a little control, and let the tension roll off her shoulders. Maybe she didn’t need to understand Steve’s heart to survive it. Maybe she just needed to keep walking, keep observing, keep knowing where everyone stood.
Then Dustin’s voice cracked through the moment like a whip.
“Hey!”
The sudden intrusion yanked her back, and her pulse hitched. She yanked the lighter and smokes from her pocket, shoving past Billy with more force than necessary. “Absolutely nothing,” she snapped, shoulders stiff, not looking back.
Steve started after her, but Billy shifted first, his lazy smirk morphing into something sharper as he flicked his cigarette butt toward the gravel.
“Go on then, Harrington,” he drawled, voice dripping with amusement. “Chase after her. Play babysitter twice in one night—kids here, princess out there. She’s got some fire in her, but that’s our girl, isn’t it? Run hot, burn out quick? Hell of an attitude. Careful you don’t trip over it.”
Steve bristled, squaring his shoulders, but Billy had already turned, sauntering off in the same direction Letty had gone, leaving the unspoken lines of their loyalties and grudges lingering in the air.
Steve’s gaze snapped back to the kids—Dustin and Lucas staring between him and Billy, Will and El coming off the ferris wheel after Mike, Max launching into conversation, Jonathan’s head bent toward Nancy as they moved further away.
He hesitated, frustration written all over his face, and by the time he looked back—Billy had vanished into the crowd.
The midway’s roar dulled out here, behind the rides where the fence sagged against the weeds. Letty cupped her lighter, the flame dancing against her thumb before her cigarette caught. She inhaled fast, sharp, like she could fill the empty space pressing too heavy in her chest.
She didn’t have long.
“Called it,” Billy’s voice slid through the dark, smooth and knowing. “Knew you’d duck off for a smoke.”
She didn’t look at him, blowing smoke into the night. “Not sneaking. Just needed quiet.”
“Sure,” he said, stepping closer. Not menacing, just purposeful, every move measured. “Funny thing, though. Quiet doesn’t stick to you.”
Her eyes flicked sideways—and that was a mistake. He was already grinning, his gaze sharp enough to skim over her. But he wasn’t looking at her; he was scanning the direction she’d come from, tracking the echo of Steve’s temper.
“Jumped on Harrington pretty quick back there,” she muttered, blowing smoke in a slow stream. “Was that… necessary?”
Billy’s smirk tilted sideways. “Necessary? Kid’s clueless. He doesn’t know what he’s defending, or why. I’ve seen men like him—loyal, predictable, scared of losing someone they think belongs to someone else. Steve? Classic case.”
She bristled. “So you’re just… judging me through his reactions now?”
“Not judging you,” he said easily, shrugging. “Just reading the room. And I know how men tick. You don’t need me to explain all the pieces, do you?”
Her lips twitched in spite of herself. “Piece together your version of Steve’s brain? Sure. Go ahead.”
Billy chuckled, low and sharp. “He’s loyal to Nancy. Always has been. Doesn’t mean he’s thinking straight. And if Nancy’s anything like her mom…” He let that hang, a quiet edge of understanding there. “…well, then it makes sense she’s dancing between Steve and Jonathan. You’ve seen her, right? She’s got that habit.”
Letty drew in a long drag, holding the smoke, then letting it out slowly. “So you’re saying I should… what? Expect him to freak out if I don’t stick to some invisible rule he’s playing by?”
Billy shrugged again. “I’m saying, don’t let it eat at you. He’s worried about the wrong things. And if you can read him the way I think you do, maybe you’ll see it before it hits the fan.”
She flicked ash onto the gravel, scanning the shadowed parking lot. “I do see it. Just… wish I didn’t have to keep thinking about it. All the moving pieces.”
“Yeah,” Billy said, tone softer now, almost quiet, almost a warning. “Life doesn’t hand you clean setups. You figure it out as you go. And you? You’re already ahead of most.”
She tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You’re saying that like it’s advice or like I should be impressed?”
“Both,” he said with a shrug. Then, as he started stepping back toward the lighted path, he tossed a glance over his shoulder. “And hey—watch Harrington. He’s loyal, but messy. If you’re smart, you keep your distance from his… drama. Don’t get caught in the middle.”
Before she could reply, the sound of approaching footsteps cut through the night. Billy’s eyes flicked over her shoulder, catching Steve moving toward them. He smirked, not cruel now, just knowingly.
“Better get back to babysitting, Harrington,” Billy called, voice pitched low and practical. “Wouldn’t want your attention divided.”
Steve froze mid-step, catching it clean. His brow furrowed, confusion and suspicion flickering across his face as he glanced between Billy’s retreating form and Letty’s expression.
“…What the hell was that supposed to mean?” he asked, voice tight, suspicion threaded through every word.
Letty’s hands twitched at the lighter in her pocket. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then exhaled. Steve’s eyes narrowed, searching, almost demanding an answer without asking the question. His eyes flicked from the fading ember of Letty’s cigarette to her face.
“Letty—” he started, voice low.
“There they are!” Dustin’s shout cut through the night, sharp and eager.
Letty crushed her cigarette into the dirt with the toe of her shoe, a practiced motion, smoke curling away from her lips as she muttered, “Guess recess is over.”
El was already hurrying over, arms crossed, nose wrinkled. “You’re not supposed to do that anymore,” she scolded, tilting her chin toward the discarded butt.
Letty forced a lopsided grin, brushing past Steve before he could get another word in. “Don’t tell on me, kiddo.”
Steve stayed a half-step behind as the kids closed in around them, his eyes still burning holes in the side of Letty’s face. She moved quick, quicker than she needed to, sliding herself into the noise of the group, making sure there was always a body between her and him. Will tugged at her sleeve, showing off the little stack of tickets she’d divided earlier, and Letty latched on like it was the most important thing in the world.
Steve’s jaw ticked. A couple nights ago she’d let him close, let him in, and now she was ducking him like the plague. Like he hadn’t just stepped in between her and Billy, like it hadn’t meant anything.
She felt a twinge in her chest, a slow tightening, noticing the way Steve’s focus kept flicking past her, toward the blur of Nancy with Jonathan. Men, all the same, she thought, rolling her eyes under her lashes. Even now, he was still measuring her, measuring Nancy, measuring… where she fit in the equation. Letty’s fingers itched toward the lighter in her pocket, and she imagined Billy’s voice, low and knowing: Men are predictable. Don’t let them drag you under. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips at the thought. At least someone saw the patterns.
“C’mon!” Dustin hollered, already charging toward a ring toss booth. Lucas was on his heels, Max barking a laugh as she shoved past both of them to get there first.Dustin swore under his breath when he lost the ring toss to Lucas. Max whooped, grabbing her prize and strutting like a queen. El clapped for her, wide-eyed, then tugged at Steve’s arm and pointed at the Ferris wheel again.
“Yeah, yeah, I see it,” Steve muttered, but his eyes were already tracking Letty across the way, where Will was offering her a corner of his funnel cake. She leaned in, laughing at something he said, powdered sugar dusting her fingers. She kept one eye on him, though, noting the set of his shoulders, the way his jaw flexed when his gaze jumped Nancy. She didn’t trust the weight of it—she didn’t like how it twisted her chest—but she understood it too well. Loyalty, protective instincts, unspoken love… it made sense, in a way that made her stomach knot. And she knew it wasn’t about her.
Steve’s irritation sharpened, a simmer in his chest. Letty was too far away. Always just far enough.
When they regrouped again at a dart-throw booth, Mike shoved a plastic rifle into Letty’s hands. She rolled her eyes but lined up anyway, tongue poking out between her teeth as she aimed. Steve watched the small twitch of her smile when she won, the way she slung the cheap stuffed bear Max immediately tried to steal. He should’ve said something. He wanted to. But before he could even move, she was gone again, letting Lucas drag her toward the popcorn stand, her laughter echoing like a dare.
And Steve followed with the others, simmering, never quite able to close the distance.
The noise of the fair seemed to swell, laughter and bells and music tangling together until Steve swore it was pressing behind his eyes. The kids surged ahead, arms full of popcorn and cheap prizes, and he found himself trailing just behind Letty again. Always just behind.
She didn’t look back once.
By the time they reached the Tilt-a-Whirl, the kids had already piled in, squabbling over which car spun faster. Dustin ducked in at the last second, squeezed between Will and El, which left the ride operator swinging the gate closed with a clank.
And just like that, Steve and Letty were left standing on the midway, side by side but not touching, neon lights washing over them in electric colors.
Steve shoved his hands deep into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. He could feel the weight of the silence between them, heavier than it had any right to be. “Guess we’re stuck playing chaperones for this one,” he said finally, his voice low, like testing the waters.
Letty’s gaze stayed locked on the blur of spinning cars. “Guess so.” Her tone was even, but there was an edge there—something that said she wasn’t offering him a rope to grab onto. She felt the tension of his watchfulness press against her ribs, and for a flicker of a second, she wondered if he even realized how much she noticed him noticing Nancy.
Steve chewed the inside of his cheek, irritation and something sharper knotting together. He hated this. Hated the way a couple nights ago, she’d leaned into him like he mattered, and now she was treating him like background noise.
“You’ve been… weird tonight,” he muttered, softer than he meant, but she caught it anyway.
Her head turned just enough for him to see the arch of her brow, the way her lips pressed thin before she forced a small, tight smile. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you.”
The Tilt-a-Whirl shrieked as it spun faster, kids’ laughter rising above the music. Between them, though, the silence only grew, taut as a tripwire.
The night air at the fair was heavy with fried food grease and the faint shriek of rides winding down. Kids spilled into the parking lot in clusters, laughing and trading tickets for prizes that already looked cheap and broken. Hopper’s voice cut across the lot, corralling El and Max toward the car.
Letty lingered beside them, tucking her lighter deep into her pocket. She offered Steve a quick, unreadable glance — then looked away just as quickly.
Steve opened his mouth, but Hopper slammed the driver’s door, jolting him back. The car pulled out with its taillights glowing red, leaving Steve standing in the half-lit lot beside his own car.
Nancy brushed past with Jonathan in tow, arching him a questioning look. “You coming?”
Steve shook his head. “Yeah, in a bit. Just…need a minute.”
Her eyes narrowed like she might press, but she let Jonathan steer her away.
Steve stood there long after everyone else had gone, the night pressing down, frustration building sharp and sour under his ribs.
Steve stood in the dark at the edge of the yard, car parked further up the drive, gravel crunching under his shoes as he walked up the dark path. The Hopper cabin glowed faintly in the distance, the porch light buzzing, windows spilling the warm fuzz of late-night life. He hadn’t meant to come this far. But he found himself here anyway, chest tight with words that had gone unsaid at the fair. He’d debated just knocking on the front but thought better of it before rounding to the back of the house, catching sight of her through the lit square of glass.
Letty was sprawled on the rug of her bedroom, a faded towel draped over her shoulders, her cassette player crackling something low and moody. Her legs kicked lazily behind her, toes flexing in time with the music. The strap of her nightgown had slipped down one arm, and the hem had inched up, resting high on her thighs, just past the curve of her hips.
She was painting her nails — deep, glossy red — brows knit with concentration, tongue pressed between her teeth as she steadied the brush.
Steve froze, one hand halfway lifted to the siding. For a heartbeat he just watched, heat prickling the back of his neck, before he swallowed hard and sighed. His knuckles tapped the glass anyway, soft but certain.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Letty startled, head snapping up.
When she saw him, her polish brush clattered against the towel. She scrambled forward, shoving the cap back on the bottle, before pushing the pane completely open and hissing:
“Are you insane? What are you doing here? It’s midnight, Harrington!”
He leaned in, bracing one hand against the siding like he had every right to be there. His voice was low, roughened by the night air.
“You didn’t give me a chance to talk earlier. Then Hopper hauled you guys out before the fireworks even started.”
Her whisper was sharp, panicked. “You couldn’t wait until tomorrow? Hopper’ll skin you alive if he catches you out here.”
Steve didn’t move. His arms folded on the sill, gaze locked on hers, stubborn. He’d plant himself there all night if he had to.
She cursed under her breath, shot a glance over her shoulder — El and Max were shrieking with laughter in their blanket fort in the livingroom, too engrossed in their trashy TV to notice. Hopper’s snores rumbled steady through the walls.
Letty stripped the towel off, shoved her polish aside, and pulled on the flannel draped over her chair; snatching her smokes and lighter off the windowsill she muttered: “Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you.” before closing the window completely in his face.
Slipping out of her bedroom and gently closing the door behind her she skirted around the couch, mumbling something about getting air as she passed the girls. Neither even looked up.
By the time she stepped out onto the porch, Steve was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, shifting his weight like he’d been pacing the whole time.
Letty wrapped her arms around herself, trying to appear casual. But when he came closer, words lining up on his tongue, her thumb brushed nervously over her still-tacky polish. A faint streak smudged the gloss, the ruined red catching in the porch light.
Her face cracked with irritation — not at him, but at herself. For letting it get this far this fast.
The porch boards creaked under her weight as Letty stepped out, sleeves tugged down over her hands. Steve straightened where he’d been leaning against the rail, trying not to look like he’d been pacing.
“Jesus Steve” she whispered sharply, crossing her arms. “Fine. Talk. Whisper it in the dark, Steve, since you’re so set on it.”
“You weren’t gonna let me say anything back there,” he shot back, voice low but edged. “At the fair you just—” he gestured vaguely, jaw clenching. “You shut me out. And then Hopper dragged you all off before I could—”
Letty stared at him, eyes flashing. “Talk about what, Steve? That you and Nancy are just— what? Friends now? That you get to play guard dog while Jonathan gets his heart stomped on? You think that doesn’t look bad?” She shoved past him, arms tightening over her chest as she stalked further into the yard, the night grass damp against her bare feet. Steve followed, dragging a hand through his hair, every step wound up with frustration.
He followed, falling into step behind her, frustration roughening his tone. “That’s not what I was doing. I wasn’t—” He broke off, scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s not like that anymore, okay? I was just— defending someone I used to care about. That’s it.”
She turned on him then, eyes sharp in the porch light. “Just playing knight in shining armor for the girl who already has one? You think Jonathan needs to hear you jump in and rescue her reputation? It’s—” Her laugh was bitter, arms uncrossing to jab the air between them. “Used to. Right. And you expect me to believe that when you’re standing there, like nothing’s changed?”
Steve flinched, like she’d smacked him. “I was just trying to—” His fists clenched tight at his sides before he shoved them into his pockets, his weight shifting forward like he was holding himself back from shaking sense into her. His voice cracked, rough with the effort. “I care too much about you, and you won’t even let me say it.”
That hit. Letty froze, blinking at him like he’d struck her, then shook her head, stepping back. “Don’t. Don’t you do that pity act with me.” Her voice wavered even as her chin lifted, sharp and defensive. “I told you in that hospital room I was worried about this exact thing— you looking at me like I’m glass. Like I’m gonna break again. You don’t like me the way you think you do. You’re just— worried.”
“No,” he snapped, quick and harsh. Then softer, more ragged, as he stepped closer. “No. I do like you. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m standing in your front yard at midnight, arguing about a relationship we aren’t even in but we keep dancing around. Showing I’m in the running for this; because I can’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, swallowing the rest.
Her brows pulled tight, confusion painted across her face. “In the running for what, Steve? What the hell are you even going on about?”
He stared at her, chest heaving, like she was the most maddening thing he’d ever seen. And maybe the most magnetic, too. “God, you have to know. You can’t be this—” His voice broke into a frustrated laugh. “Dense.”
Letty’s fingers twitched at her sides, nails biting into her palm. She didn’t even notice until one smudged red polish streaked her skin, and her breath hitched, the mask cracking.
“You don’t make sense,” she muttered, softer, almost pleading. “All night I thought you were still hung up on Nancy. And then you’re glaring at me about Billy—”
“Fine. Then let’s talk about Billy.”
That stopped her cold, voice a sharp whisper. “What about him?”
“You think I didn’t see you two?” His eyes narrowed, scanning her face. “Out behind the rides? You think I don’t know what he’s after?”
Her chest rose, fell. She held his gaze, cagey, defiant. “And what if you do? You don’t get to make that call for me.”
“I’m not—” His throat bobbed. “I’m not trying to control you, Letty. I’m trying to—God, I don’t know—make sure you don’t get burned. And I hate it,” Steve cut in, eyes narrowing. “I hate the way he looks at you. The way he talks to you.”
She scoffed, shaking her head, hugging herself again like she could hold her own center. “Billy would flirt with anyone if it got a reaction. Don’t act like it means anything.”
“That’s not the point!” Steve snapped, stepping closer, anger burning hotter now. “You let him. You feed it. And I don’t know if you’re doing it to push me away, or if you really don’t get it—but it kills me, Letty. It kills me.”
Her throat worked, but no words came. The night pressed close around them, charged and heavy, the air thick with everything unsaid. She felt the echo of Billy’s words—how he’d watched Steve like a puzzle, the way he’d known Steve’s loyalties before Letty had a chance to parse them herself.
Letty stared at him, mouth half open, nails digging little crescents into her arms where she clutched herself. “But I’m dense?” she echoed, almost like the word itself offended her. “I’m trying to understand you, Steve, I am. But you’re sitting here saying I feed Billy’s bullshit when—when you still talk to Nancy. And that’s fine for you? That’s okay?”
His head jerked back like she’d slapped him.
She rushed on, words tumbling over themselves, not to argue but to find the thread. “And that’s okay? You can stand next to her, defend her, joke with her—and no one says a damn thing. But the only connection me and Billy even have is that our sisters hang out, and somehow that’s a crime?”
Steve’s jaw clenched, his fists curling tight at his sides.
“You slept with Nancy,” she bit out, her voice breaking, raw with frustration. “That’s not even in the same galaxy, Steve. That’s a whole different level of connection and nobody’s on your ass about it. So what—what am I missing here? What are you even trying to say to me?”
Her voice lifted without her realizing, sharp through the yard, almost cracking. She dragged a hand through her hair, eyes flicking over his face like she was begging for a map, for some sign she wasn’t screwing this up. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the way Steve had jumped to Nancy’s defense earlier, even in little moments—words carefully chosen, jokes that protected her, tone softer than it needed to be. And yet with her, he froze, faltered, got angry instead of protective.
Steve swore under his breath, dragging a hand down his face, pacing one tight circle in the grass like he couldn’t contain the words burning through him. When he looked back at her, his voice was raw, stripped down.
“You’re missing that it’s different with you.” His hand cut through the air, helpless. “I don’t—God, Letty, I don’t lose my mind over Nancy anymore. I don’t stay up at night thinking about what she’s doing. I don’t… care like this.” His chest heaved, and he pressed his palm against it like he could shove the feeling back down. “But with you? I can’t shut it off. I don’t want to shut it off.”
The yard went quiet, save for Hopper’s snores rumbling faintly through the walls. Letty’s throat worked, her arms hugging tighter around herself as if bracing against the weight of it. Billy’s words from earlier slipped through her mind again; “And if Nancy’s in the mix, well… he’s running on old habits, not reality. You can see it, right? How he stiffens, how he angles himself”
She let out a thin laugh, no real humor in it. “Steve, I like you. That’s the problem.” Her eyes dropped to the grass, worrying the blades between her toes. “But I don’t… I don’t trust what this is. Not right now. I’m already off-kilter, and if I start chasing something that isn’t steady—” She shook her head, fingers tightening in her sleeves. “—I’ll just end up making the crash worse.”
Her voice shook, but she held it together. “I can’t pretend I’ve got it figured out just to make it easier. That’s not fair."
Steve’s jaw flexed hard, the muscles tight as if he was holding himself together by sheer will. For a second, it looked like he might argue, might step past her defenses with that stubborn heat he always carried, but then his shoulders dropped, his fists unclenching.
“You’re… brutal,” he said, voice low, half-amused, half-broken. A short bitter laugh slipped out. “But you’re honest. I can respect that.”
His eyes pinned her, sharp, searching, but softer now, hurt threading under the frustration. “I’d rather hear this than be strung along. Better to know where you stand than—” He stopped, shaking his head, swallowing the rest. “Than pretend there’s nothing here when there is.”
Letty’s stomach twisted at the weight of it. Every word he didn’t say, every pause, it all pressed down on her chest. She couldn’t stop thinking about Nancy, about Billy’s words, about the way Steve defended someone else so easily while he faltered with her. Was this really about her, or was she just convenient? New. Interesting. A challenge. Could she trust him—or even herself—not to crumble under that?
Steve stepped back, running a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “I’m not going to push. Not tonight.” His voice was quieter now, but the tension under it hummed like a live wire. “But don’t think I’m walking away. Not from this. Not from you.”
He turned, long strides toward the driveway, shadow stretching across the yard, swallowing him as the darkness reclaimed him.
Letty stood frozen, the echo of his words ringing louder than the night around her. Conflicted, anxious, almost angry at herself for feeling the way she did. The air felt heavy, charged with possibility and danger, and she realized the part of her that wanted to throw herself at him was just as strong as the part that wanted to run and hide.
Her chest ached, but under it — under the guilt, under the relief of finally saying the truth — was something else. Something restless.
She’d been the one to draw the line. So why did it feel like she’d lost?
Once inside, she threw herself onto her bunk, the cassette still spinning, a low hum against the silence. Her nails were ruined, red smears staining the towel, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Every nerve still buzzed from the backyard, from the way Steve had looked at her — desperate, like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to.
She pressed the heel of her hand over her eyes, trying to breathe past the tightness in her chest.
She liked him. God, she did. But liking Steve Harrington wasn’t the same as having a place in his life. He was steady in a way that made her feel like she was standing on a cliff edge, one wrong step from tumbling into something she couldn’t climb back out of. He wanted roots. He wanted promises. And Nancy had already built those roots. She had history, familiarity, a stability Letty could never compete with. And she couldn’t even keep her nail polish from smudging, let alone swear she wouldn’t end up drowning under the weight of it all.
And what if it wasn’t even about her? What if she was just filling a space until Nancy came back around? Nancy with her calm, familiar pull, the kind of stability Letty could never give. The thought twisted her stomach, a cold knot that tightened with every heartbeat. Would Steve stay with her when someone “better” — more constant, more in his past — reappeared? What happened to the girl who was too messy, too restless, too alive to fit into the neat, predictable life he could have with her? Or would she be left holding the scraps, like she always seemed to be?
She rolled to her side, staring at the streaked polish drying tacky on her fingertips.
She wasn’t sure what that said about her. Maybe she wasn’t meant for someone like Steve. Maybe she wasn’t meant for anyone who wanted something he couldn’t risk losing.
The thought hollowed her chest, a quiet ache beneath the adrenaline of the night. Steve would stay, if he wanted, if he could. But the truth she couldn’t shake was simple and brutal: the moment someone “better” — more stable, more known — came back, she’d be left on the edge, watching.
Notes:
I feel like its important to take a moment (and this isnt me spoon-feeding) to just remind everyone that feelings, especially romantic ones are difficult, even more so when tangled with trauma or expectations. When i said this was going to feel very coming of age I wasnt playing.
Theres a lot of conversations here happening on different sides that are all mirroring each other and stem from the same branch. I think its important to bring that type of nuance out when we deal with feelings.
Billy was originally supposed to be a part of this romance, but as i was editing i felt like he would fit better into the type of 'boy best friend' arch-type. but not the kind that falls in love you, i want them to have a very miyazaki type friendship where they love or grow to love each other but its not romantic.
Friendships are just as important and deserving of love and importance yall. I like the idea of Letty having her own friends with the side characters? Steve and Robin are besties and then robin and nancy start to have their own thing.
I feel like Letty is starting to form her own bonds with Garreth and Billy.
Chapter 10: If, ands, ors and buts
Notes:
brought to you by Diet pepsi the drink and the song.
were planting those seeds and sewing those threads you guyssssss
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The arcade always buzzed like a hive. Kids shouted over the crash of pinball machines and the tinny music loops that never seemed to end. The floor smelled faintly of stale popcorn and too much carpet cleaner, and the overhead lights flickered in that way that made her want to rub her eyes raw.
Letty leaned against the counter, chin propped in her palm, tapping her pen against the ledger. She’d been writing the same number down three times before erasing it again. It wasn’t the math that was the problem—it was her brain. A week had passed since the Fourth; since Steve’s knock at her window, wedging himself into the corner of her mind and refusing to budge.
Billy hadn't been any better, it wasn't really that he was going out of his way to talk to her, but he seemed a lot more comfortable with their interactions and conversations. They weren't giggling on the phone like girlfriends, gossiping or sharing information; but they did speak raw and real about feelings and where they both were in their lives. It was a weird transition, going from hating someone to realizing the soil has just as much bearing on the fruit as the sun does. And while Billy wasn't by any means a perfect person now, she could see how he was trying.
El and Mike were huddled over the Galaga cabinet, shoulders pressed tight, hair brushing as they bent over the controls. El’s face was serious, eyes locked on the screen, while Mike kept sneaking glances at her like he couldn’t help himself. Their fingers brushed now and then—neither pulled away. If anything, they inched closer.
Letty felt the ache bloom in her chest before she could stop it. That single-mindedness, the way they didn’t second-guess the closeness, didn’t pick apart every moment like she did—it made her stomach knot. She remembered the way Steve had looked at her on the porch, honest to the point of unraveling. She remembered how she had pulled away instead of leaning in.
And wasn’t that the point? She couldn’t be like El—sure and steady in the middle of it. She second-guessed everything. Every look, every word.
The sound of tickets spooling out snapped her back, and she cleared her throat, scrawling numbers down again. It was easier to count tokens than count the ways she was already messing this up.
The next afternoon, they all ended up at the mall. Hopper had dropped the kids off in a herd, muttering something about “supervision” as if Letty wasn’t already juggling enough, and then disappeared to wherever adults went to breathe.
Letty sat with Will and Dustin at a food court table, sipping a soda she didn’t really want. Across the way, Max and Lucas had settled into their own orbit—sharing fries, shoulder to shoulder, trading barbs that looked sharp on the surface but dripped with affection underneath.
Max swiped a fry from Lucas’ tray without asking, grinning wide when he tried to look exasperated.
“What? You weren’t gonna eat it.”
“Yeah, sure,” Lucas muttered, but he pushed the tray closer to her anyway.
Letty leaned forward on her elbows, chin in her hand.
“They're so cute.” she said softly, watching the way Max’s smirk lingered and Lucas’ eyes kept tracking her no matter how much he pretended not to care.Dustin snorted so hard soda fizzed up his nose.
“Yeah. Must be nice when people don’t stomp all over the guy who actually likes them.”
Letty’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?” Even Will blinked, startled.
“What?” Dustin shot back, slumping down in his chair.
“I’m just saying—Steve’s my guy, okay? My best friend. And watching him mope around the last week like somebody drop-kicked his puppy while you—” He gestured at her wildly. “—are over here totally fine? It sucks.”
“I’m not—” Letty started, but Will cut in, voice sharp for once.
“That’s not fair, Dustin.” His face flushed as he leaned across the table, protective in a way that made Letty’s chest ache.
“We all promised we wouldn’t take sides, remember? And if you actually paid attention, you’d see Letty’s not fine.”
Dustin’s mouth opened, then snapped shut, but Will didn’t stop.
“She keeps looking toward Scoops every five minutes like maybe she’ll catch a glimpse of him. And Steve—” Will’s eyes softened, but he didn’t falter. “—he’s doing the same thing back, pretending he doesn’t see her. They’re both miserable. So maybe stop acting like you’re the only one allowed to care.”
Letty froze, soda straw halfway to her mouth, her stomach flipping. Shock that Will had noticed—really noticed—burned in her cheeks. Shock, too, that they were all saying it out loud.
Before she could respond, a shadow fell across the table. Max plopped her tray down, glaring between them.
“What the hell are you three yelling about? You’re echoing across the food court.” Dustin spun on her immediately, relief and frustration tangling in his voice.
“Your stupid brother, that’s what. He’s making this whole thing ten times worse—”
“Hey!” Max snapped, defensive in an instant.
“Only I get to talk shit about Billy, got it?” She pointed her fry at him like a weapon before her gaze cut toward Letty.
“And if we’re being real, Letty’s the one with garbage taste if she’s caught between Steve and Billy.”
The table went quiet for half a beat, Dustin’s face twisting with triumph, Will frowning, and Letty sitting there in stunned silence, the words landing like a stone in her stomach.
Letty’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. She could feel the heat crawling up her throat, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Three pairs of eyes on her, waiting, weighing.
“Okay, first of all,” she started, her voice wobbling as she shoved her cup away,
“I’m not—this isn’t—” She groaned, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead before trying again.
“Look, sometimes… it’s not as easy as you all make it look, alright? You like someone, they like you back, you bicker until somebody caves. But life—” she waved vaguely, struggling to string her thoughts into something the kids could catch hold of, “—it can be messier. People are messier. And I don’t…”
Silence stretched behind them, Dustin scowling, Will frowning like he wanted to jump in, Max stabbing at his fries. Letty pushed her chair back, standing a little too fast.
“I need to—” She broke off, halfway turned when she caught sight of Robin lingering at the edge of the food court. The girl’s tall frame leaned against a support pillar, arms folded, but she lifted a hand in a casual wave when their eyes met.
Letty latched onto it like a lifeline.
“I need to talk to Robin,” she muttered, slinging her bag over her shoulder. No arguing from the kids—just a shaky smile she knew didn’t reach her eyes.
Robin fell into step beside her. “You look like you just walked out of a firing squad.”
“More like sat through one,” Letty muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. Robin hummed, gaze sharp.
“Thought so.” She fell into stride with her, sneakers squeaking against the tile.
“You know, most people just say they have to ‘use the bathroom’ when they’re escaping drama. You? You bolt across the food court like you’re dodging subpoenas.”
Letty shot her a look, though the corner of her mouth tugged upward.
“Thanks. Real confidence boost.” Robin pressed a hand to her chest in mock sincerity.
“Accuracy. Truth. And speaking of truth… what’s the deal with you and Steve?”
Her stomach dropped.
“Oh, so now it’s the squad reinforcements,” she muttered dryly. Robin smirked, but her eyes stayed sharp.
“Not a squad. Just me. I care because he’s my best friend, and I hate seeing him turn into a sad puppy every time your name comes up.” Letty groaned under her breath, tossing her head back.
“Great. ‘Sad puppy fuel.’ That’s me, huh?”
Robin’s eyes narrowed slightly, not backing down.
“I’m serious. You don’t get to steamroll past him and leave him guessing. He cares. A lot. But he’s not perfect at saying it.”
Letty froze, chest tightening.
“And that’s your way of telling me how I’m supposed to feel? Because he cares?” Her voice was sharp, bitter.
“I know he cares. That’s not the problem. The problem is… everything else. You—telling me how he feels—doesn’t fix the fact that he doesn’t get why I’m upset about Nancy, or Billy, or why his reactions make me feel like I’m… secondary.” Robin blinked, caught off guard.
“…I was just trying to help.”
“By speaking for him?” Letty shot back, teeth clenched.
“By summarizing him into a neat little package so I can swallow it and move on? No. I need him to say it, to understand me, not for someone else to explain his feelings like they’re a lesson plan.”
Robin’s grin faltered, eyes flicking to Letty like she hadn’t expected that bite.
“…Okay. Fair.”
Letty snorted, sharp.
“Fair? That’s it? You say ‘fair’ like that absolves me of… whatever this is. Like I’m supposed to tidy up Steve’s mess while he’s off fawning over Nancy.”
“…I’m just saying, you’re not the only one stressed.”
“Yeah?” Letty shot back, eyes narrowing.
“Funny. Doesn’t feel that way. Doesn’t feel like anyone’s noticing the way he flips between caring and… I don’t even know, thinking I’m the shiny new distraction. And here I am, supposed to behave like some kind of saint for surviving it.”
Robin hesitated.
“…Okay. But let me be clear—Steve’s not the problem here.”
Letty blinked, voice tight.
“Oh? Enlighten me, because from where I’m standing, he’s a walking contradiction.”
“I’m saying he cares about you,” Robin shot back, quick and firm, like she was drawing a line.
“Even if he doesn’t know how to show it right. And yeah, it’s messy—but he’s trying. That counts for something.”
Letty’s lips pressed thin, a dry laugh escaping.
“Trying? That’s your excuse for flipping between caring and… whatever I’m supposed to make of him? I’m not a puzzle for Steve Harrington to solve, Robin. I’m a person. And last I checked, people aren’t supposed to need instruction manuals.”
Robin’s eyes narrowed, unwavering.
“I’m not defending him because he’s perfect. I’m defending him because he’s not just going to leave you dangling. He’s not like that. Not with you.”
Letty scoffed, her fingers curling tight around her bag strap.
“And yet here you are, lecturing me like I’m the problem for noticing he’s… inconsistent? Maybe I don’t want to play along with your version of him.”
Robin’s voice dropped, serious now.
“Letty, look—he’s messy, yeah. But that mess? It’s because he’s real. Because he cares. Don’t throw that away just because it’s inconvenient.”
Letty didn’t let up, stepping closer, voice low but sharp.
“I don’t need you to keep defending him, Robin. I need him to understand why I’m frustrated. Not to throw Billy in my face. Not to shrug off Nancy like it doesn’t matter. Not to make me wonder if I’m just… some temporary fix until he figures it out And why the hell are you telling me that? Its supposed to be coming from him."
Robin blinked, momentarily thrown, then squared her shoulders.
“Because he’s not saying it. I am. And someone’s gotta cut through the hesitation before you write him off.”
“That’s the problem!” Letty shot back, voice sharp, hands clenching into fists at her sides.
“It’s his hesitation. His indecision. And you… you’re talking for him like I’m some kid who doesn’t see what’s going on. I don’t need a translator for Steve Harrington. I need him.”
Robin’s smirk softened just slightly, but her gaze stayed steady.
“I get it. You want him to be a grown-up about this. Fine. But while he’s figuring out his big-boy words, I’m saying it for him. Because you matter too, and he can’t say it yet.”
Letty’s chest tightened, a mix of frustration and disbelief.
“…That’s what I mean. That’s exactly what I mean. I shouldn’t have to rely on someone else to get the truth out of him. Robin’s shoulders dropped, a quiet concession.
“…Got it. I see that now.”
Letty gave a small, sharp laugh, tugging her bag higher on her shoulder.
“Good. At least one of you does.”
Robin smirked faintly, stepping back, letting the point land. Letty didn’t wait—she wove back through the crowd, letting the noise of the mall swallow her, her chest still tight, her mind spinning over Steve and all the things he didn’t say.
The bell over the Scoops counter jingled as Robin slipped back in. She didn’t even glance at the clock — just hopped over the counter in one smooth motion and landed in front of Steve, arms crossed tight.
“Okay. You and I need to talk.”
Steve looked up from the stack of cones he’d been pretending to organize. “If this is about the kid that tried to eat six scoops and threw up in the planter—”
“It’s not about the puke, dingus.” Robin’s voice was sharp enough to slice through the quiet. “It’s about Letty.”
Steve froze, shoulders tensing. “…What about her?”
Robin gave him a look. “You really have to ask? She’s halfway across the mall right now looking like someone told her her dog died. And you’re in here wiping counters.”
“I tried talking to her,” Steve said, defensive. “She’s—she doesnt wanna hear it.”
Robin crossed her arms. “Maybe she doesn’t want to hear you pretend everything’s fine when it’s obviously not.”
Steve’s jaw tensed. “There’s nothing to pretend about.”
“Oh, please.” Robin gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “You think it’s normal that every time Nancy Wheeler sneezes, you’re the first one to hand her a tissue?”
That got his attention. He turned, brow knitting. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means maybe Letty has a point,” Robin shot back. “You don’t exactly keep your distance when it comes to Nancy.”
Steve’s face hardened. “There’s nothing going on with me and Nancy. We’re friends. That’s it.”
Robin tilted her head, unimpressed. “Right. And that’s totally how you act — like a chill, platonic friend who still looks like he’s waiting for his big redemption arc.”
He scoffed, scrubbing the counter again just to have something to do with his hands. “You sound insane.”
“Do I?” she asked. “Because from where I’m standing, Letty’s not wrong to wonder what’s going on. You hover around Nancy like she’s glass, and then act confused when the girl you actually like thinks she’s second place.”
Steve finally looked up, eyes sharp. “Nancy went through hell. You weren’t there for that. I was. I’m not gonna just—forget that because someone else doesn’t like it.”
Robin’s expression softened, but she didn’t back down. “You don’t have to forget it, Steve. You just have to admit that it still matters to you. That maybe you’re not as done with it as you think.”
He shook his head, biting back frustration. “You’re making this sound like some big thing. It’s not. Nancy’s… Nancy. We’re fine. She’s with Jonathan. I’m—whatever this is with Letty. It’s not complicated unless people keep making it complicated.”
“Yeah,” Robin said dryly. “Because God forbid anything in your life be complicated.”
“Jesus, Robin.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “You sound just like her. Like I’m supposed to sit here and dissect every damn feeling I have, like I owe everyone an explanation for something that isn’t even real.”
Robin blinked, taking that in. “So that’s what this is about. You think she’s overreacting.”
“I think she’s mad at the wrong person,” he snapped. “I’m not the one running around with Billy Hargrove like he’s some misunderstood saint.”
That shut Robin up for a beat — but not long. “You’re deflecting,” she said finally, quieter. “And you’re jealous.”
Steve gave a sharp laugh. “Yeah, maybe I am. At least I admit it.”
Robin watched him for a long second, then pushed off the counter with a small, resigned sigh. “You know what? Fine. Be jealous. Be defensive. But you should know—she’s not mad because you care about Nancy. She’s mad because you don’t see why it matters that you still do.”
She started walking away before he could answer, tossing her apron over her shoulder as she went.
Steve stayed where he was, jaw tight, rag hanging useless from his hand. He didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Because in his mind, Robin was wrong — all of them were.
Nancy was just Nancy.
And somehow, that was the problem.
The key turned again. The engine coughed, sputtered, then wheezed out one last pitiful sound before going silent.
“Come on,” Letty muttered through gritted teeth, giving the steering wheel a half-hearted smack. She tried again. Click. Nothing. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
The heat clung to everything — her skin, the cracked vinyl seats, the steering wheel slick under her palms. She leaned back with a groan, letting her head thump against the headrest. “Great. Perfect. Exactly what I needed.”
Her eyes darted to the fuel gauge like maybe she’d magically missed something, but it sat solidly above half a tank.
“Not gas,” she muttered. “So… alternator? Starter? Something stupid.” She let her forehead fall against the steering wheel again with a quiet, hopeless laugh.
“Should’ve paid attention when Billy tried to show me this crap. Nope. Too busy pretending I already knew what I was doing.”
The arcade sign buzzed above, washing the lot in uneven neon. Kids spilled out of the entrance in clusters — laughing, jostling, loud — and then the noise faded again, leaving her alone with the hum of the bugs and the occasional pop of distant fireworks.
She twisted the key one more time. Click. Silence.
“Unbelievable,” she groaned, throwing the key onto the passenger seat and slumping back. Her choice was to sleep in the parking lot till Hopper got off work or to start on the trek home.
Headlights cut across the lot, and she squinted against the glare. A van rolled in slow, rumbling low and familiar, paint catching the light in dull streaks.
The music hit first — faint through the cracked window, tinny metal guitar riffs — and then the engine died with a heavy chuff.
“Of course,” Letty muttered as the driver’s door swung open.
Eddie Munson hopped out, all curls, ripped jeans, and careless swagger. He was talking over his shoulder to someone still in the passenger seat — Gareth, by the sound of it — before catching sight of her. His brow arched, a grin already tugging at his mouth.
“Well, well, well,” he called, leaning on the top of his door. “If it isn’t Hawkins’ very own parking lot damsel.”
Letty let out a sharp laugh, tired but edged. “Don’t even start, Munson.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, still grinning as he walked over. “Car giving you trouble, sweetheart?”
She shot him a look. “Only if ‘trouble’ means completely dead.”
“Ah,” he said, squatting down beside the bumper to glance underneath, like that would help.
“Classic. She’s either the battery, the starter, or divine punishment for ignoring good maintenance advice.”
Letty groaned, dragging a hand down her face.
“Yeah, thanks for the reminder.”
Eddie’s grin widened.
“Need a jump?” She looked up at him — sweaty, frustrated, hair sticking to her cheek — and sighed.
“You offering, or just gloating?”
He shrugged, already heading back toward the van. “Little of both, sweetheart. But lucky for you, I’m feeling generous tonight.”
Eddie popped the van’s hood, humming some half-finished tune under his breath as he rummaged through a mess of cables and empty soda cans.
“Lucky for you,” he said, tossing a pair of jumper cables over one shoulder, “I am, in fact, a certified car whisperer.”
Letty snorted. “Pretty sure that’s not a real certification.”
He shot her a grin over his shoulder. “Sure it is. Issued by the Department of Trial and Error. Mostly error.”
“Comforting.”
“Hey, I get results.” He gestured grandly to the van. “This beauty’s been running on equal parts caffeine, guitar picks, and raw stubbornness for three years. She’s basically a miracle.”
Letty folded her arms, watching as he knelt by her car. “Yeah, well, mine’s apparently allergic to miracles.”
Eddie laughed — that easy, low chuckle that came from his chest — and clipped one of the cables to her battery. “You just need a little faith, sweetheart. Metal and misery — that’s my area of expertise.”
Letty arched an eyebrow. “Sounds like a therapy session waiting to happen.”
“Oh, I charge extra for emotional support.”
She smirked despite herself. “Great. I’ll add it to the bill.”
He straightened, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Alright, moment of truth. Try it now.”
Letty climbed back into the driver’s seat, twisting the key with a little prayer under her breath. The engine wheezed, caught, and then — nothing. Just a hollow click.
Eddie winced. “Oof. That’s not the sound of success.”
“Yeah, thanks for the expert analysis,” she muttered, slumping forward, forehead resting on the steering wheel. “God, I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Hey.” Eddie’s voice was softer now, closer. When she glanced up, he was leaning on the open door, his grin tempered but still there — easy, not pitying. “You didn’t kill it on purpose, right?”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“Like… out of spite?” he teased. “Cars can feel that, you know. I had a Camaro once that refused to start after my girlfriend called it ugly.”
Letty gave a weak laugh, covering her face with her hands. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he said with a little shrug, “but you’re smiling, so I’m gonna call that a win.”
She peeked through her fingers at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You’re insufferable.”
“I’ve been called worse,” he said cheerfully. Then, quieter: “You okay?”
Her smile faltered just a little, shoulders sinking. “Been better.”
He nodded, not pressing. “Alright, well… let’s get you back on the road, or at least somewhere that isn’t this fine establishment’s parking lot.” He gestured toward the flickering arcade sign like it was mocking them both. “You got a tow guy?”
Letty sighed, rubbing her temples. “Yeah, but… that’s gonna cost me. Like, everything-cost me.”
Eddie leaned back, hands on his hips. “Hmm. Tragic.”
“Wow, thanks for the sympathy.”
“Oh, I’ve got sympathy coming out of my ears, sweetheart. But I’ve also got an Uncle who owes me a favor and a tow truck sitting idle behind the auto shop by the train-tracks.”
Her brow furrowed. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious. I can call him, get this heap towed there tonight, no charge.”
She squinted at him, suspicion laced with disbelief. “What’s the catch?”
Eddie grinned, mock-offended. “Catch? You wound me. Maybe I just like rescuing stranded maidens.”
“I’ll pass on the maiden part,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “And I’m not stranded, I just—”
“—have a car that’s one turn away from spontaneous combustion?”
Letty sighed, her glare lacking real heat. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when I’m right.”
She looked at him for a long beat — the smile tugging at his mouth, the flicker of sincerity underneath all that showmanship — and finally, reluctantly, exhaled.
“Fine. Call your uncle.”
Eddie’s grin broke wide. “That’s the spirit.” He started back toward his van, keys jingling. “See? Told you. Certified car whisperer and miracle worker.”
Letty shook her head, but this time, her smile lingered.
By the time the tow truck rumbled into the parking lot, the sky had gone bruised purple. The arcade’s flickering neon buzzed overhead, throwing fractured light over the cracked pavement. Letty leaned against the side of Eddie’s van, arms folded, watching as a man climbed down from the driver’s seat — denim jacket, silver hair tied back, and a grin that looked way too familiar.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “If it isn’t Princess herself. Car finally gave up on you, huh?”
Letty’s brows lifted. “Mr. Munson?”
Eddie froze mid-step. “Wait, you know my uncle?”
She blinked at him. “You’re Wayne’s nephew?”
Wayne barked out a laugh. “Small world, huh? She’s always down at the shop with that Hargrove kid. Thought she was his girl for a while.”
Letty scoffed, rolling her eyes. “He wishes. If only I were so lucky.”
Her tone was all dry sarcasm, but the corner of Wayne’s mouth twitched like he couldn’t quite decide if she was joking. Eddie looked between them, bewildered.
“Okay, wait,” he said, pointing between the two of them. “You hang out with my uncle and Hargrove? That’s… that’s a hell of a social circle.”
Letty smirked. “What can I say? I get around.”
Eddie snorted. “Yeah, to garages and arcades. Real wild lifestyle you’ve got there.”
“Beats D&D in your mom’s basement.”
“Hey— first of all, it’s my uncle’s trailer,” he said, hands thrown up in mock offense. “Second, ouch. Third, it's in the band practice room at school.”
Wayne shook his head, half amused, half exasperated, and went to work hooking up her car. “You two gonna keep flirting or you want this thing towed before sunrise?”
Letty scoffed, but Eddie just grinned wider. “Yeah, yeah, we’re working on it, old man.”
“Old man’s the one with the tow chain,” Wayne shot back, tugging it into place. “Keep talkin’ and I’ll charge double.”
That earned him a laugh from both of them, the tension thinning out until it almost felt easy. When Wayne finally got the car secured, he waved Eddie off to settle the paperwork.
Eddie wiped his hands on his jeans as the engine growled to life. “See? Told you he owed me. He’s not even gonna make you fill out the form.”
Letty tilted her head. “That’s a thing?”
He grinned. “Only when you’re on the VIP list.”
She arched a brow. “You have a VIP list?”
“Not officially,” he said, leaning against the van beside her, “but you’re on it now, so congrats. Limited membership.”
Letty rolled her eyes, but the smile broke through anyway. “You’re silly.”
“I know.” He kicked lightly at the asphalt, hands shoved in his pockets. “You looked like you needed a win tonight. Figured I’d give you one.”
Something softened in her expression at that—small, but real. “You don’t even know what kind of night I had.”
He shrugged. “Don’t need to. I’ve had a few that end with me arguing with an engine, so I figured the vibes matched.”
She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Guess misery really does love company.”
“Hey, I prefer ‘well-rounded camaraderie born of mechanical failure.’”
The tow truck pulled away, her car trailing behind it. Letty watched the taillights disappear down the road and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “God, I can’t believe I just let you handle that.”
“Handle? I’d say I masterminded that.”
“Uh-huh.”
Eddie pushed off the van and opened the passenger door with a flourish. “C’mon, let’s get you home before the arcade ghosts come out.”
Letty gave him a side look but climbed in anyway. The van smelled sweet—maybe cologne, maybe just Eddie himself. Cassette tapes littered the dashboard, and there was a guitar case wedged beneath her seat.
Eddie started the engine, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with the music bleeding through the old stereo. “So,” he said lightly, “where to, milady of the defunct automobile?”
“Don’t call me that,” she said automatically, trying to hide the laugh in her voice.
“Too late, it’s canon now.”
She gave him the gist of where the Cabin was, and he started driving, the headlights cutting long lines across the dark road. Silence settled between them, comfortable in a way that surprised her.
After a while, she glanced sideways at him. “Hey.”
He hummed in response.
“I really do owe you one.”
He looked over, smile easy. “Nah. You can pay me back by not cursing my van when I drop you off.”
“Not making any promises,” she teased, but her voice had softened.
He shot her a grin. “Fair enough.”
The road unspooled ahead of them, long and quiet. The trees on either side blurred into dark shapes, the occasional flicker of lightning bugs winking past the window. Eddie kept one hand on the wheel, drumming the other against the steering column in rhythm with the music playing low from the radio — something old and a little scratchy, but warm.
After a few minutes, she glanced at him. “You always this talkative, or do I just bring it out of you?”
Eddie grinned. “Oh, it’s definitely you. You’ve got the kind of energy that makes people confess their deepest secrets.”
“Right. So what’s yours?”
He hummed like he was thinking it over. “Well, for starters, I once ate a whole bag of marshmallows for dinner.”
“Tragic.”
“Hey, I was eight!” He laughed, turning down the gravel drive toward the cabins. “What about you? What’s your big, embarrassing confession?”
Letty tilted her head, pretending to think. “I used to want to be a pageant girl. The sparkly dress, the fake smile, the whole bit.”
Eddie looked genuinely startled. “You? Seriously?”
“Don’t make it sound so unbelievable,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “I was six. I thought tiaras solved everything.”
He was still laughing when the van bounced over the last dip in the road and came to a stop outside her cabin. The headlights washed over the front porch, the soft yellow light spilling from inside.
Eddie leaned against the steering wheel, turning to look at her. “Guess this is your stop.”
“Guess so,” she said, unbuckling. Her hand lingered on the door handle for a moment before she looked back at him. “Thanks, Munson. For the ride. And the… whatever that was.”
“The charming company?”
“The unsolicited commentary.”
He grinned. “Anytime, Princess.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was no heat in it this time. “Goodnight, Eddie.”
He gave her a two-fingered salute. “Night, Letty.”
When she stepped out, the gravel crunching under her shoes, she could still hear the faint sound of his laughter as the van rumbled away — fading into the trees, leaving the night humming around her.
For the first time all day, the quiet didn’t feel heavy.
Letty leaned against the porch railing, looking down the dirt road where the taillights had vanished. She exhaled a small laugh through her nose, shaking her head. Of all the people to show up right when she needed them most, Eddie Munson wasn’t one she’d have guessed.
He hadn’t made it weird. He hadn’t tried to fix her, or press, or make her feel like she owed him something. He’d just helped — and made her laugh. God, it felt good to laugh.
Inside, the cabin was still warm from earlier, the faint smell of pine and old wood grounding her. She kicked off her shoes, dropped her bag by the door, and flopped onto the couch with a tired sigh. The kind that came from more than just the heat or the long night — the kind that felt like unclenching after holding yourself too tight for too long.
She’d figure out the car tomorrow. The rest — whatever that meant — could wait too.
For now, she just smiled into the quiet, the echo of Eddie’s grin flickering in her mind.
The phone rang sharp through the cabin, cutting over the sound of Hopper’s morning news and the faint hiss of the coffee pot. El was the one to get to it first, bare feet slapping against the linoleum.
“Hello?” she chirped, curling the cord around her finger.
There was a beat, then her brow furrowed. “Uh… Letty! Phone!”
Letty’s voice drifted from down the hall, muffled. “Who is it?”
El pressed the receiver to her shoulder, looking back at Hopper, who was raising an eyebrow mid-sip of his coffee. “It’s… Billy?”
Hopper blinked. “Hargrove?”
El nodded, whispering like it might soften the absurdity. “Yeah.”
They shared a look — one part confusion, one part disbelief — as Letty padded in, hair rumpled, one of Hopper’s flannels thrown over her sleep shirt. She took the receiver, giving them both a suspicious look as she pressed it to her ear.
“Hey,” she said, voice still scratchy from sleep.
“‘Hey’? That’s all I get?” Billy’s drawl came through the line, warm and teasing. “I heard your car tried to off itself last night.”
Letty groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Word travels fast.”
“Small town, Princess.” His tone softened, but the smirk was audible. “Wayne brought it in last night, Said Eddie found you stranded by the arcade.”
She snorted. “Didn’t realize Eddie was his nephew.”
“Yeah, well,” Billy huffed a laugh. “Don’t hold that against him. Kid couldn’t fix a car if his life depended on it. Motorcycles, though—hell, I’ll give him that. He’s got the patience for those tiny engines.”
Letty leaned her hip against the counter, the morning light catching in her hair. “He was nice about it..”
“Good.” Billy said easily. “He’s a talker, worried he might’ve said something he didn't need to say.”
Letty smiled despite herself, twisting the phone cord around her finger. “He was polite, a bit much though.”
From the table, Hopper cleared his throat loud enough to make her shoot him a warning glare. El, perched beside him with a bowl of cereal, was openly listening, spoon halfway to her mouth.
Billy’s voice dipped lower, conspiratorial. “Anyway, don’t worry about the car. Wayne’s poking around under the hood now. It'll be my guinea pig and all; but we’ll get her running again.”
Letty’s chest loosened just a little. “Thanks, Billy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, brushing it off but sounding pleased anyway. “Try not to kill it again, huh?”
She rolled her eyes, smiling faintly as she hung up the phone.
Letty poured herself a mug of coffee, the steam curling up into the early morning light. “Car’s dead. Completely. In the shop.”
El groaned from the counter, hands clutching the edge like she was bracing for impact.
“So we can’t do anything ?! No mall? ”Hopper ignored the dramatics and leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.
“So… what’s the damage? You got a price yet?”
“Not exactly,” Letty replied, taking a slow sip, trying to savor the caffeine. “Billy and Mr. Munson are looking it over. Hopefully it’s nothing too terrible that I need to start pricing out a new car.”
Hopper’s brow furrowed.
“Right. Well, we’ll need to figure out a car schedule, then. You’ll still need to get to and from work.”
El’s hand shot up. “Mall plans! Don’t forget the mall!”
Hopper huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Unless you’re suddenly sixteen with a license and a car, kid, you aren’t going anywhere.”
Letty rolled her eyes at her sisters whining. “Mall can wait. Right now I’m just hoping Billy doesn’t find some catastrophic engine thing and I’m not personally bankrupt by noon.”
El pouted, muttering about ruined weekends, while Hopper gave Letty a sideways glance. “Just make sure you’re paying attention to what they say. We can’t exactly keep replacing vehicles every time one dies.”
“Noted,” Letty said with mock solemnity, lifting her mug like a toast. “I’ll survive. Somehow.”
Notes:
BILLY IS A GIRLSBESTFRIEND BOY OK. he's so coded for that. idc. he's her best friend, and they can be real with eachother and i think thats going to be so sweet and go so far with them both!
Chapter 11: Beautiful, charming, and extremely rude.
Notes:
Im shit at chapter summaries. Some filler, some Eddie, and this was brought to you by Letty being the most problematic Maiden at the joust and Eddie saying some shit like "Im just fucking with you my liege" (Both funny twitter posts i love omg)
editing song? Back of a cab - King Princess
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The kitchen still smelled faintly like burnt coffee and aftershave when Letty padded out from the bedroom, bare feet scuffing on the wood floor. Hopper was halfway into his uniform shirt, muttering under his breath while fumbling with the buttons. El sat cross-legged at the coffee table in the living room, humming to herself as she ate Eggo waffles, the sound carrying like background music through the house.
Letty plopped onto the couch with her own breakfast—a half-stale bowl of cereal she’d drowned in milk to soften it.
“Im open to ideas on how to get to and from if it means im not hitching a ride everytime.” She huffed then, leaning her head back into the cushions with a dramatic flair. From the coffee table, El suddenly stopped humming. She tilted her head like she was processing everything in Letty’s voice, seriously considering the options before she perked up.
“You ride on a bike.” She said it with the conviction of someone who’d just solved world hunger. “Like Max. She rides on back. With Lucas.”
Letty let out a startled laugh, milk nearly going up her nose.
“Me? On a bike? No, no, no—this body was not built for pedaling, trust me. I’ll walk before I ever straddle a banana seat.”
Hopper, amused despite himself, muttered, “Could use the exercise.”
“Don’t start,” Letty shot back, wagging her spoon. “I know exactly what you’re about to say and the answer is still no.”
El shrugged, returning her attention to her waffles. “Could still work. Dustin would let you ride. Or Mike.” She chewed thoughtfully, then added, “Or Steve.”
That name sat heavier in the air than the rest. Letty’s spoon clinked against her bowl as she set it down, shifting uncomfortably. She didn’t want to admit El was right—Steve would let her—but it felt too soon to lean on him for rides, not when things between them were so new and delicate.
“I’ll… figure it out,” she mumbled, standing to take her bowl to the sink.
Behind her, Hopper tugged on his jacket and sighed. “Might be a good thing you don’t work today. Guess we’ll see who’s selling a bike.”
“Hop, no—” she started, already knowing she’d lose. He waved her off before she could finish.
“Get you a pink one, with tassels and everything. Very you.” Letty rolled her eyes but didn’t push. She rinsed her bowl, all the while trying to ignore the uneasy flutter in her stomach. Hopper asking around meant word would spread. And in Hawkins, word spreading had a way of landing in all the wrong ears.
The late afternoon air was warm but not stifling, lightning bugs blinking in the trees lining the road. Letty walked slow, matching El’s pace, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jean shorts.
They spent the last three days having to schedule with Hopper taking Letty to work; and due to his late schedule she spent that time walking home, though one of the kids accompanied her the last few nights so it wasn’t that dreary of a thing. El was carrying a paper grocery bag with snacks —chips, Twizzlers, the sort of fuel the boys claimed was essential for Dungeons & Dragons campaigns. She swung the bag lightly at her side as she talked.
“Mike and I,” El started, cautious but determined, “we are better now. Not… together. But better.”
Letty nodded, humming encouragement. “That’s good. Being better without being together? That’s big.”
El frowned a little, looking down at her sneakers. “He wants to be… more. But I want to be friends. I said no.” Then, quieter, “It is okay, right?”
“More than okay,” Letty said gently. She nudged El’s shoulder with her own. “Sometimes being friends is what you need. Gives you room to breathe, to figure yourself out, maybe even make space for something more later—if you want it.”
El considered this, chewing her lip. “Like you?”
Letty blinked, caught off guard. “Like me what?”
“You are… making space,” El said simply, in that way she had of slicing straight to the bone. “Not choosing. Waiting.”
Letty huffed out a laugh, a little helpless. She shrugged, eyes tracking the dappled sunlight spilling through the trees. “I guess. Things fall into place when they’re ready, you know? Doesn’t mean I have to rush to make the puzzle fit before it’s time.”
El seemed to weigh that, then nodded solemnly, as though filing it away as fact. “Okay.” She squeezed the paper bag tighter, satisfied with the answer.
Letty smiled softly, brushing her bangs from her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she’d said it for El’s sake—or her own.
El skipped ahead a step, the bag of snacks bouncing against her leg. “School will start soon,” she said, voice lilting with that strange mixture of nerves and excitement. “I have been practicing.”
“Practicing?” Letty asked, quirking a brow as she adjusted her ponytail against the heat.
“The workbooks,” El explained, as though it was obvious. “When you and Hopper are gone. Math, spelling, Com-comprehension?” She brightened, adding quickly, “Will helps. He is very patient.”
Letty smiled, soft and proud. “That’s good. Makes it less scary, huh?”
“Yes,” El said, but then her face scrunched in thought. “Some of the history is confusing. I like the math more.”
Letty laughed, shaking her head. “Only you would pick math over history. When I was your age, I was faking sick to get out of multiplication tables.”
El grinned shyly, ducking her chin, pleased to share something of her own. “I want to do good. For Hopper. And for me.”
That caught Letty right in the chest. She reached out, brushing her knuckles against El’s arm in the smallest, most sisterly sort of touch. “You will. No doubt about it.”
By then the Byers’ house was in view, paint sun-bleached and windows glowing faintly with the promise of the AC inside. El barely slowed her stride as she marched up the porch steps and pushed the door open like she owned the place.
“Dont forget to call if you aren't going to come home!” El turned around at the last moment, waving aggressively before she shut the door behind her.
The world hummed beneath Letty’s sneakers, gravel crunching as she took her time down the shoulder. The air hung thick and golden, lightning bugs blinking like scattered sparks through the trees. She took a slow drag off her cigarette, the smoke curling lazily into the humid dusk. Somewhere down the road, a car engine approached—low, familiar, sputtering slightly on the downshift.
She didn’t look up until the van slowed beside her, the brakes giving a little whine before a voice cut through the heavy air.
“Princess of dead cars!”
Letty’s head jerked toward the sound. Eddie Munson leaned halfway out his window, curls pulled back, grin wide enough to split his face.
“You’re shit at flirting with girls!” she shouted back, flicking ash off her smoke.
Eddie laughed, the kind of unbothered, full-bellied sound that carried down the road. “Sweetheart, trust me—when I’m actually flirting, you’ll know.”
“Mhmm,” she hummed, unconvinced but amused, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
He nodded toward the road ahead. “Where you headed?”
“Home,” she said simply. “Nothing better to do.”
Eddie tilted his head, that familiar gleam of mischief lighting up his eyes. “Wanna be a delinquent with me for a bit?”
Letty snorted, a half-laugh breaking through her mock exasperation. “ya know what, why not?”
He beamed, leaning over to pop the passenger door open with a dramatic flourish. “Then climb aboard, Princess.”
She rolled her eyes but flicked her cigarette to the gravel, grinding it out before hopping up into the van. The interior smelled faintly of oil, cigarettes, and something sweet—incense maybe, or cheap cologne.
The drive to the trailer park was easy. Music hummed low from the tape deck, some guitar-heavy track that Letty recognized from the shop. Eddie drummed the steering wheel, occasionally singing under his breath, voice rough and surprisingly good.
By the time they rolled into Forest Hills, the sky had gone bruised-purple, the first stars just barely starting to show.
“Welcome to Casa de Munson,” Eddie said as he hopped out, sweeping an arm toward the trailer like he was unveiling a castle.
Letty grinned despite herself. “Wow. You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
“Stick with me, Princess. We’ve got busted amps, stale chips, and maybe—if you’re lucky—a can of warm Coke.”
He led her inside, and it was exactly what she expected—messy, cluttered, but lived-in. His room was the crown jewel: posters everywhere, a guitar leaned against the wall, an amp in pieces on the carpet.
She sat cross-legged on his bed, watching as he crouched down by the amp, tongue poking out in concentration as he fiddled with wires.
“You do this a lot?” she asked.
“Try to fix things that are too far gone? Constantly,” he said, flashing her a crooked smile.
She hummed, looking around. “You’re actually good at this.”
“Don’t tell Hargrove,” he joked. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
Letty smiled into her knees; no tension sitting under her skin, no weight tugging her down. Just the faint hum of the amp, the buzz of summer insects outside, and Eddie—rambling, ridiculous Eddie—who somehow made everything feel easier.
When the amp finally crackled to life, she clapped softly, and he threw his hands up like a magician finishing a trick.
“See? Told you. Delinquent magic.”
She grinned. “Guess I owe you another one, huh?”
He gave a small shrug, a smile that softened at the edges. “Guess so. But, you know, I’m keepin’ a tab.”
Letty laughed, and it slipped out warmer than she meant it to. “Dangerous thing, Eddie Munson. You might actually turn into a friend.”
“Eh,” he said, pretending to consider it. “I could live with that.”
Letty’s laugh spilled out, bright and unguarded, the kind that made Eddie glance up from the scuffed carpet just to catch it. She had her legs pulled up onto his bed, bare knees peeking out from the hem of her shorts, a can of flat soda balanced between her palms. The room was lit in soft amber — a single lamp and the faint glow of lightning bugs outside the window. One of Eddie’s tapes warbled from the corner, guitars thrumming like a lazy heartbeat under the summer air.
“So you’re telling me,” she said, voice teasing, “you made your entire campaign about—what—an evil wizard king who got his heart broken?”
Eddie gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Excuse me, Princess of dead cars, it’s a tragic epic of love and betrayal. There’s nuance. Depth. Pathos.”
“Oh, sure,” she said, grinning. “And I’m guessing the wizard king looks exactly like you, huh?”
He smirked, settling cross-legged across from her. “Nah. I’m more of the mysterious rogue type. Good intentions, bad decisions. Killer hair.”
Letty nearly snorted her soda. “You forgot humble.”
Eddie snapped his fingers. “Damn, you’re right. Add that to my stat sheet.”
For a moment, silence stretched easy between them — not awkward, just comfortable. He fiddled with a die in his hand, rolling it back and forth along his knuckles, eyes flicking toward her in thought.
“You ever play?” he asked finally.
“D&D? Nah,” she said, shaking her head. “Will and Dustin tried to explain it once. Usually I’m just a stand in for a big bad or whatever, I don't ever play. A bit too dramatic for me.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “And yet, here you are. Sitting on my bed. Listening to me monologue about a wizard king.”
Letty tilted her head, lips twitching. “Guess I’ve got bad taste.”
He grinned, wide and wicked. “Or excellent taste, depending on who you ask.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away this time. “Alright, then, Dungeon Master. If I were in your little world—what would I be?”
Eddie’s grin softened into something almost thoughtful. He leaned back on his hands, studying her like she was part of a riddle he wanted to get right. “You? You’d be a ranger, maybe. Someone who pretends she doesn’t care about the party, but she always circles back when they need her most.”
Letty laughed, but it caught in her throat. “That’s awfully specific.”
He shrugged, eyes glinting. “You’ve got that kind of energy. Brave, but tired of pretending it doesn’t cost you anything.”
Her smile faltered for just a beat, the air shifting — not heavier, exactly, just more real. Then she took another sip of soda and flicked the rim of the can with her nail. “And your alignment guess?”
Eddie pretended to think, brow furrowed in mock seriousness. “Chaotic good.”
“Not neutral?” she challenged.
“Nah,” he said easily. “You care too much. You just don’t like admitting it.”
Letty looked away, laughing under her breath, trying to shake off the prickle of warmth blooming in her chest. “You’ve got me all figured out, huh?”
Eddie leaned forward a little, that grin returning — softer this time, almost teasing. “Not even close. But I’m having fun trying.”
The cassette clicked to the end of its side, leaving a soft hiss in its wake. Outside, the lightning bugs still blinked, the air sweet with honeysuckle and faint gasoline. Eddie shifted, reaching to flip the tape, but for a long second neither of them moved.
Letty didn’t realize she was smiling until he caught her looking and smiled back, easy and unspoken — the kind of look that said oh. this might be something.
“Think I’d be a giant orc then?” Letty asked, breaking the quiet with a crooked grin. “All big and bad and scary?”
Eddie barked a laugh. “You? Nah. You’d pretend to be one, sure — paint on some tusks, stomp around a little — but deep down you’re one of those rare chaotic-good types who sneaks back into the village after battle to make sure the chickens are fed.”
“Wow,” she said dryly. “So terrifying.”
He pointed a finger at her, mock stern. “Hey, compassion’s the most dangerous trait of all. It’s unpredictable.”
Letty smirked, tucking her legs underneath her and eyeing him over the rim of her soda can. “Alright, then, oh wise Dungeon Master. What about you? I’ve got a guess.”
Eddie leaned back, grin sharpening. “Hit me.”
She tilted her head, studying him like she was piecing it together. “Vampire bard.”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Her smile spread slow, teasing. “All flirtatious and debonair. Probably sweeping tavern girls off their feet with your tragic songs about love lost and hair that won’t behave.”
Eddie’s laugh cracked out of him, wild and unrestrained. “Debonair? Princess, I sleep in a van sometimes.”
“Exactly,” she said, feigning seriousness. “Adds to the mystery.”
He pressed a hand to his heart. “I mean, I was going for tortured artist chic. Guess I overshot straight into Dracula’s garage band.”
Letty snorted so hard she nearly spilled her drink. “Dracula’s garage band, Jesus—”
Eddie’s grin softened as he watched her dissolve into laughter, shoulders shaking. “You know,” he said, voice dipping quieter, “I think I like your version better.”
“Yeah?” she asked, looking up through a curtain of hair.
He nodded. “Vampire bard’s got a nice ring to it. Sounds like a guy who might actually win a fight once in a while.”
Letty hummed, leaning back on her hands, her knee brushing his for just a second — light, accidental, electric. “Maybe. Or maybe he just talks his way out of trouble.”
“Ah,” Eddie said, pretending to be wounded again. “So I’m charming and cowardly. Nice to know how you really see me.”
“Oh, you said it, not me,” she teased.
“Uh-huh.” He looked at her for a long moment — the half-smile, the freckles across her shoulders, the way her voice lilted when she teased him — and it hit him that he couldn’t remember the last time the air around him had felt this easy.
She must’ve felt it too, because the smirk softened, her gaze dipping for half a second before she looked back at him, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Guess it’s a good thing I like bards,” she said lightly.
Eddie’s grin returned, lazy and a little crooked. “Guess it is.”
The tape flipped to a new track — low and slow, the kind that made conversation slip into comfortable quiet. Outside, the bugs hummed, the light pulsed soft through the window, and the distance between them stayed close enough to feel like a secret.
Eddie leaned against the driver’s side door after she’d gone inside, watching the porch light spill over her shoulders as she waved before slipping through the front door. The screen banged shut behind her, and then it was quiet again — the kind of late-summer quiet that buzzed with cicadas and the low hum of street lamps.
He exhaled, long and low, drumming his fingers on the van roof.
Three times. That’s what she’d said. She owed him three times now.
He grinned to himself, the words replaying like a song hook he couldn’t shake. “Guess I’m running a damn tab,” he murmured.
When he finally climbed back into the van, the seatbelt clacked, the dash rattled — all the familiar symphony of his rustbucket ride — but the silence beside him felt strange. Usually, he didn’t notice the quiet. Tonight, though, it sat next to him like an empty space that used to hold a voice.
He thought about her laugh — that real one, the unguarded one that had burst out when he’d called himself part of Dracula’s garage band. Thought about how she’d leaned over his amp, eyes squinted, genuinely interested in how he’d wired the thing wrong the first three times before getting it right. Most people just humored him when he started rambling about circuits and sound; Letty had asked questions. Good ones. The kind that meant she actually gave a damn.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that.
By the time he turned out of her street, the sky had gone navy-blue and heavy with stars. His headlights carved through the dark stretch of road toward Forest Hills, and he caught himself smiling again — stupidly, quietly.
He didn’t get her yet, not really. Letty was all contradictions: sharp one minute, soft the next, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to bite you or save you. And hell, maybe that’s what made her interesting. Everyone else in Hawkins fit into neat little boxes; Letty seemed hellbent on kicking hers apart.
He turned the radio down low, letting the static hum fill the spaces between his thoughts.
When he’d offered to drive her home, she’d tried to wave him off at first — that automatic independence flashing behind her smile — but she’d accepted in the end. She’d even teased him when he joked about clearing it with his Uncle first. “You can tell him you’re doing your good deed for the week,” she’d said, and he’d shot back something about saints needing to keep their reputations up.
And then that quiet had hit again — not awkward, just… nice. Comfortable.
He pulled into the trailer park, cutting the engine. The night pressed in, thick and familiar. Wayne’s truck sat crooked in its usual spot, one headlight dimmer than the other.
Eddie sat there for another minute, his fingers drumming a rhythm against the steering wheel.
He’d had a lot of people drift in and out of his orbit — bandmates, classmates, kids who only wanted weed or a good story. But this? This felt different.
Letty didn’t look at him like he was some local burnout with a loud mouth and a bad reputation. She looked at him like he was funny. Like he was worth talking to.
He shook his head, trying to laugh himself out of the thought. “Careful, Munson,” he muttered. “You’re starting to sound like a sap.”
Still, when he climbed out and slammed the van door shut, the grin stayed.
Maybe he’d ask her next time if she wanted to hang out again — not as a rescue mission, not as some weird favor-trade thing. Just because. Because he liked the sound of her laugh in his van, and the way her hair caught the light when she leaned out the window, and because, maybe for the first time in a long while, someone had made him feel like he wasn’t the only weirdo in town who didn’t quite fit.
And damn if that didn’t feel like something worth keeping around.
The sun’s low enough to make the asphalt shimmer, every car hood slick with the last of the heat.
A neon sign hums above the Frosty Freeze, the kind of noise that blends into the background if you sit long enough.
Letty’s perched on the hood of Jonathan’s car with a cup of melting ice cream, legs swinging lazily. El’s at the next picnic table over with Will, both arguing over which flavor’s better — chocolate or swirl — while Jonathan leans against the driver’s side door, camera slung loose over his shoulder.
It’s quiet in that rare, summer way Hawkins sometimes allows — no monsters, no sirens, just kids talking and the soft hiss of the cicadas.
Jonathan’s mid-sentence when a voice cuts through the air.
“Jonathan?”
Letty’s spoon stills. She doesn’t need to look to know who it is — the pitch of it, the careful way it sits in the space between friendly and familiar.
Nancy Wheeler’s crossing the lot, sunlight catching on her hair like she belongs in a photograph..She’s wearing something light — pressed blouse, skirt, that clean, sharp silhouette that makes Letty instantly aware of her own tank top and cutoff shorts, the cigarette pack peeking from her pocket. Nancy’s blouse doesn’t even wilt in the heat
Jonathan straightens automatically, a small, uncertain smile tugging at his mouth.
“Hey, Nance.”
“Hey.”-She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.-“Didn’t know you’d be out tonight. Thought you were working.”
He shrugs, voice easy but guarded. “Took the night off. We were just—”
He gestures vaguely toward Will and El, still arguing about ice cream, and Letty — who’s halfway through crushing her cup and already wishing she could vanish into the parking lot.
Nancy’s eyes follow his gesture, polite and bright as glass as they land on Letty, who tries her best not to bristle at the attention.
“Hi,” she says — bright, polite, the way people say hello to the neighbor’s cousin at a party.
“Hey.” Letty’s tone is mild, neutral. “Long time, huh?”
“Yeah! Since, what— the Fourth?” Nancy’s smile is too careful. “It’s been quiet since then.” Letty nods, pretending she doesn’t feel the undercurrent in that statement — the quiet after the chaos, the unspoken you disappeared on all of us. Letty squints against the sunset.
“Guess I’ve been busy.”
It’s not cold, not sharp — but it isn’t open either.
Nancy nods, shifting the strap of her purse.
“I heard your car’s in the shop? Joyce mentioned it last night when El was over.”
“She did?” Letty raises her brows. “News travels fast.”
“Small town,” Nancy says with a tiny laugh. “She said Billy’s working on it?”
“Something like that.”
There’s a pause — a little too long. Letty starts to look away, but Nancy keeps talking.
“Right. That’s… convenient.” She means it as neutral, but the word convenient lands with the wrong weight; not mean, but something about Nancy’s tone makes it sound pointed. Like she’s holding a microscope over every syllable. Letty’s shoulders stiffen, and Jonathan immediately senses it.
Letty blinks, her jaw flexing, then lets out a small laugh — the kind that sounds friendly if you don’t listen too hard.
“Yeah, Hawkins is full of good Samaritans.” She says then and Nancy flushes slightly, tries to recover.
“No, I didn’t mean— Well, it’s good you’re getting help. Cars are… expensive. Maybe next time you should—.”
“—save up?” Letty finishes, smiling too wide. “Working on it.” The silence after that is uncomfortable enough to feel physical.
“I just meant it’s good you’ve got people to count on. That’s… something Steve always says too.” Jonathan’s head tilts — oh, no.
Letty looks up from her cup, brows knitting.
“Steve says that?”
“Yeah, he’s been—” Nancy hesitates, then rushes on. “He’s been trying to be better about checking in on people. You know how he is. Can’t help wanting to take care of everyone.”
Jonathan closes his eyes briefly. Wrong bridge, Wheeler.
Letty laughs once, short and humorless.
“Yeah. Sounds like him.”
Nancy winces — not because of the words, but because of how Letty says them: like she’s holding something too heavy to set down.
“He’s been… good lately,” Nancy adds, trying again. “Working at Scoops—”
“Glad to hear it,” Letty cuts in, soft but final.
The tension hums in the air — not anger, just static. The way the air prickles before a storm. Jonathan steps in quickly.
“Hey, Nance, we were about to grab burgers at Benny’s. You wanna join?” Nancy hesitates, eyes flicking between him and Letty.
“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt.”
“You wouldn’t be interrupting,” Jonathan says, but his tone already says please don’t.
“Maybe next time,” she offers instead, forcing another smile. “Tell Will and El I said hi.”
She leaves in a neat sweep of perfume and heels on gravel, and the quiet that follows is heavy enough to taste.
Letty exhales, flicking her spoon into the empty cup.
“Jesus,” she mutters, finally. “Is she always like that, or does she just save it for me?” Jonathan huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“She doesn’t mean it like that. She just… sees things. Can’t help analyzing people.”
“Feels like she’s dissecting me,” Letty says, tossing her cup in the trash.
“Yeah,” Jonathan agrees, dragging a hand down his face. “She’s just—she overthinks everything. Means well, though.”
“Guess I’m not the only one who makes her nervous, then.” Jonathan smiles a little, tired but warm.
“No one makes her nervous. But you? You make her curious. That’s worse.”
“Mm.” Letty kicks at the tire. “She always talk like she’s holding a press conference?”
Jonathan laughs, low.
“Only when she’s nervous.”
Letty turns, brow arching. “Thought she didn’t get nervous.”
“Not about people,” he says after a beat. “About being wrong. She’s curious is all.”
Letty studies him for a second, then sighs.
“Guess that makes two of us. Doesn't feel like a compliment though.”
“It is,” he says, after a moment. “Means she hasn’t figured you out yet.” The last of the sunlight fades, leaving them in that golden-blue edge of dusk. El and Will are throwing lightning bugs into the air, their laughter a soft echo behind them.
Jonathan glances at Letty, the corners of his mouth tipping.
“For what it’s worth,” he says quietly, “you handled that better than I did.”
She snorts, shoving her hands into her shorts pockets.
“Nah. I just knew when to shut up.”
They both laugh at that — tired, real laughter. The kind that means the moment’s over and they survived it.
And for a moment, standing in that half-light, they both seem to understand something unspoken — how strange it feels to exist on the edges of other people’s stories, trying to write your own in between them.
The car hums low, headlights cutting across the tree line as they pull out of the Frosty Freeze lot. Will and El chatter in the backseat, their voices muffled under the whir of the fan. Jonathan’s one hand is loose on the wheel, the other drumming against the cracked vinyl. The sunset bleeds through the windshield, painting everything the color of melted orange sherbet. Letty’s got her elbow propped on the open window, cigarette unlit between her fingers. She hasn’t said much since they left.
Finally:
“Can I ask you something?”
Jonathan glances her way. “Sure.”
“About Nancy.”
His fingers still against the steering wheel. “Okay,” he says slowly.
“You don’t have to answer if it’s weird—”
“It’s fine,” he cuts in, half a smile. “It’s always weird, but go ahead.”
Letty laughs under her breath, then looks back out at the blur of trees. “I was just thinking,” she starts, hesitant, “about how you deal with it. You know—her and Steve. How close they still are.”
Jonathan doesn’t answer right away. The air hums, full of cicadas and the soft pop of gravel under the tires.
“I know I don’t have any right to even ask,” she adds quickly, waving the cigarette like it might erase the question.
“I’m not dating Steve. We’re not anything, really. Just… after talking to Robin—she said something about how he feels, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I keep wondering if maybe I’m not as crazy as I thought for worrying that maybe he’s still—”
“In love with her?” Jonathan finishes, not unkindly.
Letty exhales, nodding once.
“Yeah. That.”
He’s quiet for a moment, watching the road. “You’re not crazy,” he says finally. “I think about it too, sometimes.”
She looks over, surprised.
“It’s not that I don’t trust her,” he continues. “It’s just—Nancy doesn’t stop caring about people. She’s always looking backward, always trying to fix the things she thinks she broke. That’s… just her.”
Letty hums, soft. “That’s what you said before.”
“Yeah. And it’s still true. Some days it feels like I’m competing with a ghost, but most days…” He shrugs, a helpless smile flickering. “Most days she chooses me. I try to remember that’s enough.”
The cigarette dips in her fingers. “You think Steve’s the same way?”
“Maybe,” Jonathan admits. “I don’t think he knows how to stop caring either. He just wants everyone to be okay. Even if that means he ends up standing in the middle, getting pulled both ways.”
Letty laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”
They lapse into silence again. The car rattles over a pothole, and El giggles in the back, Will telling her to quit hogging the window.
Jonathan’s voice comes quieter this time.
“You know, it’s not wrong to want someone who’s sure about you.”
Letty glances at him, eyes half-shadowed by the fading light.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “But it’s worse to end up being the one who’s not sure back.”
He nods, like he understands that all too well.
The rest of the drive is quiet except for the sound of the kids singing something off-key in the back. Letty leans her head against the window, watching the trees blur into darkness, thinking about what it means to love someone who’s still standing in a doorway you didn’t build.
Letty stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the hum of the blow dryer buzzing like a distant storm in her ears. Steam from her shower fogged the glass, droplets running in little rivulets, but she barely noticed. Her fingers trembled as she twisted the knob, brushing damp strands of hair out of her face.
Her mind kept replaying the drive with Jonathan — his calm, measured words echoing against the loud, insistent clatter in her head. “Nancy… Steve… maybe she’s just Nancy.” But maybe not. Her stomach twisted at the thought, a coil of heat and guilt she couldn’t shake.
She clamped her teeth into her lip until a sharp sting cut through the haze, tasting iron, the copper of blood. Her hand shook again, brushing against the metal edge of the dryer. A hiss slipped out before she dropped it with a curse, the machine thudding against the tile. She crouched slightly, trying to keep the rising panic from spilling out.
Her chest pressed in tight, lungs shallow, as if she’d swallowed a fist. The taste of curdled ice cream from last night scraped up the back of her throat, and she gagged, forcing herself to swallow it down, forcing herself to breathe. One hand on the counter, one pressed to her chest, she counted the beats of her heart like tiny drum rolls, willing herself to slow.
Her reflection in the fogged mirror looked small, desperate, untethered — the glow of the overhead light catching the stray droplets on her cheeks. She rubbed at her temples, shoving hair behind her ears, but the tremor lingered. Everything she felt — confusion, fear, the gnawing worry about Steve and Nancy, the weight of her own hesitation — crowded her chest, pressing it tight.
“Breathe,” she whispered to herself, almost begging, inhaling long and slow, exhaling sharp. She forced her gaze onto her own eyes in the mirror, counting each breath like a lifeline, repeating a mantra she didn’t really believe in: It’s okay. You can sit with it. You can survive it.
Her hands shook less, but her chest still throbbed with the aftershocks of a storm she couldn’t quiet, the anxiety still humming in the space between her ribs. And as she reached for the dryer again, slower this time, she realized it wasn’t just about the heat or the hair or even the drive — it was about him, and the fact that she didn’t know how to navigate what she felt, or how to protect herself from the pull he had over her.
She’s not sure when she managed to get into the car with Hopper let alone pull up outside of Palace Arcade. She must've been talking, or at least giving enough of a verbal response for Hopper to not have noticed and Letty fights to ignore the prickling sensation at the base of her skull. He’s saying something about her ride home, asking if its still a thing or if he should be waiting for a call, but she's trying to smile in a disarming manner when she turns to look at him; one hand on the door handle.
“I got it. I’ll call you if it falls through.”
“Good. I don't want you walking home alone.” She hums in agreement, something just tossed over her shoulder with a nod as she exits the cruiser, the door slamming shut behind her. It rumbled away, the tires crunching over the asphalt, leaving Letty alone at the curb. She tugged her tank top down and adjusted her shorts, a small sigh escaping as she crossed the road.
Just act normal, she told herself. It’s just Steve. It’s not that big a deal.
But her stomach knotted with every step toward the neon glow of Family Video. The air was heavy with the last hints of summer heat, and the cicadas hummed in the distance. Her pulse thumped in her ears, each beat a reminder that she’d been avoiding this conversation far too long.
The front doors creaked as she pushed inside, the bell above jingling faintly. The store was quiet — too quiet — just rows of VHS catching the early slant of golden light through the windows. A soft laugh floated from the back, warm, familiar. She assumed it was Robin and let herself relax for just a fraction, her shoulders dropping.
Then Steve and Nancy emerged, side by side, carrying a stack of tapes between them. The laughter she’d heard now made sense — they were joking about something, Nancy elbowing him playfully as he grinned, the kind of easy camaraderie that felt like it belonged to a different world.
Letty froze in the aisle, heart twisting. She wasn’t sure if she’d just walked into a bad joke or a punch to the gut. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Steve’s head lifted, his eyes scanning the store before landing on her. For a second, something flickered — recognition, hesitation, and then a smile, cautious but warm.
Nancy, noticing her pause, tilted her head, eyebrows arched, and offered a faint, tight-lipped smile. “Hey, Letty,” she said, voice measured, polite but carrying that subtle edge Letty had learned to expect.
Letty’s jaw set, and she swallowed, forcing herself to take a step forward. Her mind raced, replaying everything she’d avoided saying. The weight of the conversation pressed on her chest like a physical thing, and she wished she could just back out and pretend the store had suddenly become empty again.
But she couldn’t. Not anymore.
Steve stepped slightly in front of Nancy, almost unconsciously, giving her a narrow path through which Letty could approach. “Hey,” he said, casual, but she could see the tension coiled in his shoulders, the same hesitation she felt mirrored in him.
Letty forced a small, wry laugh, letting it act as a bridge to steady herself. “Hey,” she replied, tone careful, measured. She shifted from foot to foot, the stack of tapes between Nancy and Steve suddenly feeling like a barricade.
Her gaze flicked between them, taking in the easy rapport they had, and she had to bite back a pang of frustration. Why is this easier for them? she thought. Why do I feel like I’m walking into a minefield?
Nancy tilted her head again, that little measuring gesture Letty knew all too well. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said lightly, but there was a note beneath it, something probing, as if she were testing the waters, gauging her presence.
Steve’s gaze shifted, meeting hers, holding it. The air between them thickened with all the words they hadn’t said, all the miscommunications, all the tension Letty had been trying to sort through alone.
And for a moment, Letty just froze, inhaling deep, knowing that the next step — the next words — would change the current, one way or another.
Letty’s fists clenched at her sides, fingers curling and uncurling like a metronome, the tremor in her hands betraying her careful front. Her chest tightened with every shallow inhale, every glance at Steve’s rigid stance in front of Nancy. She forced herself to lift her gaze, to act casual, to infuse some bravado into her stance, but it felt brittle, like it could shatter at any second.
Ranger who always circles back to the group, Eddie’s words echoed in her head, and she felt bile rise, clawing its way up her throat. Always the responsible one, always the one who cares too much… great.
Her lips parted, but the sound that came out was more of a stuttered exhale than a word.
“I… uh, hi,” she finally managed, forcing a small, crooked smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Just… thought I’d say hey. Maybe chat a bit. Nothing… serious.”
She could feel the weight of their attention, and the quiet tension pressing from Steve’s shoulders made her chest tighten further. She tried to soften her tone, make it seem casual, but there was a dark undercurrent in her words, a residue of the anxiety that clung to her. It didn’t matter; she could tell immediately that she’d fucked up.
Steve’s shoulders stiffened, a subtle hardening that made her stomach twist. He was standing almost… protective. Between her and Nancy. And Letty’s panic spiked like a flare — why was he doing that? Did he think she was going to launch herself at Nancy, or hurt her in some way?
Her chest tightened further, breaths catching, and a hot rush of frustration curled over her skin.
“I didn’t mean for it to come off… like suspicious or anything,” Letty added quickly, words spilling in a rush, uneven and jagged. “I just… I—” She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet Steve’s eyes, only to see his guarded stare, and her throat worked again, tight and raw.
Nancy shifted slightly behind him, sensing the tension, but Letty barely registered it. Her entire world had narrowed to Steve’s presence, the ghost of his protective posture, and the mounting pile of her own thoughts — the fear, the guilt, the frustration that she could barely parse.
“I just… wanted to say hi,” she managed again, softer this time, almost a whisper, a shaky hand brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t mean to… interrupt or… or make things weird.”
Her chest heaved, her lips pressed tight to keep from breaking into something harsher, and she knew she’d painted herself with the brush of awkwardness — and Steve’s unspoken tension only made it worse.
Letty’s fists clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening as she tried to steady her breathing. Her heart thumped loud in her chest, each beat hammering with the weight of the nerves she’d been carrying all day. Eddie’s words floated back to her: “Ranger, always circling back because you care too much.” She forced herself to inhale, taste of curdled ice cream crawling at the back of her throat, bile rising in tandem with panic.
Steve subtly shifted, presence reaffirmed between her and Nancy. Letty froze, eyes darting to him, and her chest tightened. Why does he keep doing that?
Nancy, sensing it, tilted her head, a faintly nervous smile tugging at her lips.
“Uh… hey, you guys,” she said lightly, trying to break the tension. But it landed wrong, overly cheerful, the kind of tone that only made Letty’s stomach twist further. She couldn’t mask the flare of irritation now; Steve’s stance had primed her for fight or flight.
Steve didn’t speak, didn’t move—he just stayed there. Letty’s jaw tightened, teeth pressing into her lip as she swallowed down the wave of panic. God, this is exactly how I spiral.
Nancy’s voice caught again. “I just… didn’t mean to—” she tried, but her words tripped over themselves.
Letty’s pulse spiked, and she realized she couldn’t untangle the misunderstanding fast enough. She exhaled slowly, hissing through her teeth, and Nancy, reading the sharp edge in Letty’s tone, blinked, lips parting like she had more to say but wisely chose to retreat.
Nancy turned, walking off toward the front of the store, leaving Steve and Letty in the sudden, heavy quiet. Letty’s gaze fell to the ground, body trembling slightly from the tension she couldn’t yet name aloud.
Steve’s eyes flicked toward the direction Nancy had gone before settling back on Letty, his voice low but carrying that familiar mixture of frustration and care.
“She—uh, Nancy—was looking for a copy of an artsy thing for Jonathan.”
Letty’s stomach twisted, part rage, part disbelief. Of course it’s Nancy again. She let out a sharp laugh, bitter, teeth gnawed into her bottom lip.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she said, almost too quickly, a flash of self-awareness hitting as the words left her mouth.
“I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not…” Steve’s jaw ticked, his eyes narrowing, a faint exhale escaping him. He leaned back slightly, voice quieter, careful.
“I know that, Letty. And I don’t expect anything—” Her fists flexed again at her sides, and she cut him off, words coming faster than she could stop them.
“Then why are you—why do you even stand there? Why is this always about protecting someone else when it should be about… about—” She trailed off, hating the vulnerability in her own voice.
Steve hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck, awkward, caught between wanting to explain and knowing it wouldn’t land.
“I’m not protecting anyone from you,” he said finally. “I’m… I don’t know. I just… don’t want things to get messed up. For anyone.”
Letty’s chest rose and fell, the air heavy with frustration, panic, and a strange flicker of something else—confusion, maybe even a grudging acknowledgement that he cares.
“Well, that’s comforting,” she muttered, but her tone carried heat. “Because obviously, you and Nancy have… everything figured out, right?”
Steve flinched, like her words hit a nerve, though he didn’t look guilty—more… defensive, as if trying to navigate a minefield he didn’t even fully understand.
“It’s not like that,” he said. “I—look, I don’t—”
Letty’s chest tightened.
“Save it, Steve. You don’t owe me shit. I’m not asking for anything, and I’m definitely not going to sit here and parse your feelings for Nancy. I just…” Her voice faltered slightly, a tremor she didn’t bother hiding. “I can’t keep doing this. Trying to guess at where I fit in your world.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.
“Look, Letty… you’re confusing as hell. You can’t just stroll in here, throw all this at me, and then act like I’m the bad guy for not having a playbook for it.” His voice was low, steady, but there was an edge of frustration that came from caring too much.
Letty blinked at him, fists still clenched, chest tight. “I’m not—”
“No, listen,” he cut in, stepping just a little closer, trying to meet her gaze.
“I get it. I get why you’re worried about me and Nancy. You think there’s some… unresolved thing there. And yeah, okay, maybe there’s history. But that’s the thing—she’s Nancy. And I’m trying, Letty, really trying, to see it from where you’re standing. To understand why you feel like you’re competing with her for… I don’t know, my attention or whatever.”
Letty’s lips pressed together, her jaw tight.
“I mean it,” Steve continued, his voice softening. “I know I probably make it look like it’s this big deal every time she’s around, but it’s not about her. It’s about making sure you know I’m not just… doing this to mess with you. I care about you, Letty. And I know you don’t owe me anything, you’re not my girlfriend, but dammit—you shouldn’t have to feel like you’re walking on eggshells around me either.”
His hands flexed at his sides, a mixture of frustration and helplessness in his posture. “I’m not perfect at showing it, okay? But I’m trying. I’m trying to read your side too. I don’t want to make things worse, and yeah, maybe I’m fumbling, but it’s not because I don’t care.”
Letty’s chest tightened even more, and her hands unclenched, then clenched again. The words hit, but they didn’t fix the knot in her stomach—they only tangled it further. He was trying. He cared. And yet… it didn’t erase the panic, the worry that maybe she was just circling the edges of something she didn’t want to fall into.
Letty’s hands dropped to her sides, fists unclenching but trembling just slightly. Her voice was sharp, deliberate, like she was trying to slice through the haze of confusion between them.
“For someone who can… get it, Steve,” she started, her tone taut, “you’re still agreeing there’s history with Nancy. That you care, that it matters somehow. And yeah, sure, it feels like I’m competing—but you’re the one swinging back and forth. You’re the one keeping her in the orbit of everything, whether you mean to or not. Do you really get how that feels from my side?”
She stepped closer, trying to keep her anger from spilling into something she couldn’t control. “It’s not just me either! Jonathan feels it, too. He sees you with her sometimes, and he worries. He worries that maybe you’re… not done with it. And here I am, trying to not be a disaster, trying to just—be somewhere in the same space without tipping everything over, and it’s exhausting.”
Her voice broke for a second, almost a whisper, but the weight was still there. “I like you, Steve. I really do. But it’s not just about liking you. It’s about being on the same page and feeling like… like you actually understand what it’s like to watch someone you care about swing between the past and the present and wonder if you even get a turn. I’m not asking you to choose. I’m asking you to see me. And it’s killing me that sometimes it feels like you’re not even trying—or worse, that it doesn’t even register that this matters to me.”
She swallowed hard, biting the inside of her lip, chest heaving. “I’m not crazy for feeling like this, Steve. And I shouldn’t have to fight just to be… you know, visible.”
Her eyes locked on his, searching, daring him to say he understood—because maybe, just maybe, she could finally exhale if he did. He wanted to say something—anything—that would make her see he wasn’t trying to string her along, that he wasn’t lost in the past like she feared. But everything he started in his head sounded wrong, clunky, like he was bulldozing over her feelings instead of meeting them.
“I… I get what you’re saying, Letty,” he started, voice low but rough around the edges.
“I really do. And yeah, I’ve got history with Nancy. Sure. That’s there. But it’s not the same thing. It’s not—like—it doesn’t mean what you think it does right now. I’m not… I’m not using you, and I’m not trying to play games. I just—” He stopped, exhaled, frustrated.
“It’s not easy to explain. I mean, it’s… you’re not Nancy, okay? You’re you, and that’s—good. It’s great. It should be easier. But… it’s not. Because this is new. And it’s different. And I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to hurt anyone. And… I don’t know how to do that without messing it all up.”
He looked at her, finally, and it struck him just how small all his words felt against the weight of what she’d just laid out. And he knew he was missing the point—he could feel it in the way she stiffened, in the way her lips pressed thin—but he didn’t know how to bridge it.
All he could do was try, poorly, awkwardly, and hope she saw the truth in the fumbling anyway.
Letty’s chest tightened, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, breath hitching, and then let it out in a sharp exhale.
“Okay,” she said, voice low but cutting through the air.
“Then tell me—what exactly do you want here, Steve? What do you think is going to happen?”
Steve blinked, like he hadn’t expected her to cut straight to the point, his jaw tightening. “I—what do you mean?”
“This!” she snapped, gesturing vaguely between them, her voice rising despite herself. “This weird… dance we’re doing. Friends but not, flirty but careful, and every time I think maybe we’re finally talking about it—you pull back, or you circle back to Nancy, or whatever this history is, and I’m left spiraling!”
Her hands twisted in her hair, and she forced herself to meet his eyes, even as they stung. “I like you, Steve. I’ve liked you for a while now, but I’m not insane. I can see the way you’re still tangled up with her—or at least, you think I can’t. Jonathan feels it too. I’m not imagining this. And I’m not going to sit here pretending like it’s okay for me to just orbit around you while you figure your own shit out.”
Steve opened his mouth, but she held up a hand, cutting him off.
“I’m not asking you to make some grand, permanent declaration. I’m asking what you think is going to happen. Are we moving forward? Are we just… doing this back-and-forth until you decide? Because I can’t keep playing along if you don’t even know yourself.”
The air between them thickened, tense, and for a moment, Steve’s eyes softened—not in understanding, but in that raw frustration of someone being forced to articulate what they didn’t even know themselves.
“I’m not asking for guarantees,” Letty said, voice quieter now but still firm, leaning slightly forward, “I’m asking for honesty. Not for you to defend yourself, or explain why Nancy exists, or whatever. I just… need to know what you’re trying to do here before I keep giving you my time, my brain, my… everything.”
Her words hung between them, heavy, jagged, and necessary.
Steve stared at her, jaw tight, chest heavy. She was speaking in a way that didn’t leave room for half-measures, for the subtle sidesteps he’d been relying on to avoid the core of the mess. And for once, he couldn’t talk his way out of it—not with her eyes fixed on his, not with her words hitting every vulnerable spot.
He felt the pull of Nancy, the familiar weight of their history, the things left unsaid, the things he hadn’t even sorted himself. She was right—he was tangled. And yes, part of him still cared for Nancy, but God, he didn’t want her to be the reason he couldn’t… whatever this was with Letty. He wanted to reach for her, to shove the mess aside and just hold her like he wanted to, but the words he needed were trapped behind a wall he couldn’t scale fast enough.
Her insistence on clarity—on honesty—was like a blade scraping across raw nerves. He wanted to tell her everything, to untangle the messy skein of feelings, but he didn’t even know where to start. Every thought circled back to Nancy, every instinct for protection, for familiarity, for comfort. It was easier with her—clearer. With Letty, every step felt like navigating a storm blindfolded.
Then, almost without thinking, he opened his mouth.
The first words out were:
“Nancy–”
That was all it took.
Letty’s hands dropped from her hair, her chest tight, her body practically trembling from the frustration she’d held back. She exhaled sharply, cutting him off mid-breath. “You know what? Forget it.”
She stepped back, letting her voice harden around the words. “We’re friends, Steve. Figure your shit out—Nancy, me, whatever the fuck is going on—go work it out in therapy like I do. I don’t need to be part of this ping-pong game anymore.”
Steve blinked, frozen, mouth opening, but she didn’t wait for him. She turned on her heel, the weight of her decision pressing down, and walked away, leaving him standing there, the tension of the unspoken hanging thick in the air.
Notes:
ok ok ok hear me out. its not miscommunication exactly. its Letty wanting clarity, visibility, and recognition of her feelings. She’s frustrated by ambiguity, unspoken histories, and the “protective” barriers Steve erects, and she interprets them as emotional distance or favoritism toward Nancy.
Steve genuinely cares about Letty and doesn’t want to hurt her, but he struggles to express himself clearly and balance his past with the present. He’s fumbling, not malicious, but his indecision aggravates Letty.
This isnt me spoon feeding anything, but just in case someone needed some blatant clarity or my message was lost in my mess you can see what im going for? i remember there being sort of a similiar thing between him and Robin, the way he kinda just barrels into the feeling of romance or thinking of robin romantically and how to me that came out of a feeling of loneliness.
and no one is the bad guy here, not steve or nancy in this moment. Theres alot of big feelings that theyre all trying to navigate on their own and i hope i set up Jonathan and Letty as a good mirror of their situation. idk
Hope you enjoyed it lol
They're going to keep communicating i promise, talking is just hard sometimes and theyre like 18 and 19 an idk about you but its hard to navigate other peoples feelings when you are still trying to get a handle on your own.
Chapter 12: Not yet, but maybe soon?
Notes:
mentions of anxiety, panic attack and PTSD. there will be canon and what was warned underage drinking and drug use, however nothing absurd.
feelings, deep conversations and the usual mess that comes with feelings.
Also, proper trailer trash eddie munson here. gotta show my shitty florida roots to yall lololol i also wanna take this time to remind everyone that this is around the time Goth actually became a thing in the good ole USA so its the starts of trad goth, and weve touched on Letty living in NYC for a bit so she'd be aware of the music and subculture, she just would mute it for hawkins so avoid any issues.
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Chapter Text
Robin leaned against the counter, arms crossed, one eyebrow quirking. “I don’t know why I even bother at Scoops. This place’s uniforms are bad enough, but at least I get to wear jeans and not look like a walking ice cream cone. Might have to finally pull the plug on it.”
Steve smirked, trying to hide the tension creeping into his shoulders. “Yeah… polyester death trap.”
Robin tilted her head, giving him a look that said she wasn’t here for small talk. “So, did you talk to her, or are we just pretending everything’s fine while you stew in confusion?”
Steve exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Kinda… tried. She’s… I don’t know. She sees things I didn’t even realize I was doing wrong. And somehow, I just… fumble through it.”
Robin leaned in slightly, lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah, Steve, that’s a you problem. But seriously—what’s going on with you two?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s messy. She notices how I am with Nancy, and maybe she’s reading more into it than… I don’t know, than I feel is there. But she’s right to notice. I just… I don’t know how to fix it without making it worse. I keep overthinking, and I end up—”
“—being confusing?” Robin supplied, eyebrow twitching. “Because you’re doing a hell of a job.”
Steve chuckled, a little bitter. “Exactly. Confusing. And I feel like I should just… explain myself better, but I don’t even know where to start.”
Robin snorted. “Start with honesty. Stop trying to map out every possible reaction she could have. You think she wants you to analyze every micro-expression? No. She wants to know what’s real. What you actually feel. And let me tell you, fumbling through honesty is still better than overthinking it into oblivion.”
Steve leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Yeah… yeah. Honesty. I want to do that. I just… it’s different with her. With Nancy, I know where I stand. With Letty… it’s like navigating a storm I didn’t know was coming. And somehow, I feel like I have to fight to prove that I’m… I don’t know, not… distracted.”
Robin’s lips pressed into a smirk, but there was a sharpness there too. “Distracted? Steve, she’s smart. She notices. But the fact that you even have to ‘prove’ anything? That’s on you, not her. Stop making it her job to read your mind.”
Steve rubbed his face. “Yeah. I get that. But at the same time… I don’t want her thinking I’m… I don’t know, competing with my own past. Or that she’s just some… temporary thing.”
Robin rolled her eyes, but her voice softened slightly. “Steve, if you’re serious about her, you don’t get to let your past with Nancy—or anyone—decide how she feels about you. You want to fix this? Tell her. Stop running circles. Be real. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll stop being a walking mess while doing it.”
Steve laughed quietly, a little hollow. “Yeah… yeah, maybe you’re right. Being real. Not running circles. I’ll… figure it out.”
Robin gave a mock salute. “Don’t overthink it. And if you need me, I’ll be here, still wearing a polyester coffin, still judging your dramatic ass.”
Steve smiled faintly, the weight in his chest easing just a fraction. Maybe there was a way through this mess after all.
Letty sat perched on the rolling stool in the middle of the garage, spinning lazily in half circles with one foot nudging off the concrete. A paper bag of french-fries sat open in her lap, salt flecking her fingertips as she picked through them absentmindedly. The radio on the workbench crooned some half-faded Stones song through static, and Billy was half under the hood of a Chevy with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“I’m just saying,” Letty started, her voice casual but not really — too careful, too light. “Jonathan made it sound like I’m tryin’ to clean up someone else’s mess.”
Billy snorted, wrench clinking against metal. “Aren’t you?”
She threw a fry at the side of the car. It hit the fender and bounced uselessly to the floor. “I’m not cleaning anything, I’m just—” She hesitated, mouth twisting. “Trying to be a decent person. He’s been through a lot, and—”
Billy straightened up then, wiping his hands on a rag, the cigarette bobbing between his teeth as he gave her that flat, unimpressed look he’d mastered by seventeen. “You think you’re the first girl to try to ‘fix’ a guy who’s been through a lot?”
Letty bristled. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
He just shrugged. “If you say so.”
She sighed, pushing the stool into another slow spin. “We said we’d be friends. That’s it. That’s what we are.”
“Uh huh.” Billy tossed the rag onto the workbench, then leaned back against the car, crossing his arms. “And you’re what, tryna make yourself believe that?”
Letty paused mid-spin, meeting his eyes. “I don’t need to believe it. It’s true.”
Billy exhaled smoke, a quiet huff of amusement. “Sure, sweetheart. And I smoke for my health.”
That earned him a glare, but not a real one. “You’re an ass.”
“Yeah,” he said simply, taking another drag. “But I’m not the one lyin’ to myself.”
She leaned forward, elbows braced on her knees, fries forgotten. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he said, voice even, not unkind but steady as a hammer, “you got this look in your eye every time his name comes up. Like you’re tryin’ real hard not to flinch.”
Letty didn’t answer.
Billy flicked ash into the oil pan, then glanced at her sideways. “Look, if he’s stringin’ you along, he’s probably not even doin’ it on purpose. Guys like him never think they are. They’re just waitin’ on whatever they think they lost.”
“Nancy,” Letty muttered.
“Yeah. Nancy.” Billy shrugged again, pragmatic as ever. “So he keeps you close ‘cause it’s easy. You make him feel normal. Doesn’t mean he’s doin’ it to hurt you, but it doesn’t mean you gotta sit around waitin’ for him to figure it out, either.”
Letty chewed at her thumbnail, quiet. The radio shifted to another song — slower, scratchy — filling the silence that settled between them.
Finally, she said, “I told him I was fine with it. With just being friends.”
Billy didn’t even look up this time. “Then be fine with it.”
The words hit like a punch — not cruel, just final. A line drawn clean across her hesitation.
She nodded, but it came with a long exhale, the kind that deflated more than it calmed. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Guess I have to be.”
Billy didn’t say anything else, just handed her a socket wrench and jerked his chin toward the open hood. “If you’re done talkin’ circles, you can make yourself useful.”
She took it without argument, slipping off the stool. The ache in her chest didn’t go anywhere, but the noise of the tools and the hum of the engine at least gave her something to do with her hands — something real.
Maybe that was the only way through it: work, wait, and hope the wanting dulled over time.
Hopper’s truck rumbled to a stop in front of the arcade, the brakes squealing a little. Before it had even fully settled, El was already crawling over the bench seat from the back, knee catching on the center console as she wriggled forward.
“For Christ’s sake—” Hopper huffed, throwing out a heavy arm as if he could shield both girls and the entire truck at once. “What did I tell you about doing that? What if you hit the damn gear shift?”
El plopped into the passenger seat with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Not dramatic, practical,” Hopper shot back, mustache twitching. “You think I want to explain to your aunt how I crashed us all into a telephone pole because you couldn’t wait five seconds for the car to stop?”
Letty bit back a laugh, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll be fine, Hop.”
“Yeah, see, that’s the thing.” Hopper leaned forward, voice raising just enough to make it clear he wasn’t done. “I don’t like fine. Fine gets people in trouble. Fine gets me paperwork.” He jabbed a thick finger toward her, cutting her off before she could promise again. “I’d almost rather you just call me at the station when you’re off, and I’ll come get you. Safer that way.”
From the passenger side, El piped up without missing a beat: “Or she could ask Steve.”
Letty froze halfway in the midst of closing the door, the tips of her ears going hot. “El,” she hissed, tossing her hair back over her shoulder to hide the sudden flush creeping up her neck. “I can figure it out myself. Worst case, I steal one of the boys’ bikes and pedal home like E.T., alright?”
El smirked knowingly but said nothing, buckling herself in like the perfect angel-child she wasn’t.
Letty shut the door, tugging at the hem of her dress to be sure it sat properly. The summer heat shimmered off the asphalt, and she was almost to the glass entryway when:
“Letty!”
Hopper’s voice boomed loud enough to turn heads inside the arcade. She whipped around, shading her eyes.
“What?”
He leaned toward the passenger's side window, elbow perched on the center console as he leaned over El. “El’s staying at Max’s tonight!” he hollered. “And I won’t be home till morning—don’t get confused when the house is empty!”
The words echoed down the street, pulling a couple chuckles from the kids loitering by the front door.
Letty groaned, covering her face with one hand. “Cool, thanks for the broadcast, Hop!” she shouted back, mortified and secretly thankful her blush could pass for sunburn in the Hawkins summer.
Hopper just grinned and gave a satisfied wave before rumbling off, El smirking out the passenger window.
The arcade had never felt so loud and so empty at the same time. The bleeps and bloops of Galaga and Pac-Man rang out like a neon heartbeat, but it was missing the background noise of Dustin’s running commentary, Mike and Lucas arguing over strategy, or Will just quietly zoning into the machines like he was in another dimension.
Letty leaned against the counter, chin propped in her palm, staring at the clock mounted above the row of soda fountains. She tapped the counter in time with the electronic chirp of a pinball machine, chewing her lip. She could call Hopper, let him know when she’d be locking up—he’d probably prefer that—but she could already picture his grumbling about paperwork and responsibility on the ride home. She exhaled through her nose, deciding to shelve it for later.
“Hey, Garreth,” she called, pushing off the counter. “I’m stepping out for a smoke.”
Garreth, hunched over a joystick with his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth, waved a distracted hand without looking up.
Outside, the air was thick with summer heat, heavy with the smell of asphalt and exhaust. Letty perched on the curb, cigarette between her lips, one knee bouncing as she sparked the lighter. The first drag eased some of the restless coil in her chest, but only a little.
The smoke curled upward, slow and lazy, caught in the shimmer of the sun. It was the kind of heat that made the whole world feel like it was holding its breath — too bright, too still.
School would be starting soon. A week, maybe less.
She exhaled through her nose, dragging a hand through her hair. She should probably try to get a copy of her schedule early, see if she could swap out one of her electives before she got stuck in something like advanced chem again. Maybe she’d run into Mrs. Powell at the grocery store and ask about it there — that woman loved talking about school like it was a national holiday.
Her mind drifted further down the list — notebooks, pencils, maybe a new pair of jeans if she could talk Hopper into it. Her old ones were starting to fray at the knees again.
The last of her cigarette burned down to the filter, and she crushed it beneath her heel, squinting toward the hazy outline of Main Street. She should probably call Billy later, see if her shitty Chevy was done baking in his shop yet or if was really down for the count. A thought she didn't really want to linger on, she could already see the price tags floating behind her eyelids.
She smiled faintly at the thought. He’d grumble, say something about how she was the most impatient person he knew, and then he’d hand her the keys anyway.
Better that than sitting around at home stewing in her own head.
Letty stood, brushing ash from her fingers, the arcade’s buzz echoing faintly through the open door behind her. The day was slow, the kind that stretched long and lazy over Hawkins like melted taffy — too quiet for her own good.
She took one last look down the street before heading back inside, the heavy metal door groaning behind her.
If she kept herself busy — work, errands, school prep — maybe the rest of it would just sort itself out.
The air-conditioning hit her as soon as she stepped back inside, the hum of machines and fluorescent lights folding around her like white noise. Garreth was still planted at his usual post, slouched behind the counter with one hand balancing a soda and the other mashing buttons on the console.
“Back from your intense five-minute smoke break?” he asked without looking up.
“Had to think about my life choices,” Letty said dryly, slipping behind the counter again. She propped her elbows on the surface, chin in her palm. “You figure out your schedule yet?”
Garreth groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t even start. They put me in remedial algebra again. I swear they’re punishing me for existing.”
Letty snorted. “You could just… study.”
“Or,” he said, pointing a finger at her like it was a revelation, “I could do what I did last year — cry about it and hope whoever I cheat off is smarter.”
She shook her head, smiling. “You’re hopeless.”
“Yep,” he said cheerfully. “What about you? You got your classes yet?”
“Not officially,” Letty said. “I’ll probably see if Hopper can swing by the office this week, talk them into giving him my paperwork early. I promised Mrs. Ives I’d spend my free period helping her out in the library, so I need to make sure they don’t schedule me for gym instead.”
Garreth blinked at her. “You voluntarily spend your free time in the library?”
“She said she’d write me a recommendation letter,” Letty said, grinning as she reached for a stray quarter and rolled it between her fingers. “I’m just making sure I’m prepared, you know? For college.”
“Right, right,” he said, nodding sagely. “So what’re you gonna study? ”
She laughed, but it came out softer than she meant. “I don’t know yet. I just… want to have options, I guess.”
Garreth shrugged. “Makes sense. I figure I’ll coast off Eddie’s fame when Corroded Coffin blows up. Be a loyal bandmate or something.”
That got a small smile out of her. “You guys still playing Saturday?”
That perked him right up. “Hell yeah! Some biker bar between here and Indianapolis. New setlist, new amp, the whole thing. Eddie’s been hyped all week — said we might finally get a decent crowd this time.”
Letty blinked, her smile faltering just a little. “He did?”
“Yeah, he’s been talking about it nonstop,” Garreth said, oblivious to her change in tone. “You're gonna come by, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, forcing her smile back into place. “Maybe I will.”
Garreth grinned. “You better. I’ll tell Eddie you’re coming — maybe he’ll actually rehearse instead of just showing up with his guitar and vibes.”
Letty rolled her eyes, but her mind snagged on the words I’ll tell Eddie you’re coming. She was a bit curious as to why he didn't come out and say anything to her about the show.
She drummed her fingers against the counter and nodded toward the next kid approaching the register. “We’ll see,” she said lightly. “I’ll let you know.”
And just like that, the conversation folded back into the rhythm of the day — coins clinking, machines buzzing, laughter echoing off neon walls — but a quiet, unsettled hum sat beneath it all the same.
By the time the sun had slipped low enough to turn the glass front of the arcade into a mirror, the last of the kids had cleared out. The air inside had gone still, machines humming like sleeping monsters. Garreth had finally been able to make it through the busy line on his house phone to remind his mom to pick him up; she’d been eerily on time for when the arcade closed, but not when his shift ended. But she refused to hear Gareth, shouting about how his great-aunt is sitting on hold waiting for her to get back home; and despite his speed at making it out the backdoor, he was polite enough to yell a sorry over his shoulder.
So now Letty was stuck wiping down the counter after she finished counting down the register; the familiar rattle of Eddie’s van echoed through the parking lot. She flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and stepped out, locking the door behind her just as he leaned against the hood, all grin and slouch, cigarette in hand.
“You look like someone who’s done a full shift in hell,” he called, voice rough from smoke and laughter.
Letty huffed out a laugh, dragging a hand through her hair. “Close enough. Air conditioning’s been broken since noon, and Garreth’s been hogging Pac-Man like his life depends on it.”
Eddie offered her the clove cigarette, the scent warm and sweet. She took it, the ember flaring between them as she pulled a drag. “You guys ready for your show?”
He blinked. “Our what?”
She raised a brow. “Your show. Saturday? Garreth mentioned it—after, you know, he remembered to say something.”
Eddie froze mid-smirk, a sheepish grin creeping across his face. “Right. That show.”
“Uh-huh.” Letty passed the cigarette back, smirking. “Forgot to mention it to your number one fan, huh?”
Eddie barked out a laugh. “Number one fan? Pretty sure this’ll be your first show.”
“Exactly,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Which means I’m your newest and most impressionable audience member. You should’ve been campaigning.”
He shook his head, grinning. “Oh yeah? You gonna stand front row and scream my name?”
“Only if you don’t suck,” she shot back.
Eddie laughed again, the sound easy and unguarded as he flicked ash onto the asphalt. “Alright, fair. You’re coming, then?”
Letty shrugged, pretending to consider it. “Guess so. Someone’s gotta document the chaos. You know, for history.”
“Great,” Eddie said, tossing her a mock salute. “I’ll make sure the sound guy gives you front-row ear damage.”
She rolled her eyes, handing the cigarette back. “You’re a terrible salesman, you know that?”
“Yeah, but you’re still showing up,” he said with that easy, lopsided grin, and for once she didn’t have a comeback ready.
He swung the passenger door open for her with a mock bow. “C’mon, princess of the pixel kingdom. Let’s get you home before Hopper files a missing persons report.”
Letty snorted but climbed in, tucking her feet up as the van rumbled to life — and for the first time all day, she felt her shoulders drop, the noise in her head quieting under the hum of Eddie’s worn-out tape deck.
She leaned her head against the window, the glass still warm from the day. She watched the trees blur by the Hawkins skyline giving way to long stretches of field. For a while, neither of them said anything. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, though — more like the kind that settles in after a long exhale.
When she finally spoke, it came out lighter than she meant. “Why didn’t you tell me about the show?”
Eddie glanced over. “What, Saturday?”
“Yeah,” she said, turning her head to look at him. “You mentioned it to everyone but me, apparently.”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug, eyes on the road.
“Didn’t think you’d wanna come. Figured you had… you know, normal people plans.”
“Normal people plans,” she repeated, dryly.
“Like what, Eddie? Dinner with the president? The mayor’s ball?”
He huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head.
“You know what I mean. You’ve got your own world — the kids, Hopper, all that… normalcy. Corroded Coffin’s kind of the opposite of that.” Letty studied him, the way he kept his attention fixed on the road even when his voice softened around the edges.
“You could’ve just asked,” she said finally. “I would’ve said yes.”
That pulled his gaze off the road for half a second — a flicker of surprise, quickly masked with a small, crooked smile. “Yeah?”
“Would’ve been nice to be asked,” she said, quiet but sure.
Eddie’s knuckles flexed on the steering wheel. The tape hissed softly in the deck, an empty second before the next song kicked in. He didn’t speak right away — and when he finally did, his voice came low, threaded with something almost tender.
“Well then,” he said, clearing his throat a little, slipping easily back into that mock-theatrical lilt she knew too well. “In that case…”
He took one hand off the wheel and gestured grandly, like he was about to make a proclamation. “Lady Letty of Hawkins,” he began, eyes flicking between her and the road, “would you, in your infinite grace and free will, do me the unspeakable honor of attending our humble little Corroded Coffin show this Saturday night?”
Letty turned to look at him fully this time, unable to stop the smile that tugged at her mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Mm, yeah,” he said, a grin starting to break through, “but that’s not a no.”
She rolled her eyes, pretending to think it over, tapping her chin. “Guess I could make time in my royal schedule.”
Eddie shot her a sideways glance — bright, teasing, but warm underneath. “That a yes, your highness?”
“That’s a yes,” she said, finally letting the grin show.
He let out a satisfied hum, drumming his fingers against the wheel again. “Good. The realm of Hawkins will rejoice.”
“Or explode from secondhand embarrassment,” she shot back, laughing.
“Eh,” Eddie said with a shrug, “worth it if you’re there.”
That earned him a quick look — one she didn’t mean to linger, but it did anyway. Something in the way he said it, so easy and sincere, without the smirk that usually followed, made her pulse hitch just slightly. The song on the tape picked up, loud and messy and alive. And for a while, neither of them spoke, but the quiet between them felt like something whole — like they’d both said what they needed to.
He was turning down the wooded and dark path to the cabin as the song wound down, the van humming soft beneath them as the parking lot lights flickered overhead. Letty twirled the half-burned clove between her fingers, the faint smell of pine clinging to the air.
Eddie drummed out the last few beats against the wheel before glancing over, his grin dimming into something smaller, more careful.
“Hey—uh. Just so you know,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck, “it’s not that I didn’t want you to come before.”
She tilted her head, curious. “Yeah?”
“Nah, I mean—” he huffed out a laugh, nervous and a little self-deprecating. “You know how it gets at those shows. Loud. Crowded. People all over the place. I just…” He shrugged, fingers tapping against the steering wheel again. “Didn’t wanna put you in a spot, y’know? The last thing I wanted was for you to feel like you had to deal with all that just ‘cause you wanna support me and the guys.”
Letty’s lips curved into a small, warm smile. “That’s really sweet, Eddie.”
He let out a relieved laugh, eyes lighting up. “Glad you think so. I mean it, though. I’m happy you wanna come. I just… didn’t want it to be a hassle for you.”
“Then it’s settled,” she said, leaning back, her fingers tapping lightly against the seat. “I’ll be there.”
Eddie’s grin returned, slow and wide, eyes crinkling at the corners. “In that case, I’ll swing by and pick you up. Six sound good? Gives us time to run you through stuff, you'll have to help set up though. Very glamorous stuff.”
Letty laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll dress the part, then.”
He chuckled, nodding at her with mock approval. “That’s what I like to hear.”
When he finally dropped her off and she promised she’d be waiting out front on Saturday, she gave him a smile — dazzling, warm, and effortless.
It hit him like sunlight through the windshield, bright and unexpected, and for a moment his chest felt lighter, a little fuzzy with that unfamiliar warmth. Something was starting, something small and quiet, and he knew it was far too soon to name it, far too soon to even think about it. But it made him feel… good. Really, really good.
Letty perched on the edge of the bathroom counter, a breath away from the mirror as she drew her eyeline in thin lines before filling them in, her PJ shorts riding up slightly as she shifted.
“Im gonna be honest, it sounds like a rundown bar with underage drinking.” she said, blowing a loose strand from her face, “But Eddie and Gareth and two other guys in the band are gonna be there. They’re safe, D&D nerds that know the kids. I can call the house phone as soon as I get there if it makes you feel better.” Hopper leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.
“And you’ve got the address, the numbers, everyone knows where you’ll be?”
She pointed in the direction of the kitchen, knowing at some point he’ll end up at the fridge and see the sticky note with the address and everything else he was going to ask for.
“Yep. Mr. Munson knows, Gareth’s mom knows, you have the numbers—everyone’s covered. I’m not running off into the dark, Hop.” Hopper’s eyes softened slightly, though his brows were still furrowed.
“You sure you’re ready for this? Not just the show—everything. The crowd, the… stress.”
Letty paused for a second, dropping her hand from her eyeline to properly look at Hopper.
“I'm worried If i dont try now, i’ll never try. Besides, if it gets too much, I’ll hide in the van or something.” She smirked, trying to keep the tension out of her voice.
“Its not 4th of July local Hawkins extravagance, but it's not Woodstock either. I want to support them and I wanna start doing things. Tonight its them, maybe next time its a real party or something. Idunno.” He gave a slow nod, letting her words sink in.
“Alright. That’s… smart. And responsible. I like it. I just want you safe, Letts. Make good choices tonight.”
She scoffed, grinning now, a little edge of defiance showing. “Good thing I don’t like beer, so that won’t be a problem.”
He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible.” He paused, softening his tone. “But I get it. Just… watch yourself, alright?”
“Always,” she said, with a quick flash of her signature sass, then turned back to her mirror to finish getting ready, feeling both grounded and a little braver for the conversation. He turned to go into the kitchen, rounding the corner of the fridge and she could see him paused for a moment before he huffed about her ‘absurdly loopy handwriting’.
She pushed off the bathroom counter and spun once, still in her PJs, hair half-dried and wild. “Alright—so if I get too fucked up,” she said, voice light but testing, “can I just crash at Eddie’s? I mean—seriously, no drama. I’ll be quiet. I’ll—uh—be a good groupie.”
Hopper snorted from the kitchen, folding his arms.
“You expect me to endorse you passing out at some punk’s van because you ‘supported the band’?” Letty gave him a mock-offended look.
“It’s not like that, Dad. I’m saying—plan B. In case the world implodes.”
He walked over, palms up in that exasperated way he had, but there was a softness in his eyes she couldn’t fake away.
“You’re eighteen. You don’t need my permission to be an idiot, but I’d prefer my idiot not get assaulted by beer or bad decisions. You call me, you call Joyce, you call someone who can come fetch you.” She tipped her head, trying to keep the tone breezy.
“So that’s a no on sleeping in the van?”
“No.” Hopper’s mouth twitched into something close to a smile
. “And if that kid Munson tries anything, I’ll eat him alive.” Letty’s laugh popped out, bright and incredulous.
“You? Eat him alive? Please. You’d choke on his leather jacket.” Hopper’s face went mock-sober.
“Don’t be cute. I’ll just—scare him with paperwork and a badge. Works every time.”
She stepped forward and hugged him quick, impulsive. He stiffened for a second—then returned it, one huge arm folding around her shoulder like he could keep her from crumbling.
“Just be smart,” he muttered into her hair.
“I will,” she said, and it was mostly true. She pulled back to meet his eyes.
“Just—don’t give me a heart attack before forty, kid.”
Letty was secretly glad Hopper had left on time, leaving her to meet Eddie without the tension of worrying about timing or logistics. The thrumming in her veins reminded her of the last time her mom had dragged her to a club up north at sixteen—she’d been left to her own devices, taken care of by a crew of punks who had made the chaos feel like home. That sense of freedom had stuck with her.
Eddie’s van pulled up, honking twice. Letty emerged in black bell bottoms slung low, an oversized, distressed Black Sabbath T draped off one shoulder. Her hair was a messy tangle with a braid perched atop her head, teased enough to look effortless. She slid into the passenger seat, tossing him a grin. “I was going to wear heels, but if you’re making me lift gear, steel-toes seemed safer.”
Eddie leaned back, one arm casually draped over the wheel, a cocky grin playing on his lips. “Steel-toes? Smart. You look…perfect. Totally metal, totally rockstar-ready.”
Letty raised a brow. “Perfect. All I need is a leopard-print jacket and I’m official band groupie material.”
He chuckled, eyes tracking her like he was trying not to miss a single detail. “Yea?”
Letty let a small smile slip, the warmth in his gaze threading through her nerves. It wasn’t over-the-top flirting—it was teasing, sure, a little showy, but there was a sincerity beneath it she could feel.
She leaned back, smirking, “Careful, don’t let that ego get us killed before we even hit the venue.”
Eddie laughed, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Well…maybe a little.”
The van roared to life and pulled into the night. In the quiet stretches of the drive, Eddie stole glances, confident, teasing, and just a touch reverent in the way he looked at her. Letty felt the smallest spark—like the first pulse before realizing something was shifting between them, but too new and delicate to name just yet.
The van rolled to a stop just as Gareth’s station wagon pulled up. The other two band members, Jeff and Grant, tumbled out with a base and guitar slung over their shoulders, laughing and arguing over who’d get saddled with doing the basic sound check.
“Hey, you must be Letty,” Grant called, grinning as he came around the back of the van. “Eddie’s told us all about you.”
Letty smiled, offering her hand to each of them. “I feel…left out, being the only one without a matching shirt.”
Eddie’s grin widened. “I have an extra,” he said, leaning back into the drivers seat and fishing in the glove box. “But fair warning—it’s probably a size too small for you.”
Letty waved him off, taking the outstretched shirt before sliding into the drivers seat, closing the door behind her and shifting to have her back facing the window. “Your ribcage cant be that tiny.” she said, tugging her shirt over her head and dropping it in the passengers seat as she tugged on the band-tee. Huffing slightly as she adjusted it and pursing her lips at the fit of it before she turned and exited.
The guys were already opening the back, hauling cases of amps and pedals onto the asphalt, but Eddie couldn’t keep his eyes off Letty for more than a moment. The shirt was a little too tight, the corroded coffin logo stretched just enough across her chest to make his breath hitch. The hem cropped right under her bust, exposing the tiny silver glint of her bellybutton ring.
“God,” he murmured, almost to himself, before he cleared his throat. “Uh…that shirt…yeah. Totally fits the vibe. You look…awesome.”
Letty turned, raising an eyebrow at him. “Awesome, huh? Not, like…distracting or anything?” she teased, a smirk tugging at her lips.
Eddie coughed, laughter spilling out before he could stop it. “Distracting? Nah. Just…fitting. Totally rockstar-ready, if that makes sense.”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “Good. Then we’re all set.”
As the two of them moved toward the van to help with the gear, there was a brief pause where Eddie’s eyes flicked to her again. Not in a leering way—he wouldn’t—but with that quiet, almost awed attention that comes when you notice someone differently for the first time. Letty caught it for a heartbeat and grinned, feeling that subtle spark, that moment where teasing and admiration folded neatly into something unspoken between them.
The back door creaked open on a wave of noise and cigarette haze. Letty stepped through with an armful of tangled cords, the bartender giving her a quick, sympathetic nod as she passed.
“Crowd’s light now,” he said, drying a glass with a towel. “They’ll start showing up proper in an hour or so.” Letty managed a smile.
“Great,” she muttered, half to herself. “Perfect amount of time to trip over something important.”
“Not if you listen to me,” Jeff said from the stage, grinning as she appeared beside him. He and Grant had already started setting up amps, winding cables like it was second nature.
“Okay, new recruit—black cables go to the guitars, red ones to the speakers, and don’t mix ‘em unless you want to make Gareth cry.”
“I’d rather not be responsible for that,” she said dryly, kneeling to untangle the cords. “You guys ever label these things?”
“That’s what the colors are for,” Grant said over his shoulder, tightening a mic stand. “That and pure instinct.”
Letty rolled her eyes but followed their instructions, looping the cords neatly around the base of the stage. By the time she made it over to Gareth’s kit, he was crouched on the floor adjusting a snare.
“Okay,” she said, hands on her knees. “How do you even tell the difference between these things? They all sound like noise.”
“Noise?” Gareth shot her a mock-offended look. “That’s art, sweetheart. Pure, percussive art.” She blew a raspberry at him, and he grinned.
“Talent, Letty,” he added, tapping his temple. “Comes from in here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, handing him a cable. “I’ll remember that when my eardrums explode.”
By the time the last amp was plugged in and the stage looked remotely organized, the air in the bar had changed. The low hum of conversation had turned into a steady thrum, boots scuffing across the sticky floor as more people filed in—leather jackets, band tees, mutton chops, and denim vests as far as she could see.
Letty stood at the edge of the stage, brushing her hands against her jeans, taking it all in. The lights were dim, the smell of beer and smoke heavy in the air, and the growing buzz of anticipation made something flutter in her chest. Eddie was at the mic stand, testing the levels, his voice low and easy. He caught her eye across the stage and flashed her a grin that made her feel, just for a second, like she belonged exactly where she was.
She slipped off the edge of the stage once everything was in place, weaving through the crowd toward the bar. The room was starting to hum now—low conversation layered over the clink of bottles, the occasional burst of laughter.
“Hey,” Gareth called, jogging up beside her before she got too far. He pressed something small and foam into her palm. “Here—earplugs. Should help with the noise once we start.”
Letty blinked down at them, then up at him. “You guys carry these around just in case?”
“Nah,” he said, grinning. “That time at the arcade, I remember you were overwhelmed. Eddie also told the bartender to keep an eye out too—he’ll let you out back if it gets to be too much.”
Her first instinct was embarrassment, that familiar heat rising in her chest. But it didn’t last long—because under it was something softer, steadier. The fact that they’d thought of her at all, that Eddie had thought of her, made the edges of everything feel less sharp.
“Thanks,” she said, meaning it.
Gareth gave her a quick salute before jogging back toward the stage, drumsticks tapping rhythmically against his thigh.
Letty made her way to the bar, sliding onto one of the stools. The bartender looked up from pouring a drink, grinning when she ordered a virgin dirty Shirley.
“Virgin, huh?” he teased. “I can make it worth your while—first shot’s on the house.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Tempting, but I should probably remember the whole night, right?”
“Suit yourself,” he said, good-natured. “You want a cherry on top?”
“Make it two.”
He slid the glass across the counter, and she lifted it, letting the fizz tickle her nose before taking a sip. The sweetness was almost cloying, but comforting in its own way. From where she sat, she could see the stage—Eddie hunched over his guitar, Grant fiddling with the amp, Jeff adjusting the mic. The sound check thumped through the floorboards, steady and alive.
Letty tucked the earplugs into her pocket, just in case, and smiled to herself. Maybe it was the drink, maybe the dim lights, or maybe it was just the fact that for once, she didn’t feel like she was on the outside looking in.
For once, she just felt—safe.
The bars lights dimmed to a low amber hum, and a ripple of noise passed through the bar — whistles, the clang of bottles, someone pounding their fist on a table like a war drum.
Eddie took the stage like he belonged there. His hair caught the light, haloed in copper and smoke, guitar slung low and heavy against his hip. He said something into the mic — something about how they were “Corroded Coffin, here to ruin your hearing and your night,” — and the crowd cheered like they’d been waiting all week to be ruined.
Then Gareth’s sticks hit the kit, sharp and fast, and everything else disappeared.
It wasn’t like the music Letty usually listened to — none of the moody, haunted melodies of her post-punk favorites, none of the quiet ache that had always felt like home.
This was loud.
Alive.
It rolled through the room like a storm, bass snarling beneath her ribs, guitars grinding against each other in perfect, deliberate chaos. The lyrics — whatever Eddie was growling into the mic — were a mess of dark poetry and sin-slick suggestion, something about devils and girls with bitten lips and wanting what burns. It should’ve been ridiculous. But it wasn’t.
Because Eddie believed it.
Every note, every flick of his hair, every flash of his grin felt real.
Letty found herself smiling around her straw, pulse ticking along with the kick drum. Her foot started bouncing before she realized it. She could feel the weight of the crowd moving closer to the stage — a living, breathing thing — and even from her spot at the bar she felt it, the draw of it.
If she wasn’t so nervous, she probably would’ve joined them.
If her hands weren’t still trembling faintly around her glass, she might’ve been shoulder-to-shoulder with everyone else, shouting back the lyrics she didn’t know yet.
But this — sitting here, earplugs still tucked in her pocket, Gareth’s kindness in her hand, the sound of Eddie’s voice splitting through the speakers — this was enough.
It felt good.
It felt alive.
The next song hit heavier — bass snarling through the floorboards, guitars snarled and wild. The crowd responded instantly, pressing closer to the stage, a mess of leather and hair and beer foam.
Letty stayed by the bar, sipping her drink and letting the sound roll over her. It wasn’t what she usually listened to — too sharp, too alive — but there was something infectious in it. The kind of energy that crawled under her skin and made her want to move.
Someone brushed past her shoulder, laughter too close, and the swell of bodies made the air feel thick, humid with noise and breath. Her chest started to tighten, not panic exactly, just that too-familiar press of the world closing in.
She slipped her hand into her pocket, pulled out the earplugs Gareth had given her, and pushed them in.
The noise dropped instantly, the room muffled and soft around the edges. Her lungs loosened. The bass was still there, vibrating through the soles of her boots, but the edges weren’t so sharp anymore.
Eddie’s voice carried through anyway — rich and raw, curling around the melody like smoke. Even through the dampened sound, she could hear the shape of it, the way he threw himself into every word.
She couldn’t stop watching him.
He was all motion and sweat and light, hair whipping as he leaned into the mic, eyes half-lidded and hungry. Every now and then, his gaze found her — a flash across the room, fleeting but pointed — and she felt it every time. Like a pulse under her skin.
Something low in her stomach stirred, and for a moment she couldn’t tell if it was nerves or something else entirely.
That feeling — the warm, fluttery ache of it — was dangerous.
It reminded her of before.
Of how it had felt the first time she caught herself liking someone too much — when it was Steve, and she’d ignored that little voice that warned her not to.
Her breath caught, sharp and soft at once.
She forced her eyes away from Eddie, down to her drink, but her heart was already beating too fast. She pressed her palms to the bar’s edge, grounding herself, the wood cool and sticky under her skin; counting her breaths the way Marnie had taught her.
One. Two. Three.
In. Out.
If you fall, you wont get up. If you fall, you wont get up.
When she could finally pull in a steady breath, she slipped off the stool, muttering a quiet “excuse me” to no one in particular as she made for the back door.
Outside, the night air hit her like a blessing. Cool, quiet, real.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out there. Long enough for the music to fade between songs — or maybe they’d taken a break, she didn’t know. The cool metal of the van was solid against her back, grounding her while she took a long drag of her third cigarette. Smoke curled up into the night, catching the faint glow of the parking lot lights.
She was halfway through exhaling when the back door to the bar slammed open, and Eddie spilled out like a storm breaking — wild-eyed, flushed, a grin splitting his face. He was all sweat and motion, shirt clinging to his chest, the smell of stale beer and weed clinging to him like a badge of honor.
“Thought I’d find you out here,” he panted, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “How’re you holding up, sweetheart?”
Letty laughed, the sound soft and tired in her own throat. “You should be asking yourself that,” she shot back, flicking ash toward the gravel. “You look like you wrestled a thunderstorm and lost.”
Eddie laughed, breathless and bright. “Occupational hazard.”
She tilted her head, smile tugging slow across her lips. “You were amazing in there, Eddie. Like, actually amazing. I wasn’t kidding when I said you’d make a perfect vampire bard.”
His laugh caught, low and rough, and he rubbed the back of his neck — the same way he always did when he wasn’t sure what to do with a compliment. “Pretty sure vampires don’t sweat this much, sweetheart.”
“Maybe not,” she teased, “but you’ve definitely got the voice down.”
Something in the air shifted then — quieter than the noise from the bar, but heavier too. He looked at her a moment longer than he needed to, the grin fading into something small and uncertain.
Letty looked away first, pretending to study the glowing tip of her cigarette. Her stomach still fluttered, the aftertaste of the music and his voice lingering in her chest like a hum she couldn’t shake. Eddie pressed into the van next to her, back hitting the van with a dull thunk. His breath was still coming hard from the set, the echo of the music clinging to him. For a while, neither of them spoke. The low thrum of bass leaked through the bar’s back door, muffled but steady.
Letty offered him the cigarette, the ember burning low, and he took it with a small grin.
“You always sneak out for air mid-show?”
“Only when the air inside feels like soup,” she said, smiling faintly. “And when I can’t feel my ears.”
He let out a low hum, exhaling smoke toward the dark. “Fair point.”
For a moment, all that existed was the rasp of their shared breathing and the soft hiss of the cigarette being passed back and forth. The easy rhythm of it was grounding.
Eddie shifted, one boot heel scuffing the gravel as he leaned a little closer. His voice dropped, softer now. “Didn’t think you’d actually come out tonight.”
Letty snorted, the sound light. “You say that like I don’t keep my promises.”
“Guess I just thought you’d find a better way to spend your Saturday than watching me scream my lungs out in a dive bar.”
She turned her head then, catching the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Munson.” Something in that made him laugh, quiet and warm. His hand had been resting between them on the van, fingers idly tapping against the metal — until it didn’t. He shifted again, almost absently, his knuckles brushing the hem of her shirt before he hooked a single finger through her belt loop.
It wasn’t much — not even a full pull — just enough for her to feel it, that small tether between them. Her breath caught, a quick stutter she tried to hide with another drag of the cigarette.
Neither of them mentioned it.
Letty didn’t lean away, and Eddie didn’t move his hand. The air between them felt charged, fragile in the best way — like one wrong word might shatter it.
“You were good,” she said finally, voice soft but steady. “Really good. You make it look easy.”
Eddie smiled, but it was quieter this time.
“It’s easier when someone like you’s in the crowd.” Letty’s mouth curved, a slow, knowing thing, but she didn’t look at him.
“Careful, Munson,” she murmured. “You’re flirting.” He grinned, the corner of his mouth tipping up as he took the cigarette back.
“Yeah,” he said after a beat, smoke curling from his lips, “guess I am.”
Chapter 13: Debonaire yet Doubtful
Notes:
lol 2 posts in one day.
sorry
Chapter Text
The only reason Steve found himself idling in the Palace Arcade parking lot was to wait for Dustin to exit the front door. He kept the engine running, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, trying not to look toward the building. The sight of the neon lights and the faint hum of arcade machines sent a weird chill down his spine—memories from the last time he’d been here hitting him in full force.
School-year hours had shifted the arcade’s schedule, closing by seven, much like Family Video, so Dustin should have already been waiting. But the younger boy’s absence left Steve half on edge, half exasperated.
He was halfway out of the car when Dustin appeared, slipping out of the backdoor. He was talking to Letty, who shook her head and waved him off. Dustin stomped his foot, frustration clear, before Letty stuck her tongue out and shut the metal door behind her.
Steve straightened, leaning on the driver’s side door as Dustin approached, eyebrows furrowed.
“Letty’s stuck closing, and I told her you’d drive her home so she doesn’t have to wait for Hopper. But she’s… being a girl about it.”
Steve cocked a brow, confused.
“Being a girl about it… what does that mean, exactly?”
Dustin rolled his eyes, impatient.
“It means she’s pretending it’s no big deal but she’s annoyed and stubborn, duh. She’s got at least another hour till Hopper’s off, and she’s not allowed to walk home alone.”
Steve exhaled slowly, shifting his weight. Part of him wanted to duck out, pretend the timing wasn’t right—after the Family Video argument, he wasn’t sure how much ground he had with Letty. But another, louder part of him realized he cared. They were still friends, even if strained, and that was worth showing up for.
With a small shake of his head, he strode toward the back door and knocked, lightly but deliberately.
The door creaked open. Letty peeked out, expecting to see Dustin, and opened her mouth to deliver her usual sarcastic greeting. Her words died in her throat when she saw him instead.
Steve forced a small, awkward smile.
“Hey.”
Letty’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing her face before she masked it with her usual guarded expression.
“Oh… hi,” she said flatly, stepping aside to let him in.
Steve followed her inside, closing the door softly behind him. The arcade smelled of warm electronics and soda, familiar and oddly grounding. He shifted, suddenly aware of how much he wanted to get this right, to tread carefully and remind her—without saying it outright—that he still cared.
Even if we’re just friends, he reminded himself. We can start there.
The back room of the arcade smelled faintly of oil and old carpet, lit by the muted glow of a single overhead bulb. Letty leaned against the counter, arms crossed, gaze flicking to the floor as Steve lingered near the doorway. She could hear Dustin in the car outside, tapping at something on the dashboard, blissfully unaware of the tension hanging in the room.
“I’m fine,” she said, voice clipped, brushing at a loose strand of hair. “I don’t need a ride or anything. Hopper’s not far off, and I can wait. Really.”
Steve’s eyes softened, but he didn’t move closer, giving her the space she clearly wanted. “Yeah, I know. But… still. Doesn’t matter what happened last time or how weird it got. You’re my friend, Letty. Always will be. And I’ll always care.”
Letty’s lips pressed together, a brief smile tugging at one corner before she flattened it back down. She wanted to say he didn’t need to make it sound like that, but she couldn’t stop the little twist of warmth that settled in her chest. Always care… she thought. That was something to hold onto.
“Thanks,” she murmured, shrugging a little. “I’ll manage. It’s not a big deal.”
Steve nodded, hands in his pockets, careful not to crowd her. “I get that. I’m not trying to… push anything. Just letting you know.”
Letty tilted her head, eyes glancing at him for the briefest moment before dropping back to the scuffed counter. “I just don’t wanna put you in a bind, ya know?”
Steve shook his head, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t offer if it was too much. I can drop you off first instead of Dustin. No problem.”
But Letty waved him off, shaking her head. “Nah. Dustin should go home first. Don’t want his mom getting on him.”
She stepped back toward the door, gesturing him toward the exit. “I’ll be there in five,” she said, then paused, her eyes softening just a little. “And… thanks. I appreciate it.”
Steve nodded, lingering for a beat before giving her a small wave and heading toward the car, leaving Letty to gather herself and her thoughts in the quiet hum of the back room.
Steve leaned against the hood of the car, arms crossed, as Dustin perched on the edge of the passenger seat, smirking like he had a secret only he knew. “Man, I swear there’s some kind of weird romance vibe happening tonight,” Dustin said, nudging Steve with an elbow.
Steve waved him off, face tight with mild irritation. “Dustin. Cool it. Everyone’s just friends. Nothing romantic. Got it?”
Dustin raised a brow. “Uh-huh. Friends. Right. Totally platonic. Sure.” He wiggled his eyebrows, clearly not buying it. “You know, I’ve got a sixth sense for these things. Smells like… chemistry to me.”
Steve groaned and rubbed his face, muttering, “Chemistry my foot. Just… cool it, alright?”
Before Dustin could fire back another sarcastic jab, the back door of the arcade slammed. Both of them turned to see Letty stepping out, hair slightly mussed, scanning the lot before her gaze landed on the car.
She grabbed the rear door handle as she approached.
“Passenger seat,” Dustin called out, leaning forward with that smirk still in place.
Letty waved him off, sliding the door open and slipping into the back. “I’m fine back here,” she said lightly, not meeting either of their eyes and trying to ignore the heat creeping up her neck .
Steve shot Dustin a pointed look. Dustin just shrugged, smirking, clearly pleased with the moment. Letty adjusted herself in the seat, kicking one foot against the floor, and let the air settle—more out of not knowing what to say than trying to make a statement.
The car rumbled to life, Steve easing out of the lot while Dustin leaned back, grinning like he’d just uncovered a secret.
“You know,” he said, voice low, casual, “it’s kind of… nice. You two, riding around together like this.”
Letty blinked, glancing at Steve in the mirror, then immediately turning back to the street. “Nice?” she repeated, a little warily.
Steve cleared his throat. “Dustin.”
“Relax,” Dustin said, holding up his hands. “I’m just saying—it’s… nice. You know, seeing you both chill, talking.”
“Talking is the key word here,” Steve said firmly, eyes still on the road. “We’re friends. Just friends.”
Letty let out a quiet laugh, curling her hands in her lap. “Friends. Right,” she echoed softly, letting the word land.
Dustin smirked, leaning slightly forward. “Sure, sure. Friends who happen to drive each other around, maybe share a laugh… maybe.” He trailed off, giving Steve a pointed glance that wasn’t too obvious.
Steve’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “We’re figuring stuff out,” he said carefully. “That’s it.”
Letty exhaled, feeling the tension ease a bit. She was glad Steve was taking it seriously, keeping the boundary she’d set, but the quiet attention in his gaze made her chest flutter—familiar, warm, just enough to make her thoughts stutter.
Dustin hummed, settling back into the seat. “Mm. Figuring stuff out. Sounds serious.” He didn’t push further, letting the silence fill the space, only occasionally muttering small, teasing observations that kept it playful.
The car rolled on, summer air warm through the open windows.
Steve pulled up in front of Dustin’s house first, the headlights casting long shadows across the driveway. Dustin fidgeted in his seat, clearly trying to think of something clever to say before bolting inside.
“Hey,” Dustin said, leaning over toward Letty, “don’t think this is going unnoticed. You two are kinda… you know.”
Letty rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Dustin. Go on, get inside before I give your mom a reason to ground you.”
Dustin laughed, hopping out of the car and running up the porch steps. “Fine, fine! But don’t think I’m letting this slide!” he called over his shoulder, waving wildly.
Steve shook his head, a small grin breaking through as he watched the kid disappear into the house. “Somebody’s got a lot of opinions.”
Letty leaned back in her seat, letting out a small exhale. “He does...” Steve laughed softly, glancing at her.
She kept her gaze fixed out the window, watching the streetlights flicker as they passed, pretending she was more interested in the cracks in the pavement than in the man sitting up front.
Steve glanced at her through the rearview mirror, catching the briefest glimpse of her profile. He exhaled slowly, trying to settle the tension that had been building since the arcade.
“So,” he began, his voice casual, “how was closing tonight? Busy?”
Letty shrugged, still staring out the window. “Yeah, the usual. Nothing I can’t handle.”
He tried again, softer this time, “You sure you don’t want to talk about… you know, everything?”
She tensed slightly, fingers gripping the edge of the seat. “Steve, I—” she paused, exhaling a small, shaky breath. “I don’t have the bandwidth for that right now. I just… I’m fine. Really.”
Steve’s grip on the wheel tightened imperceptibly. “Right. I get it. I just… I want you to know we’re still friends. Whatever happened, I’m not backing off. I still care, and I think it’s important you know that.”
Letty’s shoulders shifted, just slightly, as if relaxing a fraction. She pressed her lips together, nostrils flaring a little in barely contained irritation, but also something else—something softer. “Fine,” she muttered, a little sharply, “I get it.”
He nodded, keeping his focus on the road, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips. “Good. And hey—consider this babysitting, if it makes you feel better.”
A quiet laugh escaped her, the corners of her mouth lifting just enough. “Yeah,” she murmured, still avoiding his eyes. “Babysitting. Got it.”
The car hummed along the quiet streets, the silence stretching comfortably between them, punctuated only by the faint buzz of the heater and the rhythmic passing of streetlights. Both were aware of the tension lingering, but for now, it was enough to just drive together, side by side, in their complicated little orbit.
“So… your car still trouble?”
Letty shrugged, resting her head against the window.
“Its in the shop; Billy is working on it and Eddie gives me rides sometimes.”
Steve’s knuckles tightened slightly on the wheel. “Oh.” That single word carried more weight than he intended. He cleared his throat, trying to mask the flicker of something sharp in his chest. “Right. Makes sense.”
“Yeah,” Letty said, her tone casual, almost too casual. “They’re just helping before school starts. Nothing to make a big deal about.”
But Steve’s mind wasn’t having it. The way she said it—so nonchalant, so… normal—hit a nerve he wasn’t expecting. The idea of her spending time with Eddie and Billy, laughing, moving on, even a little, made his stomach twist. It wasn’t jealousy exactly; he told himself it wasn’t. It was the reminder that she existed in a space outside him now, even as he tried to stay in her orbit.
Letty, oblivious to the storm she’d triggered, stretched her arms over her head and let out a soft sigh. “ Gotta get my act together, you know?”
Steve’s jaw tightened. “Yeah… school,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, trying to push down the mix of frustration and something warmer he didn’t want to admit.
The car rolled on, the hum of the engine filling the silence, both of them lost in thoughts that weren’t quite ready to meet.
Steve’s eyes flicked to the back seat, narrowing just a little.
“So… you hang out with them a lot?” Letty tilted her head, letting a small smirk curl her lips.
“Not really. I mean, no more than you hang out with Robin, probably.”
Steve’s mouth twitched, unsure if that was reassurance or salt. “Right… okay.”
She chuckled softly, shaking her head, eyes glancing out the window.
“Billy isn’t a girlfriend, so it’s not like we’re going shopping or anything.” She laughed a little more, the sound light but teasing, and then added, almost under her breath, “Though Eddie probably would if I asked him.”
Steve’s grip on the wheel tightened imperceptibly, the words catching in his chest. There was a warmth there, a pang of something he couldn’t quite name, and the quiet acknowledgment that she had options—friends, maybe more—made him realize just how much he wanted to be more than that.
Letty caught his glance in the mirror and smiled softly, unaware of the swirl of emotions she’d just stirred.
“Anyway,” she said, letting her voice drop back into casual, “it’s just rides to work. Nothing dramatic.” Steve exhaled slowly, trying to keep the tension from showing.
“Yeah… nothing dramatic,” he echoed, though inside, his thoughts were anything but.
Steve kept his eyes on the road but let his tone soften, almost casual.
“Hey… if you ever need a ride back-to-school shopping or whatever, I can take you. No big deal.” Letty’s head tipped back against the seat, a laugh slipping out despite herself.
“Oh, wow. That’s… feels like I’m taking Robin’s spot, doesn’t it?” Her smile was teasing but genuine, a little nervous under the surface.
“Robin’s fine,” Steve said, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “But I… I mean, I just thought I’d offer. You know, boundaries and all, but still being a friend kind of thing.”
Letty considered it, glancing out the window before shrugging.
“I’ll… think about it. But you’d probably have to ferry Max and El along too, right? That’s a lot of estrogen in one car.”
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah… that’s a lot. But hey, nothing I can’t handle.” He stole a quick glance at her in the rearview mirror, eyes catching hers for a fleeting moment, then back to the road.
She offered him a small, earnest smile in return, her shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks, Steve. I appreciate it.”
The air between them hummed softly—not quite flirtation, not quite tension, just the quiet acknowledgment that they were navigating something delicate together.
Letty slid her seatbelt loose and pushed open the door when Steve pulled to a stop before the cabin; the cool night air brushing her face. She gave him a small wave before turning toward the stairs, her steps light and purposeful.
Steve watched her go, the headlights catching the edges of her hair, the curve of her smile lingering in his mind longer than it should. A small warmth settled in his chest—a mix of gentle excitement and something sharper, something that reminded him just how much he cared. He exhaled slowly, forcing the thought down before it had a chance to twist into longing.
“Still got it,” he murmured quietly to himself, the words almost lost in the hum of the car and settling like a stone in his stomach.
The mall was loud with end-of-summer chaos—fluorescent lights buzzing, kids darting between stores, the air thick with sugar and perfume from the pretzel stand.
Max and El had already sprinted ahead, their laughter echoing down the hall as they disappeared into the nearest clothing store.
“Think they’re gonna buy the whole place?” Hopper muttered, adjusting his belt like the noise itself offended him.
Letty snorted, tearing a piece off her pretzel. “You’re just mad everything in there’s neon. The eighties are too colorful for you, old man.”
“Old man?” Hopper grumbled. “You eat one pretzel and suddenly you’re George Carlin.”
“Better me than you.” She grinned around another bite, half-chewing, half-teasing.
They stopped near a storefront display, Letty’s attention snagged on a row of leather jackets—shiny, impractical, and entirely her. She was mid-debate over whether the universe would forgive her for spending half her paycheck when her gaze flicked across the reflection in the glass.
Steve and Nancy.
Both stepping out of the record store, arms full of bags, laughing at something she couldn’t hear.
Her stomach dipped before she could stop it. She straightened, turning a little too quickly.
Hopper followed her line of sight, brow quirking. “Huh. Harrington and Wheeler, huh? They back together or somethin’?”
Letty rolled her eyes, pretending to study the mall map like her pulse wasn’t doing that stupid rabbit thing. “Wouldn’t know.”
He shot her a sideways look. “Didn’t you and Steve have… a thing?”
She tore off another bite of pretzel, voice light but edged. “We had a friendship. Big difference.”
“Right,” Hopper said slowly, clearly not buying it. “Just seems like you two were—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” she warned, half a laugh covering the sharpness in her tone.
Before he could push further, a familiar voice called out—“Hey, Hop!”—and both of them turned as Steve and Nancy approached.
“Hey, kids,” Hopper said easily, slipping right into his sheriff-small-talk mode. “How’s your folks? Work treating you okay?”
Nancy smiled politely, saying something about the paper. Steve chimed in about Family Video, his eyes flicking briefly—too briefly—toward Letty.
She met his gaze for half a heartbeat, offered the smallest nod, and went back to pretending her pretzel was the most fascinating thing in Hawkins. Hopper, oblivious to the undercurrent, grinned between them.
“Guess we’ll let you two get back to your… whatever this is. Shopping spree?”
“Something like that,” Steve said with a laugh, still trying not to look at Letty.
She caught his reflection in the shop window again, that same flicker of familiarity tugging somewhere deep in her chest. But she just smiled tightly, stuffed the last bit of pretzel in her mouth, and turned toward the girls’ store.
“C’mon, old man,” she said lightly, not looking back. “You promised me a pretzel and some peace and quiet. You’re already halfway to breaking one of those.”
Inside the store, the air was a mix of perfume and bubblegum pop music, El and Max darting between racks of jeans and graphic tees. Hopper trailed behind them, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, while Letty lingered by a display of sunglasses, pretending to care about the shapes on the rack.
“Y’know,” Hopper said finally, voice low enough that only she could hear, “you got real quiet back there.” Letty blinked, slipping the sunglasses back onto the stand.
“Yeah? Maybe I just ran out of things to say.” He gave her a look — the kind that said he’d been around too many teenagers to buy that.
“You were a little… standoffish.” She exhaled slowly, shoulders lifting in a half-shrug.
“Nancy and Jonathan are kind of a thing now,” she said, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “So seeing her and Steve together like that just…” She trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “It’s confusing, I guess. For everyone.”
Hopper furrowed his brow. “Wait—if Nancy’s with Byers, then what the hell is Steve doing out shopping with her?” Letty turned to him then, one brow arching, voice calm but edged with something that sounded a little too knowing.
“Exactly.” He tilted his head, studying her.
“So that’s why you and Harrington are just friends, huh?”
“Bingo,” she said, the word dry and final. Hopper grunted, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Kid’s got a way of making things complicated, huh?”
Letty smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah,” she murmured, watching Max hold up a loud striped shirt to El. “That’s one way to put it.”
For a moment, Hopper thought about pressing — about saying something reassuring or dad-like — but the look on Letty’s face stopped him. She wasn’t broken up, exactly. Just tired. Figuring it out in her own quiet way.
“Alright,” he said finally, patting her shoulder. “I’ll go make sure those two don’t spend my entire paycheck.”
“Good plan,” she said, her tone lighter now. “Maybe grab yourself a pair of those neon shorts while you’re at it. You’d look great.”
He groaned as he walked off, muttering something about teenagers and their goddamn sense of humor, while Letty turned back to the rack of sunglasses — the reflection of her faint, wry smile glinting in the glass.
Letty slipped out of the store with a small nod toward Hopper. He caught her motion — her subtle tilt of the head toward the monochrome boutique across the hall — and gave her an approving wave, his “don’t go too far” face softened by the fact that El was currently convincing Max she needed a bedazzled denim jacket.
Letty grinned faintly before turning away, weaving through the flow of shoppers. The hum of conversation and the pop of fluorescent lights filled the air. She stepped into the quieter boutique, the music softer here, the smell of new leather and perfume replacing pretzels and floor wax.
Her fingers drifted through the racks — black skirts, silver zippers, plaid pleats — all of them her style and none of them at a price she liked. She squinted at a tag, made a face, and muttered, “Yeah, no, not 30 bucks for fabric that barely covers my thighs.”
When she glanced up again, movement through the store window caught her eye — a familiar mop of curls, the slouch of his denim jacket.
Eddie.
Her stomach flipped before her brain caught up. “Eddie?” she called, half-raising her hand.
But her voice got lost in the mall noise, and he didn’t hear. She hovered in the doorway for a second, anxiety tapping against her ribs — all those people rushing by, voices bouncing off tile. Still, she forced a breath and stepped out, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Eddie!”
This time, he turned, eyes lighting up when he saw her.
“Well, if it isn’t the Princess of Dead Cars,” he teased, weaving through the crowd until he stood in front of her, a grin pulling at his mouth.
“What’re you doin’ here? Slummin’ it with the normies?” Letty rolled her eyes, trying not to smile.
“I could ask you the same thing. I thought you'd disintegrated if you went somewhere with fluorescent lighting.”
He snorted. “Funny. Gareth needed new strings, and I got conned into carrying his crap while he shops for plaid he doesn’t need.”
She laughed, the tension melting a little. “Sounds about right.”
He tilted his head, trying to play it casual even as his pulse skipped. The oversized black tee, the plaid skirt, the way her eyeliner framed her eyes — she looked like she’d stepped straight out of a record sleeve, all wild edges and warmth. Her ponytail swayed as she laughed, and for a moment, Eddie forgot what air was supposed to do in his lungs.
“You look like trouble,” he murmured, smiling despite himself. “The good kind.”
Letty smirked. “You say that to every girl you meet in the mall?”
“Nah,” Eddie said, mock-solemn. “Just the ones who call me out when I deserve it.”
She snorted softly, glancing past him toward where Hopper stood in the other store. “I should probably let Hop know I’m ditching him before he sends mall security after me.”
Eddie grinned, following her back toward the girls’ store. Hopper noticed them before she even reached the doorway, his brows rising as he took in Eddie’s band tee, rings, and general greaser-meets-metal energy.
“Munson,” Hopper said, the word halfway between a greeting and a question.
“Sir,” Eddie replied, doing a small salute that was equal parts genuine and joking. “Just escorting Letty here through the dangers of capitalism.”
Hopper snorted, crossing his arms. “You in one of those danger zones yourself? Heard you played a show the other night.”
Eddie brightened immediately. “Yeah, man! It went amazing. Crowd was wild. Didn’t even throw anything this time.”
“High praise,” Hopper said dryly, then looked at Letty. “You sure you’re good?”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “We’re just gonna walk around a bit.”
He studied her for a moment longer before sighing. “Fine. Meet in the food court in an hour.”
Eddie grinned, already starting to walk backward. “Don’t worry, Chief — I’ll have her there on time.”
Hopper grunted something that sounded suspiciously like “not funny,” but Letty caught the twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth as she followed Eddie down the hall.
The mall was loud — music bleeding from store to store, kids laughing, heels clicking on tile. Letty stayed close to the storefronts, shoulder brushing glass, keeping out of the current of people. Whenever a crowd surged past, she’d pause mid-sentence, eyes flicking to the floor until it thinned again.
Eddie noticed.
Not the way people notice something off, but the way he noticed good guitar work — a quiet, deliberate rhythm.
She always angled herself toward the walls, like instinct. Her fingers flexed at her side every few beats, grounding herself without realizing it.
He slowed his pace to match hers, brushing close enough that his hand grazed her hip once, light and fleeting — the kind of touch that could’ve been accidental but wasn’t.
Letty looked up at him through her lashes, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “You do that on purpose?”
Eddie grinned. “What, walk? Yeah, most people do.”
She rolled her eyes, laughter soft. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Only on good days.”
They drifted past a record store, incense curling through the doorway. The display window was stacked with album covers — The Cure, Siouxsie, Black Sabbath. Letty slowed, gaze softening on one.
Eddie followed her line of sight. “You’d like that one.”
Her lips twitched. “You think I don’t already own it?”
He pressed a hand to his chest. “Of course you do. My mistake. Should’ve known you’re operating on a higher musical plane.”
“Finally, someone gets it.”
“Oh, I get it,” he said. “You walk in here, and the mall collectively lowers its coolness average just to compensate.”
Letty laughed, head tipping back, the sound bright against the chaos. “Please. You’re the one who looks like he crawled out of a mosh pit.”
“Hey,” Eddie said, mock-offended. “This look took years of dedication and emotional damage to perfect.”
“That so?”
“Absolutely. I had to fail algebra twice to get this level of authenticity.”
Her laughter softened into something smaller, sweeter. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling down at her. “But I make it work.”
They kept walking. Their hands brushed again — once, twice — neither of them pulling away.
“Guess we’re a good match then,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Eddie blinked, heartbeat hitching. A match. The words settled somewhere deep, sticky.
He shoved his hands into his pockets before he could do something stupid, like reach for her again. “Guess we are,” he said lightly, hoping she couldn’t hear how true it sounded.
She smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late,” he said, grin crooked as ever. “You’re in there rent-free.”
Her laugh followed them down the hall — soft, unguarded — and Eddie thought, for the first time, that maybe the noise of the mall wasn’t so bad after all.
She was mid-laugh when Steve saw her.
He and Nancy had just stepped out of the bookstore, the hum of the air conditioning spilling into the hall. She was talking — something about a new article in The Post, the way the media was shifting — words tumbling easily as she flipped through the pages of a paperback. Her voice was calm, practiced. Familiar.
Steve smiled when he was supposed to, nodded when she looked at him, but the noise of the mall blurred behind her — until something, someone, cut through it.
Letty.
She was threading her way along the edge of the walkway, a hand brushing hair from her face. Even from a distance, he recognized the careful rhythm of her steps — how she kept close to the storefronts, staying out of the tide of people. He’d walked beside her like that once, shoulder to shoulder, murmuring jokes to keep her steady.
He almost called out. Or maybe he just thought about it. But then—
Eddie Munson.
He appeared beside her, falling into pace like they’d done it a hundred times. His hand hovered near her hip — not quite touching, just there — an easy, protective pull without asking for attention. She looked up at him, smiling bright, laughter soft and sudden.
Steve’s chest tightened before he even realized he’d stopped walking.
Nancy kept talking, flipping through the paperback, the edge of her voice blending with the crowd. Steve barely heard her. He couldn’t look away — from the tilt of Letty’s head, the way she leaned toward Eddie when she laughed, the comfort of it.
That smile — he used to be the reason for that smile.
He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling slow. Nancy was still talking, holding up the book now, waiting for a response he hadn’t heard the question for.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Coffee sounds good.”
She nodded, satisfied, and started walking toward the food court.
He followed, glancing once more over his shoulder — just in time to see Letty disappear into the crowd, her laugh floating faintly above the din before it was gone.
The arcade wasn’t nearly as packed as it used to be.
The summer rush had burned itself out, leaving behind the faint smell of popcorn oil and ozone. Jillybeans was still roped off with caution tape across the door— probably wouldn’t open again until next spring.
The kids that did wander in clustered around Galaga and Donkey Kong, their voices low and buzzing, excitement simmering under the talk of new teachers, lockers, and who’d be sitting where come Monday.
Letty leaned against the counter, the faint clatter of coins echoing as she emptied out one of the change boxes. She counted absently, thumb pressing each quarter into neat stacks of ten before sliding them into the plastic sleeves Keith insisted on using. The fluorescent light above her flickered twice, making the colors of the carpet ripple.
Keith had already tried to corner her earlier in the week, waving a half-crumpled schedule in her face.
“Could use you full-time till things pick up again?” he’d said, grinning like he was doing her a favor.
She’d smiled politely, all teeth and patience. “Can’t. School starts next week. I told you I’m taking two weeks to get back into the swing of things. You have to the end of today.”
He’d sighed like she’d just refused to donate a kidney. “Fine. Saturdays and Sundays then?”
“Saturday evenings, Sunday mornings,” she’d said. “Swapped with Gareth. He’s got band.”
Now she was standing there, knee pressed to the cabinet under the counter, half-counting, half-daydreaming. Her hair was down, loose strands curling against the middle of her back, and she was muttering under her breath.
“Honestly, what’s the point of tokens if quarters work just as well?” she huffed, shaking one of the sleeves. “It’s not like the machines care about branding.”
She set the coins down with a small clink and reached for the next stack—only to realize she wasn’t alone anymore.
When she looked up, Steve Harrington was leaning against the counter, hands in his jacket pockets, watching her with a faint, crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Letty blinked, caught between surprise and something else that twisted low in her stomach. “Jesus, Steve—” she exhaled, pressing a hand to her chest. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”
He lifted his palms, laughing under his breath. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
She arched a brow, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Kinda hard to miss that hair, Harrington.”
“Guess I’m losing my touch.”
He tilted his head toward the coin stacks. “You always talk to the tokens, or do they just bring out the best in you?”
Letty smirked. “They’re better listeners than most people.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he said, his smile softening as he watched her tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “End of summer, school starting, you ready?”
Letty shrugged, eyes dropping to the counter again. “As ready as I can be, excited but worried.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, voice low. “I get that.”
He didn’t say what he was really thinking—that he’d been finding excuses to drive past the arcade all week. That he wasn’t sure if seeing her made things better or worse.
Letty slid another stack of quarters into a sleeve, tapping the edge twice to even it out. “You here for Dustin? Or just reliving your glory days?”
Steve laughed, the sound small but genuine. “Bit of both, maybe.”
Her eyes flicked up, and for a second, their gazes met. Just long enough for both of them to remember that the air between them used to feel easier.
The sound of the pinball machine clanging filled the silence between for a moment.
“So… you get whatever you were looking for at the mall?”
Letty blinked, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Nah. Left empty-handed.” She brushed a thumb over one of the coin stacks. “Not necessarily a bad thing, though. Thrifting’s cheaper, and it’s not like I’m working next week anyway.”
He smiled faintly. “Yeah, Dustin mentioned you’re taking a break. Guess that means Keith’s having a meltdown.”
“Probably.” She shrugged. “He’ll live. I told him school comes first.”
“Right,” Steve said, nodding. “That’s smart.”
The quiet stretched — the hum of the machines, a pinball clatter in the background — until he spoke again, softer this time. “So, uh… you and Eddie seem close lately.”
Letty didn’t look up. “We’re friends.”
“Just friends?”
That made her pause. She set the coin roll down and finally met his eyes. “Why’s it sound like a test?”
Steve exhaled, slow. “It’s not. I just… didn’t think you two were spending time together, that’s all.”
Her expression stayed calm, but there was a tightness to her voice. “You didn’t think, or you didn’t want to think about it?”
He blinked, caught off guard. “That’s not—come on, Letty. I’m not saying you can’t see him.”
“You kind of are,” she said quietly. “And that’s not fair.”
Steve’s jaw worked. “You’re the one who pulled back, not me. Remember?”
Letty huffed out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “You know good and well why I did that, Steve. Don’t twist it around now just because it’s easier to make me the problem.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, the words stalling somewhere between guilt and pride. “I’m not trying to be mean,” he said finally, voice low. “I just—”
“You just what?” she asked, softer but sharper now. “Don’t like the idea of me moving on from something you already walked away from?”
That hit harder than either of them meant it to. The silence that followed buzzed faintly under the arcade lights, all hum and static and unsaid things.
Steve looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t walk away.”
The words hung there — heavy, final — before she went back to stacking coins, slow and deliberate.
“You did,” she said quietly. “You just didn’t notice when you did it.”
Steve didn’t move for a moment. He just breathed, eyes fixed on the counter like the words had nailed him there. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low. “You’re right.”
Letty snorted softly. “That easy, huh?”
He gave a small, tired laugh. “Not even close. I just—get it now, I think. What you meant. Back then.”
She tilted her head, wary. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Steve looked up, meeting her eyes. “It wasn’t about Nancy, not really. It was about me. How I made you feel like a backup plan while I was still trying to figure my own shit out.”
Her mouth twitched, part of her wanting to say thank you and part of her wanting to laugh at how late it was. “You sure it’s not just easier to see it now?”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “Took seeing you with Eddie to make it click. Not because I’m jealous—”
She raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”
“I’m serious,” he said, quiet but certain. “It’s not that. It’s just… he looks at you like he knows you. Like he’s already listening. And it made me realize I didn’t. Not the way I should’ve.”
That landed somewhere in her chest — warm, uncomfortable, true.
“Well,” she said softly, “you do now.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, almost smiling. “Maybe I do.”
For a second, they just stood there — the hum of the machines behind them, the smell of dust and static filling the silence that echoed with the exiting of the other patrons. Then Steve’s voice dropped again, barely above a whisper.
“But I don’t think it’s gone. Whatever this is.”
Letty froze. “What?”
He met her gaze, steady this time. “I think it’s still there. You feel it too, right?”
Her heart lurched, the words catching her somewhere she didn’t want to be touched. She stared at him, really stared — and then, softly, with that same quiet bite she’d always had, she said:
“Don’t do that, Steve.”
“Do what?”
“Be mean,” she said. “That’s what this is. It’s not fair.”
He blinked, thrown. “I’m not trying to be mean, Letts.”
“Yeah, you are,” she said, her voice gentler now but still cutting through the air.
“You don’t get to say things like that — not after everything. You don’t get to stir it all up again just because you’re finally starting to see it.”
“I’m not—” he started, but stopped, realizing she wasn’t wrong. He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
She sighed, looking down at the stack of coins between them.
“You didn’t mean it, but you said it anyway. That’s the problem.”
He hesitated, then nodded, voice quiet. “Yeah. Guess it is.”
Letty exhaled slowly, some of the sharpness softening around the edges. “I just… I don’t wanna fight with you, Steve. I really don’t.”
“Then we won’t,” he said. “Promise.”
Something in his tone — careful, a little raw — made her look up again. His hand was still on the counter, close enough that their fingers almost touched.
“I didn’t come here to make it worse,” he said. “I just wanted to see you. Make sure you’re okay.”
“I am,” she said softly, though neither of them believed it all the way.
He smiled, small and sad. “Good.”
They stood there like that for a few seconds — not fighting, not fixing, just feeling it. Then the coin machine beeped, pulling them both back.
Letty turned to it, breaking the moment, her voice steadier when she spoke again. “You should go. It’s getting late and I gotta close up.”
Steve nodded, pushing off the counter, but before he turned to leave, he said quietly, “ I’m still around.”
Letty didn’t look at him. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I know.”
He lingered a second longer — enough to catch her reflection in the machine light — then headed for the door, leaving the scent of rain and static in his wake.
When it clicked shut, she finally exhaled, pressing her palms flat to the counter to steady herself. The air still buzzed from what he’d said, the ache of it sitting stubbornly in her chest.
Not fair. But not gone, either.
The door chimed when Steve stepped out, the late-summer air thick and warm. The parking lot buzzed under the dying light — insects, the hum of power lines, the faint click of arcade machines leaking through the glass.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to shake the leftover static of what he and Letty hadn’t said. His heart was still beating too fast for how quiet the world suddenly felt.
Then he saw him.
Eddie Munson — leaning against the side of his van, one boot crossed over the other, cigarette pinched between his fingers, hair haloed gold in the streetlight. He wasn’t doing anything dramatic. Just waiting. The kind of waiting that said this isn’t new.
Steve’s steps slowed.
Eddie caught his movement, squinting through the haze before his grin appeared — quick, easy, the kind that didn’t cost him anything. “Harrington,” he said, smoke curling out on the exhale. “Long time no see.”
Steve managed a small nod. “Munson.”
Eddie flicked his cigarette into the cracked pavement, crushing it under his boot. “Didnt take you for a game junkie.”
“Just talking to Letty,” Steve said, tone light, practiced.
“Ah.” Eddie’s grin softened, one brow quirking. “She mentioned you sometimes swing by.”
That landed somewhere between them — not a jab, not quite. Just a statement, simple and unbothered, but it hit like a spark.
Steve forced a half-smile. “Yeah. Checking in.”
“Cool of you,” Eddie said, and he meant it. But his hands shoved deeper into his jacket pockets all the same.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward — it was thick, slow, the kind that pulls at your ribs.
The door behind them opened again, the faint jingle slicing through it. Letty stepped out, locking it behind her with one hand, keys jingling. Her gaze darted between them — Steve by the curb, Eddie under the lamplight — and for a split second, she didn’t move.
Then she sighed, a soft, rueful thing. “You two gonna keep doing the cowboy-standoff thing or do I actually get to go home?”
Eddie chuckled, pushing off the van. “Wouldn’t dream of keeping a lady waiting.”
Steve smiled, small but genuine this time. “Guess that’s my cue.”
Letty hesitated, stepping toward them, trying not to notice how the air crackled between the two men. “Thanks for stopping by, Steve. For… y’know.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Anytime.” His gaze flicked, uninvited, toward Eddie — the easy set of his shoulders, the way his hand brushed the van door open for her like it was second nature.
And because he couldn’t help himself, Steve said it — too soft to sound defensive, too pointed not to mean something. “If you ever need another ride, or help with anything, you know where to find me.”
Letty froze for half a heartbeat.
There it was — that line she’d told him not to cross.
Her eyes met his, something equal parts affection and exasperation sparking there.
“I’ll let you know,” she said, steady.
Eddie’s brow twitched upward, curiosity flickering for a moment — but if he picked up on the subtext, he didn’t let it show. Just grinned, light and unbothered, tossing the keys in his hand.
“Ready, Princess?”
Letty gave Steve one last small nod, then climbed into the passenger seat.
Steve stood there long enough to watch the taillights fade — red bleeding into the dark — before he exhaled and turned back toward his car.
He told himself he wasn’t jealous. Just thoughtful. Just… realizing he wasn’t the only one standing in the orbit of someone who burned a little too bright.
But as he started the engine and the radio kicked on, all he could hear was her voice, soft and certain — that’s not fair.
And maybe, for the first time, he believed her.
Eddie started the engine, the dashboard lights flickering to life in shades of orange and green.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The parking lot lights bled across the windshield, painting the interior gold. Letty leaned her elbow against the door, head tipped toward the window.
Eddie glanced over once, then again. “You okay?”
She blinked, pulling herself out of wherever her head had gone. “Yeah. Just tired.”
He nodded, like that was the whole story. “Long day?”
“You could say that.”
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel — a soft rhythm, easy and aimless. “Well, good news is, I happen to be an expert in curing long days. Step one: drive aimlessly. Step two: crank the tunes.”
Letty’s lips twitched, the smallest ghost of a smile. “That so?”
“Step three,” he said, grinning, “pretend none of the idiots in Hawkins exist.”
That got her to laugh — quiet but real, the sound she always tried to hide when she didn’t want to admit she was amused. Eddie caught it, smiled wider, but didn’t push.
The van rolled out of the lot, headlights cutting through the dark stretch of road ahead.
She looked out the window, fingers brushing the edge of her skirt, and said softly, almost to herself, “You ever feel like everyone’s on a different page than you?”
Eddie snorted. “All the time. I’m probably not even in the same book.”
That earned him another laugh, this one a little steadier.
“Good,” she said quietly. “Means I’m not crazy.”
Eddie glanced at her, eyes soft under the streetlight glow. “No, sweetheart. You’re just human.”
She smiled at that — small, tired, honest — and leaned her head against the window. The hum of the van filled the silence, warm and steady.
He didn’t ask again. He didn’t need to. He just drove, tapping out a beat on the wheel, pretending he didn’t notice the way she kept watching the road like she was trying to catch her breath.
Chapter 14: Everything smells like sunscreen and regret.
Notes:
bro round about feelings are so ughhhhhhh but i love it when they arent mine
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first Monday of senior year started heavy.
Too bright, too loud, too much.
By the time the buses cleared the loop, Hawkins High was already a riot of voices and movement—backpacks slamming lockers, perfume and floor wax and the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Max and El had been chattering beside her all morning, nerves disguised as energy, their laughter bouncing off the hallway tile.
Letty tried to match their rhythm, smile when they did, nod in the right places. It almost worked.
Until it didn’t.
Her first class had been fine—if she ignored the way her pulse wouldn’t slow. By second period, her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling when she tried to write. By third, her lungs were pulling tight in that awful, invisible way, like someone had taken a rubber band to her ribs. She’d spent both passing periods locked in a bathroom stall, palms pressed flat to her knees, counting her breaths.
Four in.
Six out.
If you fall you wont get up. you'll be fine.
She wasn’t, but she could fake it well enough to pass.
So by lunch, the library was a mercy.
Ms. Ives had waved her in without question—just a smile and a “I knew I could count on you, kiddo.” She’d promised a letter of recommendation if Letty helped with shelving through the semester, something steady to tack onto her college applications later. It wasn’t much, but it was something to reach for.
Now, she was halfway up the rolling ladder, shelving dog-eared paperbacks while Max crouched on the floor re-stocking the bottom row, her Walkman hissing faintly under her breath. El sat cross-legged beside her, half-eaten sandwich in one hand, handing up books with the other.
Letty’s hand shook as she reached for the next one. She flexed her fingers against the spine, willing them steady before sliding it into place.
“Wasn’t that one already there?” El asked softly.
Letty blinked, double-checking. “Different edition,” she murmured. Her voice came out thin, breathy, like she’d just finished running.
Max tugged her headphones off her ears. “You sound like you’re dying. You okay up there?”
“Fine,” Letty said automatically, climbing down a rung too fast. The motion rattled the shelf, and she laughed under her breath. “Graceful as ever.”
El watched her for a moment too long, the kind of stare that felt like it could see through layers. “You’re shaking again,” she said quietly.
Letty froze. The words landed like déjà vu—same tone, same softness. She didn’t have to look down to know what El’s face looked like. She’d seen that look before, on the couch, nail polish bottle between her knees, El whispering the same thing like she was naming something fragile.
She forced a small laugh. “Ladders make me nervous. Occupational hazard.”
El didn’t answer. Just kept watching, her sandwich forgotten in her hand.
Letty climbed the last rung down, boots hitting the carpeted floor too hard. “Long morning,” she said finally. “First days are always rough.”
Max looked up from her shelf, brow furrowing. “Rough how?”
Letty hesitated, thumb brushing against the spine of the book she was holding. “Just… rough. You know how it is.”
She set the book down and pressed her palms against the counter, steadying the faint tremor in her fingers. “I’ll get used to it. Always do.”
El stood, brushing crumbs from her jeans. Her voice was soft but careful. “You sure?”
Letty looked at her then—really looked—and something in her chest tugged tight. There it was again, that same expression from weeks ago. The quiet plea sitting behind a steady gaze.
“I’m sure,” she lied, offering a tired half-smile. “Once I get back into a rhythm, it’ll even out. I just need to keep busy.”
El didn’t look convinced.
“You always say that,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Letty felt her breath stutter in her throat. For a second, she wanted to snap back—deflect, joke, something—but all that came out was a quiet, “Yeah. I guess I do.”
The silence stretched, broken only by the soft hum of the ceiling vent. Letty swallowed hard, forcing herself to move again—to grab another stack of books, to keep her hands busy.
The tremor didn’t stop, but at least she could pretend it wasn’t there.
“Eddie waved at you earlier. You didn’t wave back.”
Letty froze, halfway to the floor. “What?”
“Outside by the parking lot,” Max said. “He looked like he was gonna cross over, but you just—walked off.”
Letty’s stomach dipped. “Oh. I—” She shook her head, a humorless laugh slipping out. “I wasn’t ignoring him. I just… didn’t see straight, I guess.”
The truth was messier.
She’d seen him—the way his smile had cracked wide when he spotted her. But she’d already been blinking through tears she couldn’t explain, wiping them away fast, panic clawing too high in her chest to even breathe, let alone wave.
So she’d kept walking.
Head down, shoulders tight, pretending she hadn’t noticed.
Max and El exchanged a look—curious, but too kind to press.
Letty reached the floor, brushing her palms over her jeans to hide the tremor in them. “Anyway,” she said softly, “I’ll make it up to him later.”
She tried for a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach.
The machine on Ms. Ives’ desk beeped from across the room, breaking the quiet, and Letty let the sound anchor her. She took the next stack of books from El, the motion careful and deliberate, and started climbing again.
Each rung was something she could control.
Each breath a small win.
The bell split the quiet like a blade — shrill and final, bouncing off the high shelves and old wallpaper.
Max groaned, snapping her Walkman shut. “Saved by the bell,” she muttered, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. El gathered her lunch wrapper, giving Letty a small, pointed look that said I’m watching you even without words.
“Go on,” Letty said, waving them off with a half-smile. “If you’re late to class your teachers will put me on a watchlist.”
Max grinned, already halfway to the door. “As if you’re not already on one.”
“Only the cool kind,” Letty shot back.
Letty smiled after them, half-hearted but warm. When the door shut behind the girls, the room fell back into that familiar hush — the kind that hummed in her bones.
She took her time gathering the last stack of paperbacks, fingers trailing over the spines to make sure they were straight. It wasn’t really about the books; it was just easier to linger than face the noise waiting in the hall.
The silence didn’t last long.
“Didn’t think you’d settle into being a library wraith so quickly.”
Letty startled a little at the voice, turning to see Eddie leaning in the doorway, one shoulder braced against the frame, grin crooked but soft. His jacket hung loose, his hair a bit wild from the humidity, and there was that ever-present glint in his eyes — the kind that said he was teasing, but watching closely.
She blinked, caught off guard but trying not to show it. “Are you trying to get yourself banned from here? Ms. Ives doesn’t like noise pollution.”
Eddie smirked, stepping inside on quiet boots. “Lucky for me, I’m more of an ambient hum than a full disruption.”
Letty huffed, setting the last book on the shelf. “Pretty sure you’ve disrupted plenty today already.”
“Me?” He feigned offense. “I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You made Jason Carver flinch before first period.”
Eddie’s grin widened. “He tripped. I was just… present.”
That pulled a laugh from her — soft but real — before it faded back into quiet. She was facing the shelves again when Eddie’s tone shifted, low and careful.
“You okay?”
Her hand stilled on the spine of a book. “Yeah,” she said automatically.
He didn’t move closer, just stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the nearest table, voice steady but gentle. “You looked kinda… I dunno, shaken earlier. Like you were having a rough time.”
Letty exhaled through her nose, pressing her thumb into the seam of the shelf. “Yeah. It was just—” she hesitated, searching for the right word, “—loud. Crowded.”
Eddie nodded, not pushing. “Yeah. First days are a nightmare.”
“Understatement,” she said, voice wry but small.
The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy, just soft — the kind that sits between two people who don’t need to fill it. Eddie tapped his thumb against the edge of the table, studying her.
“Still,” he said after a beat, “you handled it.”
Letty gave a small shrug. “I survived it.”
“Same thing,” he said.
She looked at him then, really looked — the loose slouch, the warmth under all that swagger. Something about the steadiness in his tone made her chest unclench a little.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
“For what?”
“For not… asking more.”
Eddie smiled, slow and easy. “Figure you’ll tell me when you want to.”
Letty huffed a laugh, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “You think you’ve got me figured out already?”
He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Nah. But I’m getting there.”
The bell rang again, faintly distant this time — signaling the next class change. Letty grabbed her bag, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Guess that’s my cue to rejoin the chaos,” she said.
Eddie held the door for her, offering a small, mock bow. “Till next time, library wraith.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as she passed him.
“Try not to get detention before then, Munson.”
He grinned, following her gaze down the hall. “No promises.”
Eddie stayed in the doorway long after Letty disappeared down the hall.
The crowd swallowed her up almost immediately — a blur of backpacks and chatter and slamming lockers — and he caught the briefest flash of her braid before it vanished. The noise out there made his jaw twitch. It wasn’t that he minded chaos — hell, he thrived in it — but there was something about the way she moved through it that hit different.
He’d noticed it before.
At the bar.
At the show.
That first time she came by the trailer to check the amp.
Always the same rhythm — quiet, deliberate steps, eyes flicking toward the exits like she was cataloging every way out. He knew what it looked like when someone was hanging on by threads, pretending it was all fine.
He’d done his fair share of pretending too.
He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, chewing the inside of his cheek.
He didn’t buy her “I’m fine.” Not for a second.
The tremor in her hands had given her away, small but steady. The way her voice came out thin, breath catching between words. He’d seen that before too — in the guys who used to come watch the band and drink too fast, or in the mirror, back when his own nerves hadn’t quite learned how to sit still.
Still, he knew better than to push.
Letty Hopper wasn’t someone you cornered with questions. She was the kind of person who folded into herself when the world got too loud — who’d laugh just to keep from shaking, who’d apologize for needing air.
Eddie shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, eyes still fixed on the hallway where she’d vanished. He thought about how small she’d looked up on that ladder, half-hidden behind stacks of books, hands moving like she was trying to make sense of the world one title at a time.
He exhaled, slow and uneven.
Maybe she didn’t need someone to fix it.
Maybe she just needed someone to notice.
The thought lodged somewhere deep in his chest, heavy but warm. He tapped his thumb against the edge of his guitar pick in his pocket — a nervous habit — and muttered under his breath, a small grin breaking through.
“Guess I’ll just have to keep noticing, then.”
The bell rang again, louder this time, dragging him back into motion. Eddie pushed off the doorframe, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading for his next class..
By the time the last bell rang, the halls had emptied into a flood of chatter and sneakers. Letty trailed behind Max and El, the noise pressing around her like static. Her hands were buried deep in her pockets, nails digging crescents into her palms just to keep them from trembling.
Outside, the parking lot glared under the late-afternoon sun — cars lined crookedly, music spilling from open windows, laughter too sharp in her ears. And parked half-sideways near the curb, like he owned the pavement, was Billy’s Camaro.
Of course it was.
The paint gleamed like a mirror, throwing light across the asphalt, and Billy himself leaned against the hood — sleeves rolled, smoke curling from between his fingers, looking every bit the picture of bored rebellion.
Letty felt the ripple before she heard it — a soft hiss of whispers from a small cluster of girls near the fence.
“Is that Hargrove’s car?”
“He’s here for her?”
“Figures.”
She ignored them, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the Camaro. Max and El didn’t seem to notice, too busy arguing over whose class had more homework.
Billy lifted his chin as they approached. “Took you long enough,” he drawled, flicking the cigarette to the pavement. “Hop in. I’ve got thirty minutes before I gotta clock back in.”
Letty gave a faint, unimpressed hum. “You’re a real gentleman, you know that?”
“Only on Tuesdays,” he said, grinning.
El slid into the backseat first, then Max, their chatter already resuming. Letty circled to the passenger side, feeling every eye that followed her. She could hear the girls’ laughter from behind her — not cruel exactly, but sharp enough to sting.
Billy caught it too. His gaze flicked toward them, mouth curling in a smirk that was all warning and charm. The girls fell quiet fast.
He turned back to Letty just as she reached the door. “Here,” he said simply, taking the strap of her bag before she could protest.
She blinked. “Billy—”
“Relax, Hopper. I don’t bite.” He slung the bag over his shoulder, popped the door open, and handed it back once she was seated. “Besides, this heap’s low. Wouldn’t want you trippin’ in front of your fan club.”
Letty huffed, cheeks warm as she settled into the seat, clutching the bag in her lap. “You’re a menace.”
He shut the door with a lazy grin, circling back to the driver’s side.
Eddie had just stepped out of the school doors when he spotted them — Letty climbing into the Camaro, Billy Hargrove flicking his keys with that trademark smirk. Eddie froze mid-step, the scene catching him off guard.
He knew Billy — not well, but enough to know what kind of shadow followed him around town. Seeing Letty there, small and worn out from the day, made something twist low in his gut. Not jealousy, exactly. Just a prickle of protectiveness he didn’t know what to do with.
Billy revved the engine, loud enough to turn heads, and Eddie saw Letty flinch at the noise before she masked it — smoothing her hair, setting her jaw like she could pretend it hadn’t gotten to her.
The Camaro peeled out a second later, exhaust curling in the air, and the whispers that followed faded under the roar of its engine.
Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets, watching the car disappear down the road. He could still see the way she’d held her bag — tight against her stomach like a shield.
He exhaled, long and slow, muttering to himself, “Guess she’s got her ride covered.”
Still, as he turned toward the lot, he couldn’t shake the thought — that she looked like she was bracing for something long before she ever got in that car.
The shop was half-loud, half-lulled — the low thrum of country radio buried under the sound of an impact wrench and the whine of a belt sander. Oil slicks gleamed dark on the concrete. A fan rattled somewhere in the corner, doing a poor job of fighting the late-summer heat.
Eddie had a socket wrench in hand, crouched beside a half-stripped Yamaha. He’d been at it for an hour, sleeves pushed to his elbows, grease smudged high on his cheek. Across the bay, Billy was elbow-deep in a cherry-red Nova, cigarette dangling from his mouth, head bobbing faintly to whatever song was playing.
Wayne was in the office, probably working through the stack of invoices he always swore he’d get to “after lunch.”
The quiet between them was easy — until Eddie cleared his throat.
“So… you and Letty?”
Billy’s head lifted, just a fraction. He studied Eddie for a long beat before the corner of his mouth twitched. “Relax,” he said finally, voice low and rough from smoke. “She’s not with me. Never was.”
He reached for the rag on the fender, wiping his hands as he talked. “But she could do worse than you.”
Eddie blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Billy chuckled, the sound short and knowing. He turned toward the sink, running his hands under the tap. “Means if you like her, grow a pair and do something about it before Harrington gets his head outta his ass.”
Eddie’s jaw tightened at that. “Didn’t realize he was still in the running.”
“Oh, he’s not.” Billy shut off the water, glancing back at him over his shoulder. “But she hasn’t figured that out yet.”
He dried his hands, snatched his keys off the bench, and let his smirk soften just a touch. “You wanna win a girl like that, Munson, you don’t wait for the timing to be perfect. You just show up and mean it.”
Then, almost as an afterthought: “Now quit moonin’ and get that Yamaha done before Wayne starts breathin’ down both our necks.”
The bay door rattled shut behind him, leaving Eddie in the hum of the fan and the thick smell of oil and asphalt.
He leaned back on his heels, staring at the bike without really seeing it. Billy’s words rang louder than the radio.
She’s not with me. Never was.
Eddie dragged a hand through his hair, fingers leaving a dark streak across his temple. A quiet laugh slipped out, half disbelief, half nerves. He was still crouched beside the bike when the bay door groaned open again. Billy leaned halfway back in, one hand braced on the frame, his silhouette washed gold by the sun outside.
“Oh, and Munson,” he called, cigarette tucked behind his ear now.
Eddie glanced up. “Yeah?”
“Chevy is good to go,” Billy said. “Dead battery. I changed it out, along with the tires and some basic maintenance."
Eddie nodded slowly. “Right? I’ll make a note.”
Billy smirked. “You can do better than that. Swing by Hopper’s or wherever she’s hidin’ and tell her yourself.”
Eddie hesitated, wrench still in his hand. “You want me to tell her?”
Billy shrugged, already stepping back into the sun. “Mightve said timing didn't have to be perfect, but it's as good a time as any.” The door clanged shut again, leaving Eddie staring after him, the smell of motor oil and cigarette smoke lingering in the air.
He looked down at his grease-streaked hands, then toward the Yamaha he’d been pretending to work on. The wrench slipped from his fingers, clattering softly against the concrete.
His heart was already beating a little too fast.
The gravel crunched under the van’s tires as Eddie eased it to a stop in front of the cabin. The porch light threw a pale ring across the yard, catching the edge of the overgrown grass and the empty spot where Hopper’s cruiser usually sat.
Not too late to be here. But not exactly early, either.
He sat for a second, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the front door. It wasn’t nerves, exactly — just that slow, uncertain buzz that hit when he didn’t know what kind of version of her he was walking into.
After a moment, he sighed, killed the engine, and climbed out. The night air was heavy with crickets, warm in the way late summer nights always were.
He hesitated at the porch steps, then knocked.
Once.
Twice.
There was a pause, a faint shuffle inside, and then a muffled, “One second!”
Eddie rocked back on his heels, gaze flicking to the tree line. Somewhere in the woods, a cicada whirred.
The door cracked open a few inches, then swung wider.
Letty stood there — eyes rimmed red, face flushed, her hair bundled up in a towel that looked one size too big for her head. The faint, clean scent of roses and lavender drifted out with the heat of the house. She was dressed in a loose black pajama tank and shorts, soft cotton clinging to damp skin. Bright pink socks peeked out from beneath her — the only cheerful color in the room.
For a beat, Eddie forgot how to talk.
“Hey,” she said finally, voice small but steady. “Uh… everything okay?”
Eddie blinked, snapping back into himself. “Yeah — yeah, uh. Sorry to drop by. Billy just wanted me to tell you your car’s done.” He held up the paper slip he’d folded into his back pocket, like proof of purpose. “Battery’s swapped, tires too. Should run smooth now.”
Letty’s gaze flicked down to the slip, then back to him. “You came all the way out here to tell me that?”
“Yeah,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck. “Guess I could’ve called, but… didn’t have the number. And, uh—” He gestured vaguely at the van. “Figured it’s on my way home anyway.”
It wasn’t. She knew that
Letty’s expression softened just enough to show she wasn’t buying it, but wasn’t going to call him out either. She stepped back, opening the door wider. “You wanna come in for a sec? It’s too damn hot out there.”
Eddie hesitated only a moment before stepping inside.
The living room smelled like clean linen and faintly like candle wax. A record player sat open on the counter, a half-empty cup of coffee on the table beside it.
“You, uh…” Eddie started, then stopped, unsure how to phrase it. “Better?”
Letty huffed a small laugh through her nose, sitting on the arm of the couch. “You could say that. Just…Brain stuff.”
He nodded slowly. “You looked kinda spaced earlier, at the library.”
She grimaced. “Sorry, i know it looks like im screwing stuff up.”
The words hung there for a second — small, honest, too bare for either of them to pretend they didn’t hear.
Eddie shifted, stepping closer, his voice quieter now. “For what it’s worth… you don’t look like someone screwin’ anything up.”
Letty let out a soft breath — almost a laugh, almost a sigh. “You should see me when I’m not holding it together.”
Eddie’s smile was gentle, crooked. “Maybe. But I like this version just fine.”
That earned him a look — startled, but not unwelcome. Letty’s fingers twisted in the hem of her tank top, eyes darting briefly toward the floor before meeting his again.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The hum of the fan filled the silence, low and steady, the kind of background noise that made a heartbeat sound too loud.
Eddie rubbed at the back of his neck again, fighting the urge to fill the space. “Guess I should, uh, let you get back to whatever—”
“Showering and panicking?” she said dryly, and when he looked up, there was a flicker of humor behind her eyes again.
He grinned, small but real. “Yeah, that.”
“Guess I’m done with both now.” Her voice softened a little, losing the bite. “Thanks for coming by. Really.”
Eddie nodded, but he didn’t move toward the door just yet. “Anytime.” His gaze flicked to the record player, the cup on the table. “You want me to grab your keys tomorrow? Drive the Chevy up front for you?”
Letty tilted her head, brow furrowing just slightly. “You don’t have to do that. I can walk.”
“I know,” he said. “Doesn’t mean you should.”
Her lips twitched, that near-smile again, equal parts amused and shy. “You always this stubborn?”
“Only when it counts.”
She looked at him then — really looked — the kind of quiet study that stretched too long to be casual. And whatever she saw there made her exhale, slow and steady, like she’d been holding her breath for days.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Tomorrow, then.”
Eddie nodded, backing toward the door. “Tomorrow.”
He stepped out into the warm night, the porch light throwing shadows across the van. When he looked back, she was still standing in the doorway — towel slipping a little, pink socks bright against the dark wood.
She gave a small wave, barely a flicker of her fingers. He returned it, then climbed into the van, the engine rumbling to life beneath him.
Driving down the road, he caught the faint scent of her still clinging to his sleeve — roses and lavender and something warm underneath.
He grinned to himself, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Tomorrow.”
The cafeteria was already loud by the time Eddie found his usual spot at the corner table, half a PB&J and his campaign notebook spread in front of him. The hum of a hundred conversations buzzed overhead, mixing with the sharp clatter of trays and the squeak of sneakers on tile.
He had just started sketching out an encounter when a familiar scent — something floral and a little sharp — cut through the cafeteria noise.
“Hey, Munson.”
He looked up, and there she was.
Letty.
Her hair was down today — black waves spilling past her shoulders, catching the light every time she moved. The overall dress stopped just above her knees, fishnets tracing her legs, mary-janes shining clean. Her makeup was its usual smoky precision, a quiet battle cry that told him she was doing better today.
She leaned forward across his notebook, bracing one hand on the table, the other tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The smile she gave him was easy, practiced — but real.
“Hey,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “You look— uh—” He coughed into his hand, trying to sound casual. “Like a new spell level unlocked.”
Letty laughed softly, eyes crinkling. “You’re such a dork.”
“And yet you keep talking to me.”
“Maybe I like dorks.”
That made his grin stretch, all teeth and trouble.
She glanced at his notebook, then back up. “Anyway — Hopper’s picking up the girls after school. Figured I’d catch a ride with you to the shop, if that’s not a problem.”
Eddie blinked, trying not to sound too eager. “A problem? No way. I mean, yeah, sure. Totally fine. You can even pick the music, as long as it’s not Wham!”
“Tempting,” she said, straightening up with a soft laugh. “Thanks, Munson.”
He shrugged, pretending to write something down even though his brain had short-circuited. “Anytime, Library Wraith.”
Letty snorted, already walking backward toward the door. “You know I’m stealing that one, right?”
He lifted his hand in a mock salute. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
As she turned away, the cafeteria light caught the edge of her hair, and Eddie thought, yeah, I’m screwed.
By the time she reached the doors, Dustin, Mike, and Will were making their way toward the table, trays in hand.
“Was that Letty?” Mike asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah,” Gareth said around a mouthful of chips. “Library Wraith herself.”
“Library Wraith?” Dustin echoed.
“Long story,” Eddie muttered, still watching her weave through the crowd.
Dustin dropped his tray onto the table, squinting at him. “Okay, what was that?”
Eddie blinked. “What was what?”
“That,” Dustin said, gesturing wildly between Eddie and the now-empty cafeteria doorway. “You were flirting with Charlotte!”
Eddie frowned. “Who the hell is Charlotte?”
“Letty!” Dustin said, exasperated. “You were totally flirting with Letty!”
Gareth snorted. “Yeah, and she was flirting back. Good for him.”
Dustin whipped around. “No, not good for him! Steve’s into her.”
Will groaned, stabbing at his mashed potatoes. “Oh my god, not this again.”
“I’m serious!” Dustin insisted. “He dropped me off the other day, and they were totally vibing. Laughing, smiling — you know, that Harrington thing.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “You can’t just call dibs on behalf of Steve.”
“I’m not calling dibs,” Dustin said indignantly. “I’m calling honor among bros. Eddie needs to back off.”
Eddie arched a brow. “Honor among bros? You realize I’m not in the Steve Harrington Fan Club, right?”
“That’s not the point!” Dustin said, throwing up his hands. “They’ve got history.”
Will sighed, voice low but firm. “They’re not together, Dustin. Let it go.”
Dustin pointed his spoon at Eddie. “Fine, but if this turns into a love triangle and the party implodes, I’m blaming you.”
Eddie grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Trust me, Henderson — I don’t play for keeps unless the other player’s rolling the same dice.”
Mike groaned. “Gross.”
Will buried his face in his hands. “I hate high school.”
Gareth just laughed, smacking Eddie on the shoulder. “Library Wraith, huh? You’re doomed, man.”
Eddie smiled, still watching the doors she’d disappeared through. “Yeah,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Kinda feels like it.”
The final bell rang like a mercy.
Letty shouldered her bag, weaving through the flood of bodies pouring into the hall. She caught sight of the familiar van parked crooked at the far end of the lot — the only one painted matte black and covered in fading band stickers — and felt her shoulders ease just a little.
Eddie was leaned against the hood, picking at a hangnail, hair a mess from the humidity. When he saw her, his mouth kicked into that easy, crooked grin — the one that always looked like he couldn’t help it.
“You survived another day in the American education system,” he said as she approached. “Miracles happen.”
“Barely,” she said, tugging open the passenger door. “My brain’s already threatening a walkout.”
He laughed, climbing in after her. The van’s interior was cluttered but familiar — notebooks, cables, a battered lunchbox that might’ve been metal once. The engine coughed to life, then settled into its usual low growl.
They sat in comfortable quiet for a while, windows down, wind tangling her hair as they pulled out of the parking lot.
It wasn’t until they hit the main road that Eddie spoke again — a little slower this time, like he’d been chewing on it since lunch.
“So… Henderson said something kind of… dumb today.”
Letty side-eyed him, brow lifting. “Isn’t that every day?”
He grinned, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “Fair, but this one was about you.”
Her stomach dipped just slightly. “Oh god. What’d he do?”
“Not what he did. What he said.” Eddie glanced over at her, eyes warm but cautious. “Can I ask you something without it being… weird?”
Letty blanched, turning her head slightly toward him. “You’re already making it weird, Munson.”
He huffed a laugh but didn’t look at her right away, eyes fixed on the road. “Alright, fair. Just—you and Harrington.”
Her stomach tightened a little, the sound of Steve’s name bringing that familiar tug in her chest. “What about him?”
Eddie drummed his fingers once on the steering wheel. “Dustin said I should ‘back off,’ because apparently, there’s a thing. Between you two.”
Letty sighed, sinking a little lower in the seat. “Of course he did.”
Eddie’s voice stayed even, though there was something uncertain underneath. “I mean… is there?”
For a moment, all she could do was watch the trees blur past outside her window. The wind tugged at a loose strand of her hair, brushing it against her cheek.
“No,” she said finally. “Steve and I—we’ve got… history, I guess. But we’re not together. We never really were.”
Eddie nodded slowly, his hand tightening on the wheel just once before he forced it to relax. “Right.”
She glanced at him, half-expecting him to joke, but he didn’t. Not yet.
“If that’s what you were worried about,” she added quietly, “you don’t have to be.”
He gave a short nod, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure if he should. “Billy said something kinda similar the other day.”
“About Steve?”
“Yeah. Said he still thinks he’s in the running.” Eddie shot her a sidelong look, careful but curious. “Didn’t know there was a race.”
Letty let out a slow breath, tucking her chin against her arm where it rested on the open window. The breeze carried strands of her hair across her face, and she didn’t bother moving them. “Of course Steve thinks that,” she said softly. “He always thinks there’s a way back to things. Sometimes I think maybe he’s right… but most days, I just think he’s scared of being left behind.”
Her tone wasn’t bitter, just matter-of-fact. Sad in a way that came from understanding too much.
Eddie watched her for a second, the curve of her shoulder against the sunlight, before forcing his gaze back to the road.
“So,” he said after a beat, trying for lightness but not quite landing it, “that answer my question, or give me a bunch more?”
Letty’s gaze stayed out the window for a long moment, the sunlight spilling through the trees and catching on the black waves of her hair. The wind carried the faint smell of asphalt and honeysuckle.
She spoke softly, but it wasn’t the kind of soft that meant unsure — it was deliberate, careful. “Guess that depends on what you were really asking.”
Eddie’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. The road hummed under the tires, the radio a quiet static between stations.
He could have made a joke — could have brushed it off with something easy and stupid — but for once, the words stuck somewhere in his throat.
He risked a glance at her. The set of her mouth was neutral, but her eyes were steady, open in a way that asked well?
He blew out a slow breath, fingers tapping once against the wheel. “I guess…” he started, then trailed off, shaking his head with a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Guess I’ll figure that out when I stop overthinking it.”
Letty’s lips curved, the faintest ghost of a smile. “Good luck with that.”
He looked at her again, and this time didn’t look away right away — just long enough for her to notice.
Something flickered between them — not quite a question, not quite an answer. Just a pulse.
Then she turned back toward the window, and he shifted the van into the next gear, the hum of the engine filling the quiet.
It wasn’t resolution, but it was close enough — an understanding stitched into the spaces between what they said and what they didn’t.
The shop was quieter than usual when they pulled in — no buzz of conversation, no heavy clang of tools against metal. Just the faint hum of the radio from Wayne’s office and the lazy spin of a ceiling fan doing its best against the late-afternoon heat.
Letty stepped out of the van, the scent of oil and sun-warmed pavement heavy in the air. Her gaze swept the row of parked cars, automatically searching for a familiar shape.
Eddie held out the keys to her, dangling from his finger with a little flourish. “All yours. New battery, new tires. She purrs now.”
Letty’s face lit up — really lit up, the kind of smile that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. “You serious?”
Eddie grinned, nodding toward the red Chevy parked near the back of the lot. “Go see for yourself.”
She didn’t hesitate. Her pace quickened across the concrete, gravel crunching under her shoes. The car sat gleaming under the fading sun, looking better than it had in months. She ran her hand over the hood, fingertips tracing the faint warmth left by the day.
“God, I missed you,” she muttered to the car, laughing under her breath.
“Gonna make me jealous talkin’ to her like that,” Eddie called from a few paces behind, smirking.
Letty turned, still grinning. “You? Jealous of a car?”
“Hey, I put in the man-hours,” he said, mock-offended. “Least you could do is tell me you missed me too.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t bother with a comeback. Instead, she crossed the few steps between them and, without thinking, threw her arms around him.
Eddie froze — only for a second — before his hands hovered awkwardly at her waist, then settled there, careful but steady.
“Thank you,” she said into his shoulder, voice muffled but sincere. “Seriously. I owe you like, four times over now. And don’t even think about holding it over my head.”
He laughed softly, the sound catching somewhere in his chest. “No promises, sweetheart.”
She pulled back enough to look up at him, still close enough that the smell of grease and soap clung between them. Her grin was bright, warm, real.
“You’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his own smile small but unguarded. “But you like that about me.”
Letty’s eyes flicked up to his, and for a half-second, neither of them said anything. The hum of the shop filled the space — low music, distant fan, the soft tick of cooling engines.
Then she cleared her throat, stepping back and twirling the keys around her finger. “Well, I guess I should take her for a spin before it gets dark.”
Eddie shoved his hands into his pockets, grinning again, easy and lopsided. “Yeah. You, uh—drive careful, alright?”
She gave him a mock salute as she slid into the driver’s seat. “Always do.”
The engine roared to life on the first turn, and her smile widened. She glanced at him through the open window as she backed out, the evening sun catching on the gold in her hair.
“Thanks again, Munson,” she called.
He raised a hand in a lazy wave, watching as the Chevy rumbled down the gravel drive, dust rising in her wake.
When she was gone, he let out a long breath, one hand dragging through his hair, a stupid grin spreading across his face.
“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, the echo of her hug still warm on his chest. “You’re definitely in trouble now.”
Notes:
leaving this note to say that while i am rewriting this whole work as i post it, i am also going through and editing older chapters when i catch continuity errors. so yea this updates pretty quick cause i have over 100,000 words already done, im just porting them over and editing as needed or adding more context.
Chapter 15: Idle hands
Notes:
Sorry, im the bitch who likes allegory, allusion, and showing mirrors.
We love a good parallel in these parts yall im sorry.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The clock on Marnie’s wall was shaped like a sun — brass points fanning out, each one catching the light just enough to make the room feel warmer than it was. Letty focused on it whenever she needed to pretend she wasn’t being studied.
The tick of it filled the small silences, sharp and rhythmic.
“So,” Marnie said gently, crossing one leg over the other, a notepad balanced on her knee.
“How’s the first week back treating you?”
Letty smiled — practiced, polite. “It’s fine. Busy, but fine.”
“That sounds like the kind of fine that comes with a capital F,” Marnie said, voice soft enough to take the sting out of it.
Letty’s laugh was short and self-aware. “Yeah, maybe. But busy’s good, right? Idle hands, devil’s workshop, all that.”
Marnie made a small hum, the kind that meant she’d clocked the phrase and filed it away. “You’ve used that saying before.”
“Probably because it’s true.”
“Or because it’s safe,” Marnie countered. “If you keep moving, you don’t have to feel stuck.”
Letty looked down at her hands, her thumbnail worrying at a small tear in her jeans. The word stuck echoed in her head. “I’m not stuck. I just… like feeling useful.”
“Useful,” Marnie repeated, writing something down. “That’s different from happy.”
“Sure,” Letty said easily. “But happy’s kind of overrated, isn’t it? Useful gets stuff done.”
Marnie didn’t press, just waited. Letty hated how quiet the office got when she ran out of jokes.
“I’m just trying to get ahead,” she said finally. “Senior year’s a lot. I’ve got AP stuff, college essays, Ms. Ives promised a rec letter if I keep helping in the library. I just… don’t have time to mess around.”
Marnie nodded, still writing. “And when you stop? When you’re not busy?”
Letty hesitated. “Then I’ll probably sleep.”
“That’s rest,” Marnie said. “Not stillness. What happens when you’re still?”
Letty’s chest tightened, the faint tremor already starting in her fingers. She crossed her arms, forcing her voice steady. “I think too much.”
“What about?”
Letty’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile. “Things I can’t change.”
“Like?”
She shrugged. “Like the fact that I cry in bathrooms when the halls get too loud. Or that my mom used to forget my birthday; well she did it three years in a row and I know this year im going to sit by the phone and hope she calls. Or that I miss people who are still alive like they’re dead.” The words landed between them — quiet, flat, too honest.
Marnie didn’t flinch. “That’s a lot to carry.”
Letty looked away, toward the clock again. “Yeah. Well. Someone’s gotta.”
Silence. A page turned somewhere outside the office — the sound of the receptionist flipping through a magazine. The kind of ordinary noise that made the heavy stuff feel manageable again.
“You’re good at surviving,” Marnie said after a beat. “But you don’t have to build a life out of crisis management.”
Letty almost laughed. “Feels like I already did.”
Marnie smiled softly. “Then maybe this year isn’t about adding more to your plate. Maybe it’s about learning how to put something down.”
Letty didn’t answer. Her eyes went back to the brass clock — the steady, relentless tick.
She counted five beats before she said quietly, “That sounds harder than it should be.”
They sat in the hush of the office, the faint hum of the vent and the smell of tea steeping from Marnie’s desk a few feet away. Finally, Marnie turned a page, eyes still on her notes.
“You mentioned before—over the summer—someone named Steve. I haven’t heard you bring him up lately.”
Letty’s shoulders stiffened before she could stop them. “Yeah. That’s… done.”
“Done?”
“Canned the idea,” she said, voice even. “He’s great, really. But he’s—” She exhaled, pressing her thumb against the seam of her jeans until the fabric dented. “He’s the kind of person who shows up when you’re falling apart, and you start thinking that means he’s gonna stay.”
Marnie waited. Letty didn’t look up.
“And you don’t think he will?”
Letty huffed a small laugh that didn’t sound amused. “He might think he will. But that’s not the same thing.”
“What would staying mean to you?”
Letty shook her head. “Not making me prove I’m worth sticking around for every five minutes.”
Marnie nodded slowly, jotting something down. “So trust.”
“Yeah,” Letty said, the word thin as paper. “That’s the hang-up. Always is.”
She forced a lighter tone, trying to shift the air back to safe ground. “Anyway, I’ve got school, the library, college stuff—enough going on that it doesn’t really matter who stays. You can’t miss people when you don’t give them time to matter.”
Marnie’s voice softened. “You sound like you’re building a wall.”
Letty smiled, tired but firm. “It’s load-bearing. Keeps the place standing.”
The clock ticked once, twice—sharp and steady.
Outside, a car door slammed, the sound bleeding faintly through the thin office wall.
Marnie set her pen down. “You don’t have to keep people out to keep yourself safe, Letty.”
“Maybe not,” she said, standing to grab her bag. “But it’s easier to rebuild if there’s less collateral.”
Marnie didn’t stop her. She smiled the same polite smile again, but her fingers trembled against the metal when she pushed the door open.
The afternoon light hit the hood of the Chevy like brushed gold, all warmth and memory. Letty stood beside it for a moment, hand on the door handle, feeling the heat of the metal soak into her palm.
Marnie’s words still floated somewhere behind her eyes—You don’t have to keep people out to keep yourself safe.
Sure.
Easy to say when you only get the highlight reel, not the director’s cut.
She started the engine, the familiar cough of it grounding her in the present. The cassette that lived in the deck—a stolen mix from Jonathan, pilfered after one of those half-awkward Sunday dinners Hopper insisted on—clicked and hissed before the first chords of The Replacements bled through the speakers.
The road between the clinic and the cabin was long and lazy, lined with the same scuffed trees and half-collapsed mailboxes she’d seen her whole life. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, half-singing under her breath.
Marnie didn’t understand. None of them really did. She only got fragments—carefully edited sentences Letty fed her once a week, trimmed down until they sounded almost normal. Of course she thought it was about trust. About walls. That was the sanitized version, the one Letty could live with.
The real story was quieter. Messier. The kind you didn’t put in a file.
She rolled the window down, letting the wind catch her hair and the scent of asphalt and late-summer weeds drift in. A better therapist might have told her to sit with the discomfort. But that wasn’t her style. Better to drown it out with something familiar—noise, motion, music that didn’t ask questions.
Jonathan’s tape flipped to a slower song halfway home—The Cure, something melancholy but sweet—and she laughed softly, remembering his face when he’d caught her pocketing it last month. “You’ll ruin your tape deck with this old thing,” he’d said, but there’d been no bite in it.
Her laugh faded as the road curved. The trees thinned, and the air started smelling faintly of pine and dust. She thought about what Marnie had asked—about birthdays and people who leave—and her chest gave that tiny, involuntary squeeze.
Christmas Day. Always a joke, always the same conversation—lucky you, double the presents—except it never was. Just long winters and thin smiles and sometimes forgetting there was a reason to celebrate at all.
Last year hadn’t been bad, though. Hopper had picked up a grocery-store cupcake with blue frosting and one of those little spiral candles you stick on top like a toy. El had sung off-key and Letty had laughed through the whole thing. The Chevy had been sitting in the driveway, red bow and everything.
That had been enough. More than enough.
She pressed her hand against the steering wheel, thumb tracing the cracked leather. Maybe it was better to count blessings than tally disappointments. The math worked out cleaner that way.
The cabin came into view as the sun started to drop, the porch light flickering with a dying bulb. Letty pulled into the gravel, cut the engine, and sat there for a moment, listening to the cicadas start their evening chorus.
She tilted her head back against the seat, eyes closing.
Marnie’s voice echoed faintly again, soft and careful: You’ve gotten very good at surviving.
Letty smiled without opening her eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered to the empty car. “Guess I have.”
Then she turned the key again, just long enough to rewind the tape and let the music fill the silence a little longer.
The Chevy ticked as it cooled, metal contracting in the early evening quiet. Letty stayed in the driver’s seat, hands still on the wheel, eyes fixed on the cabin in front of her.
It wasn’t much to look at—never had been—but she found herself cataloging the flaws like she was taking inventory of a body she loved too much to leave.
The paint was peeling again, curling up from the shutters like sunburned skin. The swing on the porch sagged to one side, the chain probably rusting through, creaking even now in the breeze that cut across the yard. The flowerbed out front was a tangle of weeds—dandelions, wild clover, whatever else El had promised to fix up and never did.
Letty’s thumb worried at a hangnail until it bled, a small sting that snapped her back to herself.
It wasn’t really about the house. It never was.
She always did this—picked things apart until they mirrored how she felt inside. Little flaws, little failures.
If the paint was peeling, then maybe she was too.
If the swing creaked, maybe she was already starting to fall apart again.
She pressed the heel of her palm against her eyes, hard enough to see stars. “You keep this up,” she muttered under her breath, voice raw, “and you’re not gonna get any further in life than she did.”
Her mother’s face flashed behind her eyelids—soft focus, half memory. The smell of smoke and cheap perfume, a voice slurring affection that always came too late.
“If you fall,” she whispered, throat tight, “you won’t get back up this time.”
The words cracked in the small space of the car.
It took her a second to realize she was crying. It wasn’t the ugly kind—just slow, quiet tears tracking down her cheeks without asking permission. She swiped at them with the back of her hand, muttering, “Shit,” when her fingers came away black with mascara.
“Of course,” she hissed, half a laugh, half a sob. “Shitty eyeliner, shitty mascara, shitty timing.”
Her reflection in the rearview mirror looked ghostly—eyes too red, mouth set in a line that didn’t belong on someone her age.
“Get it together,” she whispered.
She reached for her bag, the strap catching on the gearshift, and yanked it free. The weight of it hit her shoulder—textbooks, notebooks, highlighters, the whole arsenal of someone trying to stay busy enough not to think.
“AP Chem,” she muttered. “Calc. Lit. Readings for Gov. Group project with that kid who never shows up—”
The list kept going as she shoved the door open, gravel crunching under her shoes. The porch light flickered again, and she pretended it was greeting her instead of warning her.
She adjusted the strap of her bag, took one last deep breath, and stepped toward the cabin, each footfall too loud in the silence.
The swing creaked once more, like it was sighing for her.
The porch boards groaned under her weight, a slow complaint that matched the ache in her knees. Letty paused at the door, swiping her sleeve under her eyes again before turning the knob.
The cabin was half-lit, all amber and shadow. The air smelled faintly of coffee grounds and something floral—El must’ve burned one of the incense sticks Joyce had brought back from Chicago.
El was sprawled across the couch, a pencil tucked behind one ear, mumbling her way through a worksheet. The record player on the dining table spun slow, the soft thrum of Fleetwood Mac barely audible over the scratch of El’s eraser.
Letty’s eyes lingered on the scene for a second—the gentle clutter of it, the proof of life—and then she moved to the kitchen.
The fridge hummed when she opened it, casting pale light over shelves of half-eaten leftovers and labeled Tupperware. She scanned them absently, humming under her breath.
“Pasta… no. Chili, definitely no. Frozen mystery something…”
Her hand hovered over a foil-wrapped pan, and she smiled faintly when she saw Joyce’s handwriting scrawled on the top in Sharpie. Lasagna. Made with love. Eat before it fossilizes.
“God bless Joyce Byers,” she muttered, setting the pan on the counter.
The coffeemaker sputtered to life behind her, the smell bleeding into the air. She leaned against the counter, listening to it fill the pot, the sound as familiar as her own heartbeat.
The trick was to stay moving.
If she stopped, she started feeling, and if she started feeling, she fell apart.
Routine was armor. The clink of a mug, the rattle of the oven door, the sound of pages turning on the couch—it was all scaffolding, keeping her upright.
She poured a cup of coffee, strong and black, letting the steam hit her face. The lasagna went into the oven with a practiced motion, her body moving faster than her mind could catch up.
Behind her, El mumbled a line from her worksheet, something about photosynthesis or polygons—Letty couldn’t tell which.
“You doing okay over there, Einstein?” she called softly.
El looked up, squinting. “You’re home early.”
Letty shrugged, taking a slow sip from her mug. “Therapy ended on time for once.”
El hummed, eyes drifting back to her notebook. The record skipped once, the needle catching, and Letty reached over to fix it, the gesture automatic.
The song started again from the beginning—soft, melancholic, familiar.
Letty watched it spin, the grooves catching light like the surface of a lake.
Routine. Motion. Movement.
Armor.
She leaned her hip against the counter, coffee in one hand, the other tracing lazy circles against the ceramic rim.
“Dinner in twenty,” she said, half to El, half to herself.
“Okay,” El murmured, pencil scratching again.
The cabin settled around them, the quiet not uncomfortable, just heavy with everything neither of them said out loud.
Outside, the swing creaked once more in the wind, and Letty pretended it was just the weather.
The house had gone still by the time Letty made it to her room. The only sounds were the low whir of the box fan in the corner and the occasional creak of the floorboards settling for the night.
She’d already changed into an oversized T-shirt, her hair still damp from the shower. The smell of clean soap clung faintly to her, cut through by a trace of the clove cigarette she’d tucked behind her ear.
Her desk was a disaster—open notebooks, a chipped mug full of pens, college brochures stacked in uneven piles. She nudged a few aside to make room, smoothing a blank page in her planner with the flat of her hand.
“500 words minimum,” she wrote in small, neat letters under tomorrow’s date. Below it: AP Gov. chapter 3 review. Laundry. Essay draft.
Her pen hovered for a moment before she checked off today’s boxes, each mark a little too deliberate. There was a faint tremor in her hand when she moved to the next line.
She exhaled through her nose, shaking her wrist out. Just a bad circulation day. Nothing new.
Across the house, she could still hear the faint hum of El’s music—a muffled lull of sound that filled the quiet like company. Letty had given her the living room to work in, knowing El liked to sprawl.
Her own space felt smaller by comparison.
The window was cracked open halfway, letting the night air drift in—cool, carrying the sound of insects buzzing in the dark. It was grounding. A heartbeat she didn’t have to control.
Letty turned to her bed and began laying out her clothes for tomorrow: a skirt, a sweater, the socks that didn’t quite match but felt right. She lined up her pencils next to her bag, stacked her textbooks in order of class. Small certainties, neat and manageable.
Routine kept the world from slipping.
She tried to sit at her desk to start her essay but only lasted a few minutes before sighing and sliding down onto the floor instead. The carpet was soft, the middle of the room a familiar island of plush where she could spread everything out—notes, flashcards, the tattered novel she was supposed to finish for Lit.
She lit the clove cigarette, the sharp, sweet smell filling the room. The door was half open, the window cracked wider now to let the smoke out.
The words on the page blurred. She read the same line three times, none of it sticking. Her chest felt tight—like her brain had hit a wall she couldn’t climb.
She dug her nails into her palm until it hurt. It was stupid, she knew that. But it helped. Pain meant focus. Focus meant she could keep going.
The cigarette burned down faster than she meant it to. She crushed it into the small ashtray she’d swiped from Hopper’s desk at the station months ago—back when she still thought collecting things might make her feel like she belonged somewhere.
The ember hissed out, a curl of smoke winding up and disappearing through the open window.
Letty stared after it for a long time, eyes heavy, pulse steadying with the rhythm of the crickets outside.
She picked up her pen again, forcing her gaze back to the notebook.
One more thing to check off.
One more day survived.
The oven beeped, the sharp sound breaking through the quiet. Letty grabbed a towel, pulling the lasagna free from the heat. The scent of tomato and basil filled the cabin, warm and grounding.
She set it on the counter to cool and turned to grab plates, the motion automatic. El was still hunched over her homework at the couch, pencil moving in short bursts of concentration.
“Dinner,” Letty called, voice soft but steady.
El perked up, sliding off the couch and padding into the kitchen. “Smells good,” she said, peering over the counter.
“Thank Joyce,” Letty murmured, slicing into the lasagna with practiced care. She served El first—bigger portion, fewer burnt edges—then herself. Her plate sat untouched on the counter as she leaned against it, watching El eat.
El talked between bites, rambling about school, something about how Max wanted to go to the quarry over the weekend and whether Hopper would let them. Letty nodded where it seemed right, humming little responses—mhmm, yeah, probably,—the words just enough to fill the space, to make El feel heard.
The kitchen felt small and safe, the hum of the refrigerator and the soft clatter of forks against plates filling the silence where conversation lagged.
When El was finished, Letty took El’s pate to the sink, rinsing them before tucking the leftovers into the fridge. She reached for the bread, mustard, and deli meat without thinking, her hands moving through the motions of packing lunches for tomorrow.
Two turkey and cheese sandwiches. Chips portioned into plastic bags. A pair of sodas dropped into brown paper sacks Hopper kept stacked by the breadbox.
It was the rhythm that soothed her—the quiet shuffle of tasks, the order in every movement.
By the time she wiped the counter clean, El was yawning, stretching as she carried her books down the hall. “Night,” she mumbled.
“Night, kid,” Letty replied, voice soft.
She stood alone for a while after that, staring at the lasagna cooling on the stove. Her own plate still sat where she’d left it, the cheese hardened and the edges congealed.
She didn’t even feel hungry anymore.
The library hummed in its quiet way—fluorescent lights buzzing, the faint click of the clock over the front desk.
Letty balanced halfway up the ladder, one foot tucked against the rung, shelving a new stack of hardcovers. Her sandwich sat on the paper-bag halfway down, a single bite missing; the plastic bag of chips still sealed beside her book bag. A half-finished can of Diet Pepsi sweated on the cart below, the pile of unshelved books slowly thinning as she worked.
She ate in the library partly because it was quiet, partly because it was practical. Starting her shelving during lunch meant she could finish the rest during her free period—or use that time to study. Idle hands and all that.
She picked at her sandwich between stacks, sliding one title into place after another. The small tasks helped. The order of them meant she didn’t have to think too hard.
“Hey,” came a soft voice.
El’s head popped around the end of the aisle, brown hair tucked behind her ear, grin tugging at her mouth. “You’re hiding again,” she teased.
Letty smirked, glancing over her shoulder. “Not hiding. Helping.”
El raised a brow. “Uh-huh.”
Letty rolled her eyes, half-amused. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just checking on you.”
“I’m fine, El.”
Her sister’s gaze lingered, sliding down to her hands. “You’re shaking again.”
Letty blinked, noticing the tremor only when she saw her fingertips tapping against the book spine. She stilled them, curling her fingers around the edge instead. “Just tired,” she said. “Didn’t sleep much.”
El looked unconvinced, lips pressing together. She hesitated, then murmured something about wanting to stay late Friday to do something—her words getting lost in the soft rustle of pages and the distant hum of voices.
Letty nodded, not sure what she was agreeing to but figuring they could deal with it later.
El lingered, eyes flicking over her sister’s tired face, the tense set of her shoulders. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
Letty smiled without showing teeth. “As okay as I can be when it comes to stacking books.” She reached down to adjust the can on the cart. “Go eat your lunch with Max. We’ll talk after.”
El hesitated a beat, then sighed. “Okay.”
When she was gone, the quiet folded back in, thick and soft. Letty hummed under her breath—a tune her mother used to sing while cleaning—low and wandering, filling the empty air between the shelves.
The ladder creaked. Dust drifted down in lazy specks. The clock kept ticking.
And Letty kept moving.
The day had softened into an end-of-school lull—sunlight filtering through the gaps in the bleachers, catching dust in thin, glittering strands.
Letty sat cross-legged in the shade beneath them, notebook balanced on her knees, the edge of her pencil smudged with graphite. Her backpack was half-unzipped beside her, a spiral of equations spread across the open page. She’d already done most of her homework in the library, but the quiet down here was different—less polished, more honest.
A cigarette burned low between her fingers, smoke curling in lazy ribbons that disappeared into the beams overhead. The smell of cut grass drifted from the field, warm and faintly sweet.
She liked this time of day. When the world felt slowed down enough that she could almost breathe right.
Her pencil hovered over the page, eyes skimming a problem she’d already solved twice. Numbers blurred; focus slipped. She took a drag, exhaled through her nose, and let her mind go quiet.
The sound of footsteps broke the stillness. Scuffed boots on dirt, the low creak of metal.
Letty turned, half-expecting a teacher—or worse, a nosy freshman—but instead, Eddie ducked under one of the crossbeams, hair catching the sunlight in messy curls.
He grinned when he saw her, that crooked, apologetic grin that always seemed half a joke and half something real. “Hope I’d find you out here,” he said, voice warm with amusement.
Letty arched a brow, flicking ash from her cigarette. “You been lookin’ for me, Munson?” He shrugged, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets as he crouched to join her in the shade.
“Depends,” he said, mouth quirking. “You gonna share a smoke if I say yes?”
Letty huffed out a laugh, half amused, half exhale. “Suppose I could be persuaded.”
She handed the cigarette over, her fingers brushing his for just a second. He took a slow drag, the tip burning brighter in the dim light before he passed it back. Smoke coiled between them, soft and weightless, curling through the slats above their heads.
They didn’t talk for a while. Just the hum of the field, the faint creak of the bleachers, the sound of kids shouting somewhere in the distance.
Eddie leaned back on his hands, squinting at the sunlight bleeding through the cracks. “Didn’t peg you for the under-the-bleachers type.”
Letty smiled faintly. “Guess I contain multitudes.”
“That right?”
“Mhm.” She took another drag, let it out slow. “Sometimes I’m the under-the-bleachers type. Sometimes I’m the library type.”
“Sometimes both in the same day,” he teased.
“Efficient, huh?”
“Deadly,” he said, grinning.
She looked down at the dirt between them, at the cigarette smoldering between her fingers. He’d been different since the van—more careful, like he was watching his own words before saying them. She wanted to ask why. Wanted to ask if she’d made it weird.
Instead, she offered the cigarette back, her tone even. “You want the last drag?”
He shook his head, smiling. “Nah. That one’s yours.”
She flicked the ash off and stubbed it against the sole of her shoe, the embers fading out.
“Guess that’s mercy,” she murmured, half to herself.
“Guess so,” he echoed.
The bell rang somewhere across the field—muffled, distant. Letty stood first, brushing off her skirt and tucking the notebook under her arm. The sunlight caught the edge of her hair as she looked down at him, a smile tugging at her mouth.
Eddie tilted his head, shielding his eyes with one hand. “You working later?”
She shook her head. “Not during the week. Keith only schedules me for Saturday evenings and Sunday mornings.”
“Luxury hours,” he said, smiling.
“More like survival,” she replied. “Gives me the week to drown in homework and pretend chores count as hobbies.”
Eddie chuckled, low and warm. “You make it sound so glamorous.”
“Oh, it’s thrilling,” she said dryly, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder. “Really keeps the blood pumping.”
He grinned at that, still sitting on the ground, still looking at her like he hadn’t realized he’d stopped pretending not to stare.
Letty caught the look—felt it more than saw it—and her throat tightened. She swallowed, glanced away toward the bleachers, then back to him.
“Guess I’ll see you around,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Guess you will.”
He turned, the sound of his boots on dirt swallowed by the wind. The afternoon light flickered through the gaps in the bleachers, catching the last curls of smoke drifting above them—thin and fading.
Letty sat there for a while longer, the echo of his voice settling somewhere she couldn’t quite shake.
The sun was slipping low when Letty’s Chevy rolled into the back lot of the shop.
The air smelled like gasoline and pine sap, the kind of humid that made her hair stick to her neck. Billy was leaned half inside the open hood of some busted up Bronco, Springsteen crackling through the little shop radio on the workbench.
“Jesus, you scared the hell outta me,” he muttered when she spoke up behind him.
“Would’ve honked,” she said, hopping up to sit on the fender of her car, “but I figured you’d throw a wrench at me.”
He snorted, wiping his hands on an old rag. “Not wrong.”
Letty kicked one sneaker against the bumper, eyeing the line of grease stains up his arm. “Hey—before I forget,” she started, “I never thanked you for fixing my Chevy.”
Billy glanced up, skeptical. “Pretty sure you brought donuts. That counts.”
“Donuts don’t pay for car parts,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”
He rolled his eyes, tossing the rag onto the workbench. “Wayne said to wave it off. ‘Friend of the shop,’ remember?”
“That doesn’t mean free,” she argued. “I can cover the parts at least.”
He leaned an elbow on the hood, smirking. “If you’re that desperate to pay us, just crash it again. Keep us in business.”
Letty laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah, but I’m a useful one.”
The smile lingered between them for a second, warm and easy, the kind that came from too many long afternoons like this.
The Springsteen tape warbled as it flipped sides, static filling the space between them.
Then Letty spoke again, quieter this time. “You’ve been here every night this week?”
“Cheaper than therapy,” he joked, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Letty traced a line through the dust on her hood. “You still staying at home?”
Billy’s jaw flexed, his grin fading. “Yeah. Why?”
She shrugged, pretending to look at the Camaro instead of him. “Just seems like you're running thin...”
“I’ve been sick of that place since I was twelve,” he said. The words came out too fast, too sharp. He caught himself, forced a breath. “It’s fine. He’s fine. We just—stay outta each other’s way.”
Letty didn’t buy it. She could see the fading yellow bruise under his collar, the way he’d been flinching lately when someone shut a door too hard.
“Billy,” she said quietly, “if it’s not fine, you can tell me.”
He gave her a crooked smile, all bravado. “Yeah? What are you gonna do, Hopper? Call Daddy Chief?”
She rolled her eyes, but her voice softened. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d just listen.”
That landed heavier than she meant it to. He looked away, eyes on the gravel.
“I don’t need anyone to listen,” he said after a while. “I just need to keep my head down till graduation.”
Letty’s throat felt tight. “That’s a long time to hold your breath.”
He smirked, but it was thin. “Good thing I was on swim team.”
She hopped down from her car then, brushing dust off her jeans. “You’re allowed to ask for help, you know. It doesn’t make you weak.”
“Yeah?” he said, half-teasing. “You do that?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No. But I should.”
He smiled—an actual smile this time. “Guess that makes two of us.”
She turned to leave, but paused by his driver’s side door. “Hey, if you ever need to crash somewhere, the couch at the cabin’s ugly as sin but it’s free.”
He laughed under his breath. “You’re way too nice for this town.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” she said, climbing into her car. “They’ll ruin my reputation.”
When she drove off, Billy stood there in the fading light, rag dangling from his hand, the Springsteen tape clicking to a stop.
He didn’t move for a long time.
The trailer was quiet except for the buzz of the box fan in the corner and the muted drone of the radio Wayne always left on. The late afternoon light bled in through the blinds, soft and gold, cutting stripes across Eddie’s desk. He sat on the edge of his bed, idly plucking at the same three chords he’d been looping for half an hour.
The smell hit him when he reached for his jacket — faint lavender, cigarette smoke, and something warm he couldn’t name.
Letty.
He froze for a second, fingers curling in the fabric. It’d been a week since the drive, since she’d said guess that depends on what you were really asking. A week of silence and half-finished thoughts. He wasn’t avoiding her, exactly — he just didn’t know what he was supposed to do with whatever that had been.
He slipped the jacket on anyway, shaking his head like it might shake her out of it. “Strings,” he muttered to himself. “You’re going for strings.”
The drive into town was lazy. The kind of Hawkins evening where the heat never really broke, the windows stayed cracked, and every song on the radio felt half-familiar. He didn’t even realize where he was going until the diner sign came into view — flickering neon against the pale sky, the smell of grease and coffee leaking into the parking lot.
That’s when he saw her.
The Chevy was parked sideways along the far end of the lot, the hood catching the last of the sun. Letty sat perched on top, bare feet dangling, a small paper tray of fries balanced beside her. Her flats were kicked off onto the asphalt, her hair pulled loose around her shoulders. The sundress she wore was soft cream, a black T-shirt underneath. Simple. Warm.
She leaned back on her hands, face tipped toward the sky, eyes closed like she was trying to soak in the last bit of quiet before the week swallowed her whole again.
Eddie slowed without meaning to, his van rumbling low as he pulled into a space a few down from hers. He sat for a second, fingers drumming the steering wheel, arguing with himself. He could drive off. She hadn’t seen him yet.
But then she laughed — small, sudden, at something only she knew — and that was it.
He climbed out, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Didn’t know this place had table service,” he called.
Letty startled, then turned, the corners of her mouth lifting into a crooked smile. “Hey. You stalking me now, Munson?”
“Not on purpose,” he said easily, stopping a few feet away. “Just cosmic coincidence.”
She glanced down at the fries. “You want some cosmic fries, then?”
He grinned. “If you’re offering.”
She slid the tray toward him, the smallest of invitations. He leaned against the car beside her, careful not to crowd, the metal still warm beneath his palms.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Just the sound of cicadas and the hum of the diner’s sign.
“Didn’t peg you for a dinner-alone kind of girl,” Eddie said finally, tone light.
Letty shrugged, taking a fry for herself. “Needed air. And salt. The essentials.”
He nodded, like that made perfect sense. “Been a few days ,” he said before he could stop himself.
She stilled for half a second, eyes flicking toward him. “Yeah. It has.”
“Didn’t mean to go radio silent,” he added, softer now. “Just—life, I guess.”
Letty smiled, small but not unkind. “Yeah. Life.”
Her fingers brushed his when she reached for another fry. Neither of them moved for a beat too long.
She pulled back first, laughing under her breath. “You’re terrible at sharing.”
Eddie smirked, the tension dissolving just enough for both of them to breathe again. “Hey, you offered.”
“Regret it already,” she said, but her voice was gentle.
They ate in companionable silence after that, passing the tray back and forth, both pretending the air wasn’t charged with everything they hadn’t said yet.
Letty toyed with the empty fry tray between them, thumb dragging through the salt at the bottom. “So,” she said finally, not quite looking at him, “this some kind of pattern now?”
Eddie glanced up, confused. “Pattern?”
“You show up, hang around long enough to make me forget I’m a human disaster, then disappear for a week.” Her tone wasn’t sharp — more tired than anything. “You stayed long enough to bum a smoke under the bleachers and then vanished again. Figured maybe I should check if I pissed you off or something.”
Eddie blinked, caught between guilt and surprise. “You didn’t—no, it’s not—” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, searching for words. “I just thought maybe you needed space after that talk in the van.”
Letty’s mouth curved faintly. “The one where you told me you’d ‘figure it out when you stopped overthinking it’?”
“Yeah. That one.”
She hummed, quiet amusement threading through the sound, but her eyes didn’t leave him. “And did you?”
He laughed once, low and awkward. “Working on it.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” she said softly.
He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally exhaled. “Alright. Maybe I was avoiding you a little.”
“Why?” she asked. No accusation, just curiosity — but it landed heavier than either of them expected.
Eddie hesitated. The sound of traffic hummed down the highway, far enough away to feel unreal. “Because I wasn’t sure if I was reading it all wrong,” he admitted. “The van. The stuff Dustin said. The look Steve gave me the last time I saw him.”
Letty’s brow knit. “This is still about Steve?”
“Not just him,” Eddie said quickly. “It’s—whatever that whole thing is between you two. I didn’t wanna walk straight into it if it was still…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “You know.”
Letty stared at him for a beat, then looked down at her hands. The skin at her thumbs was torn raw again, little crescent moons of irritation marking where she’d picked too hard. She started to do it again without realizing, until Eddie reached out and caught her wrist gently, his thumb pressing over hers to stop the motion.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
She froze, the contact startling but not unwelcome. His hand was warm, grease still faint under his nails. He didn’t let go right away, and she didn’t make him.
“It’s not still anything,” she said after a moment, her voice low. “Steve and I—we talked. Or fought. Whatever you wanna call it. But it’s done. I meant what I said that day in the van.”
Eddie searched her face, like he was trying to tell if she believed her own words.
Letty’s gaze flicked up to meet his. “Does that answer your question,” she asked quietly, “or just give you more of them?”
For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then a small, crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “Both,” he said honestly. “But that’s kinda my thing.”
Letty huffed a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah,” she said, almost fond. “I noticed.”
They sat like that for a while — her hand still caught lightly in his, the air between them thick with everything that hadn’t been said and maybe didn’t need to be.
Eddie’s thumb was still resting lightly over her wrist, grounding her in that small, unthinking way of his.
Letty glanced at their hands, then up at him, the air thick with all the unsaid things that had been hanging between them since that night in the van.
“You know,” she said quietly, “you could just ask instead of making up your own answers.”
Eddie hesitated, eyes flicking over her face. “Ask what?”
Her mouth pulled into something like a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Whatever you actually want to know.”
For a second, he didn’t speak. Then, voice rougher than before, he asked, “Alright then. Why are you being so nice to me?”
That surprised her. Not because he’d asked, but because of how genuinely he meant it.
Letty blinked, a slow breath leaving her. “Because you are,” she said after a moment. “You’re kind. And stupid. And… decent. You don’t pretend I’m easy to be around, but you still show up anyway.”
Eddie looked like he didn’t know what to do with that. His jaw flexed once, a small, self-conscious smile tugging at his mouth before falling away.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess I don’t know how to do anything halfway.”
“Good,” she said, and it came out smaller than she meant. “The world’s full of people who do.”
That silence after wasn’t awkward — just heavy. Familiar. They both looked away at the same time, like they’d brushed too close to something they couldn’t name.
The quiet between them wasn’t awkward — just too full, too heavy.
The diner sign blinked pink and blue over the parking lot, washing Eddie in flickering light.
He hesitated, glancing toward the road. “Its just the way he looked at you.”
Her stomach dropped a little. “So?”
“It’s the look of a guy still holding on,” Eddie said quietly. “You can say you’re done, but he’s not. And I don’t wanna be the asshole who pretends not to see that.”
For a moment, all she did was stare at him. The cicadas hummed in the trees, the sound loud in the pause.
“So what,” she said finally, her voice quieter but sharper now, “he still likes me and you get to decide his opinion means more than what I want?”
Eddie flinched a little, shaking his head. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“It’s what it feels like,” she shot back. “Like everyone else keeps deciding what’s good for me, and I’m just supposed to nod and be grateful.”
The silence that followed was soft and terrible.
Eddie’s jaw worked once before he looked down at the pavement. “I just… I don’t wanna be a mistake.”
Letty’s expression softened, even as the words caught somewhere between her ribs. “You already are, Eddie,” she said quietly, not unkind. “I just haven’t decided if that scares me yet.”
He looked up then — really looked — and for a second, everything between them felt too still, too fragile to touch.
The diner sign buzzed overhead, the hum filling the space where the truth sat heavy and unsaid.
Finally, she slid off the hood, grabbing her shoes from the asphalt. The motion broke whatever invisible thread had been holding them there.
She gathered the trash from beside her—an empty fry carton, a crumpled napkin—and walked it to the bin near the diner doors. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, throwing harsh light over the quiet stretch of parking lot.
Eddie stayed where he was, watching her through the faint shimmer of heat off the pavement. She didn’t look back. Didn’t say anything when she passed by him.
When she reached her car, she opened the door, slid in, and started the engine without a glance in his direction. The soft hum of it filled the air between them, the only goodbye she offered.
Eddie took the hint. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, exhaled through his nose, and headed back toward his van. The gravel crunched beneath his boots, loud in the silence.
She didn’t call after him.
He didn’t expect her to.
Her headlights flicked on just as he turned the key in his ignition. For a second, their beams crossed — pale and blinding — before her car backed out and disappeared down the road.
Eddie sat there a moment longer, the echo of her words still hanging in the air.
You already are, Eddie. I just haven’t decided if that scares me yet.
He let out a long, uneven breath, hands tightening on the wheel before he finally shifted into gear and pulled out of the lot.
Notes:
When Eddie says “I don’t want to be another wrong choice,” it’s not self-pity — it’s fear.
He’s seen how Letty runs herself ragged trying to be okay again and How she second-guesses every good thing like it’s a trap.So, in his head, he’s thinking: “If I push too hard and she’s not ready, I’ll be the next thing she regrets.” And That’s the “wrong choice” he’s talking about — not that he’s wrong for her, but that the timing might be. He’s scared she’ll fall into something with him because she’s lonely, or because he feels safer than Steve — and then hate herself for it later.
Of course, Letty hears something else entirely.
She hears him saying: “I don’t want to be another mistake you make.”
And that stings — because she’s trying to be better, trying not to keep breaking things. So when he frames himself as a possible mistake, it hits the part of her that already believes she ruins everything she touches.
Her response — “You already are, I just haven’t decided if I care yet” — is her guard snapping into place. It’s not cruelty; it’s her way of saying:
“I already let you in. I already care. And it’s too late for you to protect me from it.”It’s self-defense wrapped in brutal honesty. So the scene reads like two people trying to love each other without saying the word — but she’s angry that he’s trying to protect her from him, when what she wants is for him to choose her even if it’s messy.
Chapter 16: refrain
Notes:
lolol angst.
brought to you by these songs by Olivia Dean:
Nice to each other, Ok love you bye, and something in-between.
Chapter Text
“…and maybe it’s not even Steve’s fault. Maybe it’s just me.”
Letty’s voice caught mid-sentence, like she’d only just realized she was talking. The hum of the clock on Marnie’s wall filled the silence, slow and steady. The older woman didn’t move, pen still hovering over her yellow notepad.
“You said that before,” Marnie murmured gently. “That Steve ‘ruins your chances at anything.’ But now you’re wondering if maybe you do that yourself?”
Letty blinked, her nails worrying at the soft skin along her thumb until the faint sting turned sharp. “Yeah. Maybe.”
She tried to laugh, but it came out small and breathless. “I mean, I can’t exactly blame him for existing, right? He’s just there. Breathing. Talking. Smiling like he didn’t break my head open like six weeks ago.”
Marnie’s voice stayed even. “And Eddie?”
Letty froze, her gaze flicking to the window. Outside, a wind moved through the oak branches, dry leaves whispering against the glass. “What about him?”
“You mentioned him before,” Marnie said, making a note she didn’t bother to hide. “That you had a conversation you can’t stop thinking about.”
Letty chewed the inside of her cheek. “It wasn’t a big deal. Just—he said something about Steve. About how it’s obvious he’s still holding out, and it made me realize…”
She trailed off, thumb worrying at the torn skin again. The nail caught the edge of the cut and her breath hitched.
“It made me realize I might not be built for this kind of stuff. Like, maybe I’m the problem. I don’t know how to want someone without also being afraid of them leaving.”
“Letty.”
Marnie’s voice was soft but grounding. The kind that made the air still. Letty blinked down at her hands—tiny crescents of red along her skin, a constellation of nerves she’d carved herself.
“You’re bleeding again,” Marnie said, and passed her a tissue from the box between them. “That’s your body telling you to stop. To slow down.”
Letty took the tissue but didn’t use it right away. “I can’t slow down. If I stop, I’ll think too much. I’m fine, really. I just need to keep moving.”
Marnie tilted her head, pen tapping once against her notebook. “School, work, helping in the library… that’s a lot. You’ve mentioned you don’t get home until late most days.”
“It’s been three weeks already,” Letty said, her tone defensive but tired. “I’m in the rhythm of it. It’s not like I’m falling apart.”
Marnie gave her a long, quiet look—the kind that wasn’t accusing, just seeing. “You don’t have to fall apart for it to be too much.”
Letty’s throat went tight. The clock ticked once, twice, and she hated that her eyes stung. “I’m fine,” she whispered again, and dabbed at her thumb until the blood disappeared into the tissue.
Marnie wrote something down—slowly this time. “Fine isn’t a feeling, Letty.”
Letty’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, well. It’s close enough.”
Letty stared down at the crumpled tissue in her palm, the tiny red mark blooming through. “Can I ask you something without it sounding… stupid?”
Marnie gave a small, patient nod. “You can ask me anything.”
Letty hesitated, the words fumbling out half-formed at first. “Is it wrong to—” she stopped, then huffed out a laugh, sharp at the edges. “God, this sounds like something out of a bad teen drama.”
“Try me,” Marnie said simply.
Letty leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her voice softened, careful in the way people get when they’re afraid of hearing themselves. “Is it wrong to want two people? At the same time?”
Marnie didn’t blink. “That depends on what you mean by want.”
Letty let out a slow breath. “I mean like… not just attraction. Not just wanting them near me. It’s more like—” she pressed her thumb to the side of her finger, tracing the skin instead of picking at it this time. “They’re both missing something the other has. Like one’s steady, dependable, and he makes me feel safe. The other’s chaos, but the kind that makes me feel alive.”
Marnie’s pen didn’t move. “And you think you can’t have both.”
“Well, no,” Letty said quickly, laughing without humor. “That’s not how this works. You can’t… split yourself up like that.”
“You sound certain.”
“I am,” she said, though it came out too fast. “I mean, that’s what Steve did, right? Going back and forth between me and Nancy like there was some equation that made it okay? He said he was confused, but that didn’t make it hurt less.”
Marnie tilted her head. “And yet you sound like you understand him now.”
Letty blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“You said he was confused. Now you’re describing confusion that sounds very similar.”
Letty frowned down at her hands. “Yeah, well. Maybe confusion’s contagious.”
Silence stretched between them—quiet, but not empty.
Marnie broke it first. “Letty, it’s not wrong to have complicated feelings. Wanting more than one person doesn’t make you a bad person. It just means you’re human. It’s what you do with those feelings that matters.”
Letty’s mouth twitched, not quite a frown. “You mean besides avoid both of them like they’re contagious?”
“Maybe avoiding is the safest thing you know how to do,” Marnie said gently. “But I think the harder question isn’t who you want—it’s what you’re looking for in them.”
Letty looked away, toward the clock. “I don’t know. Maybe I just want to stop feeling like I’m too much.”
“That’s not something either of them can fix for you,” Marnie said. “And you don’t have to choose to start figuring that out.”
Letty swallowed, her voice barely audible. “Yeah, well. Try telling that to everyone else.”
Marnie smiled softly. “I think you just did.”
Letty let out a breath that trembled a little at the end. “I just want to do what other people my age are doing,” she said finally. “Go to stupid parties, kiss someone behind a gym, sneak out, get caught. All the things that don’t sound like a survival strategy.”
Marnie’s eyes softened. “You want to be normal.”
Letty laughed, but it cracked down the middle. “Yeah. Whatever that means.” She shifted in her seat, the leather creaking beneath her.
“Just—stuff that doesn’t feel like it’s going to leave a scar later. You know? I wanna kiss someone I like. Go on a date and not think about everything that could go wrong. Maybe some stupid hand stuff or whatever—” she gestured vaguely, her cheeks coloring just slightly “—but with someone I actually trust. Someone who’s not gonna push, or take advantage, or—”
The sentence snagged. Her throat closed around the words before they could finish forming. For a second, the room felt too small. The hum of the clock too loud.
She looked down, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of her own hands, of the way her skin prickled at the memory of fingers that weren’t there. Her stomach twisted. A hot pulse of nausea hit the back of her throat, and she pressed her palms to her jeans, grounding herself in the coarse fabric.
“Letty,” Marnie said softly.
She shook her head once, eyes fixed on the floor. “Sorry. I just—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Marnie interrupted gently. “You’re safe here.”
Letty swallowed hard, still unable to look up. Her voice was flat now, automatic. “I know. I know that.”
But she didn’t sound like she believed it.
Her shoulders hunched forward, a small movement—defensive, protective. She took a shaky breath and forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Anyway,” she said, trying for lightness, “that’s all I meant. Parties, dates, all that. Just… normal stuff.”
Marnie didn’t correct her. Didn’t press. She simply watched, giving Letty the quiet she needed to collect herself.
After a moment, she said, “It sounds like what you want is safety that doesn’t feel like isolation.”
Letty blinked, the words sinking in slowly. “Yeah,” she said, voice thin. “Guess that’s about right.”
Marnie nodded. “You’ve spent a long time keeping yourself safe by staying still. Maybe what’s next for you is learning how to move without running.”
Letty didn’t answer. She just stared at the corner of Marnie’s desk, where a plant sat in a chipped ceramic pot—something green trying to thrive under fluorescent light.
The clock ticked again. The sound of it made her jaw ache.
Marnie was writing again, the sound of her pen slow and steady against the page. “You said earlier that you can’t slow down,” she murmured. “That if you stop moving, everything catches up to you.”
Letty’s mouth twitched, the corners curving up without humor. “Yeah, well. That’s the trick, right? Keep spinning so nothing can grab you.”
“Except eventually, you get dizzy.”
Letty huffed a quiet laugh. “Story of my life.”
They sat in silence for a long moment—Marnie letting it stretch just enough for the air to settle again.
“Maybe,” Marnie said finally, “instead of slowing down or speeding up, you could try doing something that feels different. Something that isn’t about fixing or escaping—just something new.”
Letty tilted her head, curiosity threading through the fatigue. “Like what? Take up knitting?”
Marnie smiled faintly. “Something that challenges the part of you that’s scared of stillness. That might mean trying something small and new instead of something big and fast.”
Letty was quiet for a long beat. Then: “I don’t know. Lately I’ve just had this feeling.”
“What kind of feeling?”
Her thumb rubbed over the edge of her jeans again, slow, restless. “Like I need to do something reckless. Not dangerous, just…” She struggled for the word. “Different. Something that isn’t routine. I’m so tired of routine.”
Marnie looked at her for a long, thoughtful moment. “Reckless doesn’t always mean destructive,” she said finally. “Sometimes it just means brave.”
Letty’s brows furrowed slightly. “You really think there’s a difference?”
“I think you’ll know which one you’re choosing when you do it.”
That earned a small, genuine smile from Letty—tired but real. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not simple,” Marnie said, closing her notebook. “But it is possible.”
Letty leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “You always make it sound possible.”
“That’s my job.”
Marnie reached for the small woven basket beside her desk, pulling out a handful of smooth, cool stones and setting them on the table between them. “Here. Pick one.”
Letty frowned. “What for?”
“It’s a grounding thing,” Marnie said, tone matter-of-fact. “When your hands start to hurt again, or your head gets too loud, hold it. Focus on how solid it is. That’s what’s real. The thoughts are just noise.”
Letty hesitated, then reached out, brushing her fingertips over the small collection before choosing a flat gray one with a single white streak through the center.
Marnie smiled. “Good choice.”
“Yeah?” Letty turned it over in her palm. It was cool, heavier than it looked. “You gonna tell me it means balance or something?”
“Only if you want it to,” Marnie said.
Letty snorted, tucking it into her jacket pocket as she stood. “Guess I’ll take my little emotional support rock and go be brave, then.”
“Or reckless,” Marnie said with a grin. “Just make sure you know which.”
Letty laughed, and for once it didn’t sound forced. “No promises.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder, said goodbye, and walked out into the bright early afternoon. The sun hit her face like a dare, and she thought—not for the first time—that maybe Marnie was right.
Maybe it didn’t have to be about falling apart or holding it together.
Maybe it could just be about trying something different.
The road to Lover’s Lake wound through the trees, the kind of quiet that pressed soft against the windows. The radio in her Chevy barely worked this far out, so she killed it, letting the hum of cicadas fill the silence instead.
By the time she parked, the afternoon light had gone soft and gold, rippling across the water. The air smelled faintly of algae and warm pine.
Letty left her shoes on the hood, cardigan tossed somewhere in the backseat. Her dress—cream-colored, thin as tissue—was knotted up at the sides so it wouldn’t drag in the mud. The water was colder than she expected when she waded in, creeping up her calves, her knees.
Her Walkman was tucked safely against her ribs, the headphones a thin plastic halo around her hair. The tape hissed before the first twang of guitar bled through.
Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman…
Tammy Wynette’s voice cracked through the static, a little warped from overuse. Letty hummed with it, breath catching on the high notes. She could almost hear her mother’s voice instead—hazy and sure, curling through the house on lazy Sunday mornings when sunlight came in through open curtains and everything smelled like lemon cleaner and vodka.
Letty sang along, off-key but loud enough that the sound carried over the water.
Stand by your man…
Her throat tightened halfway through the line. She stopped, the next breath catching. The echo came back to her from across the lake—thin, distorted, like even the trees were laughing at how wrong it sounded.
She sighed, tipping her head back toward the sky. Her voice wobbled when she tried again, the words spilling out rough.
And show the world you love him…
A rock lay half-buried at her feet. She picked it up, felt its weight, and threw it as far as she could. It skipped twice before sinking.
“Still got it,” she muttered under her breath, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She threw another. Then another.
Each one landed with a hollow plunk, sending ripples across the glassy surface.
Part of her felt bad for skipping class. She wasn’t sick, or tired, or even lying about it—she’d told Hopper straight up that she wasn’t going in today. He’d looked at her for a long second before just snorting, laughing about how she was just supposed to skip and not let him find out, that's usually how it went with teenagers.
So maybe this was half reckless, half honest.
Maybe it didn’t matter which.
Letty waded deeper until the hem of her dress darkened and clung to her thighs. The headphones buzzed faintly where the connection crackled, the tape clicking just before side B began.
She closed her eyes and breathed, the sound of the song blurring with the water against her skin, the smell of her mother’s perfume still echoing somewhere in the back of her head.
For the first time in a while, the quiet didn’t feel suffocating. It just felt like hers.
The sun had started its slow crawl down when Steve found her.
He hadn’t even meant to end up here. Dustin had called mid-morning, voice pitched high with that particular brand of panic he reserved for anything that sounded remotely like trouble. “She’s not in class, man. Like—at all. She didn’t even show up to first period!”
By the time Steve got to the cabin, Hopper was on his way out, coffee thermos in one hand, badge clipped to his belt. When Steve stammered out the question, the man just laughed, a deep belly sound that carried across the yard.
“Relax, Harrington. She’s fine. Said she wasn’t goin’ in today. Just tired.”
Tired.
Steve had driven half of Hawkins before the word stopped echoing in his head long enough for him to realize where he was going.
And now he was here, standing on the old wooden dock at Lover’s Lake, hands braced on his knees, catching his breath. Her car was parked crooked along the gravel, one of the sneakers she’d kicked off lying in the grass.
He spotted her instantly.
She was knee-deep in the water, the hem of her cream dress hitched up in knots at her hips, dark hair spilling down her back in loose waves. Her headphones sat crooked, the faint tinny sound of Tammy Wynette carrying just far enough for him to catch the tune.
She sang along, off-key, voice soft and uncertain but sweet in a way that made something in his chest tighten. Each time she threw a rock, her wrist flicked with the same careful precision she had when she stacked coins at the arcade.
He smiled without meaning to. She looked… light. Unburdened in a way he hadn’t seen since before the summer cracked everything open.
He should’ve left her to it.
But he didn’t.
He stayed there a little longer, watching her sing to the empty lake, her voice threading through the air like something fragile but unbroken.
When she bent to pick up another rock, he finally found his voice.
“Letty!”
The name came out louder than he meant. She froze mid-throw, half-turning, the water rippling around her knees.
Her expression flickered through surprise, confusion, and then something gentler when she realized who it was.
“Steve?”
He lifted a hand in a small wave, a sheepish grin pulling at his mouth. “Hey.”
She blinked at him, brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh—looking for you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how ridiculous that sounded. “Dustin called. Said you weren’t at school. Thought maybe…” His voice trailed off, too many endings to that sentence he didn’t want to say out loud.
Letty’s eyes softened, reading it anyway. “You thought maybe I broke again.”
He winced. “No, I just—Hopper said you were fine, but I couldn’t—” He sighed, laughing a little at himself. “I couldn’t not check.”
Letty looked down at the water, her fingers skimming across the surface as she murmured, “You really didn’t have to, Steve.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, stepping onto the dock rail to get a better look at her. “I know. But I wanted to.”
For a while, the only sound was the soft lap of water against wood and the faint buzz of her Walkman still hissing through one earbud.
“You looked…” he hesitated, searching for the right word. “Happy. Out here.”
Her laugh was low and self-deprecating. “Guess I forgot how to fake it good enough to fool you.”
Steve’s grin tilted, small but warm. “You weren’t faking. Not that time.”
Letty looked at him then, really looked—and for a second, the sunlight caught the water between them, gold and bright and endless.
Letty waded closer to the dock, the water lapping against her thighs, making the cream of her dress darker. Steve stayed where he was, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, eyes tracking her with that same stubborn concern that made her want to scream and hug him in the same breath.
She stopped a few feet from him, the distance between them stretched tight—both physical and something heavier.
The silence between them pulsed. The lake rippled in soft waves against her legs.
Letty looked up at him then, really looked—and whatever she saw made her chest hurt. That look again, the one she’d been trying to pretend wasn’t there every time he drifted close. Yearning. Regret. Maybe love, but the kind that showed up too late to matter.
“Why are you making it harder than it has to be?” she asked.
Steve blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“This. Us. Everything.” Her voice wavered, but she didn’t back down. “You keep showing up like this—looking at me like that—and it just… it’s not fair.”
“Letty—”
“No, I mean it.” Her breath came faster, the words tumbling out now that she’d started. “You got to figure yourself out. You got to choose what you wanted. And I tried, Steve. I really tried to do the same, but you—” She broke off, shaking her head as if that would steady her. “You show up and you look at me like that and it feels like I’m right back where I started. Like you’re standing in the way on purpose.”
His brow furrowed, pain flickering in his face. “I’m not trying to—”
“Yes, you are.” Her voice cracked. “Because if I move on, that means you really lost me. And you can’t stand that.”
The words hung there, raw and too real to take back.
Steve swallowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “You think that’s all this is? Me not wanting to lose?”
“I don’t know what this is,” she said, her voice softening but still sharp at the edges. “But I know I wanted to stop feeling like this. I wanted to let myself want somebody else. And I was starting to—”
She stopped, the name caught in her throat.
Eddie.
Steve’s expression shifted—something pained and knowing. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I figured.”
Letty’s shoulders sagged. “And now I feel like an asshole. Because I finally find someone who doesn’t make me feel like I have to fight to breathe, and I can’t even let myself have that because you keep showing up, and you keep being…” She gestured helplessly at him. “You.”
Steve looked down at the dock, jaw tight. “I didn’t mean to ruin anything for you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped, then caught herself, voice trembling but steadying as she went. “Because you did. You didn’t mean to, but you did. Because now Eddie’s worried about your feelings, about how you’ll take it, and somehow I’m the one who’s getting shoved to the side again to make room for everybody else’s comfort.”
Her hands shook where they clutched the hem of her dress. “Do you know how exhausting that is, Steve? To keep making myself small so nobody else feels hurt?”
He started to say something, but she cut him off, the words rushing out before she could stop them.
“He told me he doesn’t want to be another wrong choice.” She laughed—short, sharp, humorless. “Like somehow I'm you and he's me and now you’re my Nancy and it just me and you all over again, like I’m just doomed to keep replaying the same story where I’m the person who can’t get it right.”
Her voice cracked, the sound breaking against the quiet water. “But that’s not what this is. I’m not you, Steve. I’m allowed to like people. I’m allowed to want things—to want someone.” She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, smearing the water and tears and maybe a little lake grit across her cheek.
“I just wanted something simple. To go on a stupid date, to hold someone’s hand, to maybe kiss them and not feel like the world’s ending because of it. And you—” she swallowed hard, her throat tight, “you keep ruining that for me. For him. For me.”
Her voice softened, but the hurt stayed threaded through every word. “And I don’t even think you mean to. But you keep showing up, and everything in me just… stops. Because it’s you. It’s always been you. And I hate that.”
Steve’s face fell, like the air had been punched out of him.
She took a half-step back, water rippling around her knees. “I hate that you still have that power. Because I really thought I was done giving it to you.”
Steve’s face tightened. “It’s not my fault Munson doesn’t wanna take you out.”
Letty froze. “What?”
He winced the moment it left his mouth, but it was too late. “I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” she cut in, voice sharp and shaking. “You did mean it.”
“Letty—”
“You think this is about Eddie being scared? No. He’s trying to be decent, which is more than I can say for you right now.”
“I’m not the bad guy here,” Steve snapped, and it came out harder than he meant. “I didn’t tell him to back off, I didn’t—”
“You didn’t have to!” she yelled, voice echoing over the water. “You just had to exist. You just had to look at me the way you do and make him second-guess everything!”
The words hit like gravel, scattered and raw. Steve’s jaw clenched; he took a step closer, eyes dark.
“What do you want me to do, Letty? Pretend I don’t care? Pretend I don’t see you?”
“Yes!” she shouted. “Maybe! Just—something! Anything other than this half-alive version of you that shows up every time I start to feel like I can breathe again!”
He stared at her, chest rising and falling. “I’m trying.”
“No, you’re not,” she said, voice dropping low. “You’re just trying not to be the one left behind.”
Steve flinched like she’d hit him. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is you showing up here,” she said bitterly. “Neither is you deciding what I get to have. You don’t get to break me and then act like you’re the only one who gets to fix it.”
“God, Letty, you act like I planned this.”
“Did you not?” she shot back. “Because every time I start to move on, you find me. You just find me.”
The air between them went still, all sound swallowed by the lake. Her breathing came fast; his eyes were glassy with something he wouldn’t let fall.
“I never wanted to take anything from you,” he said finally, voice rough.
“But you did,” she whispered. “And you keep doing it. And I keep letting you.”
She took a step back, the water rippling around her knees. “And I’m so tired of loving people who only ever make me smaller.”
Steve’s throat worked, but he couldn’t find a word big enough to answer her with.
Letty turned, sloshing through the shallows toward the bank. “Go home, Steve. Before you make it worse.”
But behind her came the splash — loud, jarring — and she spun just as Steve waded into the lake, jeans soaking up to his knees, shirt plastered to his skin.
“I’m not going home,” he said, voice rough and breathless. “Not this time.”
“Jesus, Steve—”
“No,” he cut in, still closing the distance. “We keep doing this thing — this dance, this half-thing — and I can’t keep pretending it’s nothing.”
Water rippled around them. Letty froze halfway between him and the shore, her hands trembling at her sides. “You don’t get to just decide that now.”
“I didn’t just decide,” he said, reaching toward her. “I’ve been trying to not decide. For weeks. Because you said I made it hard, because you said it wasn’t fair — and maybe it isn’t. But, God, Letty, I can’t keep watching you drift toward someone else and act like I don’t care.”
She shook her head, stepping back from him, the water swirling dark around her knees. “You don’t get to care now. Not after everything.”
“I never stopped,” he shot back, his hand catching her wrist before she could turn away again. The grip wasn’t hard — just enough to keep her there. “You think I didn’t get it? You think I didn’t hear what you were saying? About Nancy, about me? I did. I just didn’t know how to fix it without screwing it up worse.”
Her voice cracked, all the fight bleeding into hurt. “Then why show up now?”
“Because he’s scared,” Steve said — not cruel, just bare. “Because he’s not me. Because I saw the way Munson looks at you and the way you look at him and I can’t—” His voice broke on the edge of it. “I can’t just stand there and watch you give someone else the chance I threw away.”
Letty’s breath hitched; she stared at him, caught between fury and disbelief. “You’re happy he’s scared?”
He swallowed hard, water dripping from his hair into his eyes. “No. I’m just— I’m selfish enough to be relieved. Because if he’s too scared, maybe that means I still have time to make it right.”
“You think this is how you make it right?” she asked, voice trembling. “By showing up, again, and confusing the hell out of me?”
“I’m not trying to confuse you,” he said, softer now, closer. “I’m trying to be honest for once.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t pull away. “Then say it, Steve. Say what you actually want.”
He held her gaze, the sunlight catching on the water between them. “I want you. Not the almost-version, not the easy one. Just you.”
She exhaled, a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. “And what if I don’t know what I want?”
“Then I’ll wait,” he said quietly, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist. “But stop pretending you don’t feel it too.”
For a long moment neither of them moved, the lake holding its breath around them. Letty’s pulse beat fast under his fingers, her eyes shining with something that wasn’t just anger anymore.
When she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper. “You always say the right thing too late.”
She tried to pull away, but he didn’t let her. Not tight — just steady, his hand at her wrist like an anchor, keeping her in place even as the space between them trembled.
“I’m not saying it too late,” he said, the words rough, desperate, close enough that she could feel his breath. “You’re standing right here. You’re still here, and I’m telling you now. I want you. All of it. The crying in parking lots, the late-night studying, the stress-organizing, the way you make everything harder on yourself because you care too much. I want all of it, Letty.”
Her lips parted, her breath catching in her throat. She shook her head, tears streaking down her cheeks. “You can’t say that,” she whispered. “You don’t get to say that now.”
“Why not?” he said, voice cracking. “You said you wanted honesty. This is it.”
“Because it’s not fair!” she cried, the words breaking apart as she pushed at his chest, weakly, without real force. “You can’t just remind me how much I—how much I like you—when I finally let myself like someone else!”
He caught her wrists again, softer this time, his thumbs brushing the damp skin where her pulse raced. “You mean Munson.”
“Yes!” she choked out. “Eddie! He’s kind, and he listens, and he doesn’t make me feel like I’m losing air every time I look at him. And then you show up, and it’s just—” she shook her head, sobbing through it, “—it’s you, and I hate that I still feel this way.”
Steve’s expression faltered, his voice barely more than a breath. “You don’t hate it.”
“I do,” she said, though it came out like a plea. “Because it’s not fair! I like you, and I like him, and I feel like the worst person in the world for it. And it’s your fault!”
“My fault?” he echoed, stunned.
“Yes!” she cried. “You’re the one who made me meet new people! You’re the one who made memove on! And now I did, and you can’t stand it.”
He swallowed hard, water still dripping from his hair, his voice low and raw. “You’re right. I can’t. Because you were never supposed to move on from me.”
Letty went still. The words hung between them, heavy and alive.
Her voice came out small, shaking. “So what, now I’m just supposed to drop him because you decided you finally want me?”
“No,” Steve said, stepping closer, his hands trembling as he cupped her jaw, thumbs brushing away the tears he’d caused. “I’m saying… I never stopped. I just didn’t know how to be the person you needed. But I want to try.”
Her breath hitched, her eyes searching his like she could find a version of him that wouldn’t hurt. “And what happens when you decide you want Nancy again? What happens when I’m not enough?”
Steve’s face crumpled, voice shaking. “You already are.”
She sobbed then, the sound torn from somewhere deep, and his arms came around her almost instinctively. She didn’t fight it — just stood there, pressed against him in the shallows, trembling and angry and exhausted, her tears soaking into his shirt.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered into his chest.
“Neither do I,” he murmured, holding her tighter. “But I don’t want to stop trying.”
The water lapped against their legs, the last light bleeding gold across the lake. Letty shook her head, her voice splintering.
“You think you’re being honest, but you’re just being mean.”
“Mean?” Steve’s breath hitched. “I’m standing here telling you I—”
“I know what you’re telling me,” she cut in, the words trembling. “And I hate that I don’t hate hearing it.”
He went still, the lake murmuring softly around them.
She blinked through her tears, stepping back until the water lapped cold against her calves. “You keep doing this—showing up right when I think I’m okay. You make me remember what it felt like to be safe and seen, and then you take it all away again.”
“Letty—”
She shook her head, cutting him off. “You want honesty? Fine. I feel like I’m caught between what feels safe and what feels like home. And it’s not fair that one of those things has your face.”
He stared at her, chest rising and falling fast.
Her next breath came out a tremor. “God, you’re so mean,” she whispered. “You don’t even realize it.”
She turned before he could answer, stumbling through the shallows, the water dragging at her dress and splashing up against her thighs. By the time she reached the bank, her shoes were soaked through; she kicked them off, grabbed them anyway, and kept moving.
“Letty—” Steve called after her, voice cracking.
She didn’t look back.
He stood there, the water rippling out from where she’d been, watching her cross the grass toward the small gravel lot. The car door slammed, headlights cutting through the blue-gray dusk.
Steve exhaled, half a sob, half a curse. The sound echoed across the lake, swallowed by the trees.
He stayed there long after the taillights disappeared, jeans heavy with water, shirt clinging cold to his skin.
She’d called him mean. Maybe she was right.
Because what he felt wasn’t clean, or noble, or patient — it was selfish and aching and real.
He wanted her — the whole impossible, contradictory, brilliant mess of her — and he’d finally said it.
And somehow, it still felt like losing.
A cicada buzzed somewhere in the trees.
He looked down at his reflection, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes hollow.
The ripples around him stilled slow, the lake turning glassy and dark. Somewhere in the trees, a bird called out, sharp and lonely. Steve stayed where she’d left him — shoes soaked, jeans heavy, heart thudding like it was trying to break out of his ribs.
He wasn’t sure when it started — this thing where he always ended up chasing after her shadow instead of walking beside her.
Safe and home. Her words tasted like salt and riverwater.
She said it like they were two different things. Maybe they were. Maybe they always had been.
Eddie was the kind of safe Steve never figured out how to be. Quiet, steady, the kind of guy who knew how to sit still in a storm. Steve could barely stand in one. He kept thinking love was about fixing things — showing up with tools and a smile and pretending that meant he could keep everything from falling apart.
But Letty didn’t want fixing. She wanted someone who could stay.
And maybe that was why she ran — because when she looked at him, she didn’t see safety. She saw a home she’d already had to leave once.
The night air was cold against his skin now, the water soaking through to bone. He rubbed at his face, dragging his fingers back through his hair, and laughed — low, breathless, almost bitter.
He’d spent all this time trying to prove he could be the right kind of man for her, but the truth was simpler and worse:
he wasn’t sure he knew how to be one at all.
When he finally moved, it was slow — trudging up the bank, leaving muddy footprints on the dock. The world smelled like wet pine and cigarettes and the ghost of her perfume. He glanced once toward where her car had been, the gravel already quiet again, like she’d never been there.
He whispered it to the emptiness anyway.
“I could’ve been both.”
But the wind took it, the lake swallowed it, and he knew it didn’t matter.
Not yet.
Chapter 17: Baby steps
Chapter Text
By Saturday, the week had folded in on itself like a bad origami project — too many creases in the wrong places.
Letty leaned against the counter, the hum of neon and laughter bleeding through the air before her. The smell of electricity and dust filled the air, warm and stifling. She had her notebook open, pages half-filled with scribbles that didn’t make sense anymore — equations and bullet points that blurred together no matter how long she stared at them.
Her handwriting looked like someone else’s. Slanted, rushed, unsteady.
She sighed, shut the notebook, and rested her forehead against her palm. Her fingers itched for a cigarette. Her brain itched for quiet.
Marnie had told her to “make sure you know which — reckless or brave” — but the difference felt smaller by the day. Maybe she’d chosen wrong. Or maybe there wasn’t a right one to begin with.
Because reckless was what she felt when she skipped school to go to the lake.
Brave would’ve been staying.
Now, 4 days later, and she still couldn’t tell which one she’d done.
She hadn’t talked to Eddie since that night in the dining parking lot.
Not really.
Just a few half-hearted waves across the parking lot. The silence between them felt heavier than the conversations they never finished.
Dustin wouldn’t even look at her — his glances sharp, betrayed, the kind of judgment only teenage boys could make feel like a knife. Will had just shrugged when she asked about it.
So she stopped asking.
Now she was here —a shitty job with sticky carpets, the red and blue lights of machines glowing ominously in the low light. She could hear laughter echo from the far side — El’s, bright and familiar. Max cursing at a racing game. Lucas telling her to “drive straight for once.”
It was supposed to be normal.
A distraction.
But all she could think about was the pile of homework sitting untouched on her desk at home, the way her notes from this week looked like static — no focus, no retention. Just the hum of a brain too full of everything except what it needed.
She rubbed at her temple and thought, not for the first time, Maybe I’m just too stupid to fix this.
Her laugh came out tired, mostly to herself.
The group whooped as someone hit a high score. Letty glanced up, catching the flicker of their faces in the light — Dustin, Lucas, Mike, even Will— bent over a pinball machine, smiling.
For a second, her heart kicked. That old, familiar warmth. The sound of the machine’s bell filled the silence between her ribs.
Letty exhaled, slow and quiet, gathering her things. Right, she told herself. That’s what you get for choosing reckless.
The hum of the arcade finally died down around eight, the air conditioner clicking off like a sigh. Letty flipped the last switch behind the counter, the neon lights flickering once before settling into darkness.
Outside, she could see Max and El sitting on the hood of the Chevy, legs swinging, whispering back and forth in the cool glow of the parking lot lights. The sound of cicadas carried across the asphalt.
Letty locked up, keys jingling softly in her hand, and pushed the door open with her shoulder. “Alright, gremlins. Home time.”
El hopped off the hood, smiling. Max hesitated.
“Hey,” Max said, tone a little too casual, “would it be okay if I stayed over for a few days?”
Letty blinked, glancing toward El, who looked just as surprised. “I don’t mind,” she said slowly, “but that’s kind of a Hopper question, not a me one.”
Max’s mouth twisted. She looked down, kicking at the gravel. “Could you… maybe ask him for me?”
That gave Letty pause. She watched Max for a moment, really watched her — the way her shoulders hunched like she was waiting for a blow that might not come.
A thought flickered. Billy, leaning against a car weeks ago, cigarette burning low between his fingers as he’d told her Susan was packing boxes. Spring, probably, he’d said.
Maybe that timetable got moved up.
Letty’s voice softened. “Do we need to grab anything from your place?”
Max shook her head fast. “I brought some stuff. Just in case.”
Letty nodded, not pushing. “Alright then. Let’s get home.”
The drive was quiet except for the hum of the radio and El’s soft humming to whatever song was playing. Max stared out the window, her reflection pale against the dark.
When they got to the cabin, Letty sent the girls inside and lingered by the phone on the counter. She stared at it for a second, chewing at the skin beside her thumb before she finally dialed.
The line clicked once, twice. Then: “Pop’s Auto.”
Relief flooded her. “Hey, Billy.”
A beat. “Letty. Everything alright?”
Her voice dropped without her meaning it to. “Is Susan moving out already?”
There was a pause — long enough that she thought the line might’ve cut out. Then Billy’s voice came, quieter than before. “Why’re you asking?”
“Because Max asked to stay here for a few days,” Letty said, lowering her tone further. “And I’d ask Susan myself, but I don’t wanna make it weird if I’m wrong.”
Silence again. She could hear the buzz of the shop’s overhead lights through the receiver.
Finally, Billy exhaled. “She found a trailer. Nothing fancy. Says she can swing it on her own. Probably be moved in by Thanksgiving.” His words slowed, heavy. “Didn’t think it’d be this soon.”
Letty leaned against the counter, pressing her fingers to her temple. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Me neither.”
There was another small stretch of quiet — the kind that meant both of them were thinking the same thing but didn’t have the heart to say it.
“Hey,” Billy said finally, voice softer. “Thanks for letting the kid stay.”
Letty smiled faintly, even though he couldn’t see it. “She’s family, Billy.”
Another silence. Then: “You’re a good one, Letty.”
The line clicked.
Letty set the receiver back on the hook and stood there for a long moment, staring at the dark window over the sink. The reflection that looked back at her was tired, smudged under the eyes, hair falling loose around her shoulders.
Letty woke to the smell of toasted waffles and the low murmur of laughter.
The morning light filtered weakly through the curtains — soft, hazy gold that made the living room look almost gentle.
Her neck ached. She’d fallen asleep on the couch again, twisted under a thin throw blanket. The coffee table was still littered with her notebook and a half-eaten granola bar from the night before.
Somewhere behind her eyelids, a shadow moved — and then something warm pressed against her forehead.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”
Hopper’s voice was quiet, the gruff edge softened by amusement. Letty cracked one eye open just enough to see him standing over her, mug in hand.
She groaned and reached for it, fingers curling around the ceramic like it was salvation. “You’re cruel.”
“Cruel would’ve been letting you sleep through breakfast,” he muttered.
She took a sip — bitter, dark, perfect — and felt her brain start to catch up with her body. The smell of butter and syrup drifted from the kitchen, where El and Max were huddled by the toaster, whispering in that way that made it obvious they were trying not to wake anyone.
El’s laughter came first — bright and quick, spilling into the living room. Max followed a beat later, shaking her head, crumbs on her chin.
For a second, Letty just watched them — hair messy, faces soft in the morning light — and felt something inside her chest ease.
Then Hopper crouched down beside the couch, his voice low. “Susan called me this morning.”
Letty’s brow furrowed mid-sip. “What—”
He shook his head before she could finish, mouthing, later.
Her stomach sank a little, the coffee suddenly too bitter on her tongue. She nodded once, quiet understanding passing between them.
He stood, patting her shoulder gently as he went to grab his keys from the hook by the door. “Don’t let those two burn the house down.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she mumbled around her mug, pulling the blanket tighter over her legs.
As the door shut behind him, she glanced toward the kitchen again. El was pouring orange juice — too fast, spilling a little on the counter. Max was wiping it up with the hem of her sleeve, grinning.
It looked like a normal morning. It even felt like one, if she didn’t think too hard about it.
Letty took another sip of coffee and decided not to.
Breakfast was a slow, cozy chaos. The girls had taken over the kitchen — El with her serious, methodical toast-buttering and Max pilfering the last Eggo when she thought no one was looking.
Letty sat at the table, hair mussed, hoodie pulled over her pajama tank, mug of coffee cradled in both hands. She watched them move around the small kitchen like they’d been doing this their whole lives, and her chest tugged in that quiet, complicated way it always did when she realized they were growing up.
El was the first to speak. “Can we come with you today?”
Letty blinked. “To the arcade?”
El nodded, glancing at Max for backup.
Max, halfway through an Eggo, chimed in. “We’ve got homework. We can just hang out in the backroom while you work.”
Letty frowned slightly. “You sure you wouldn’t rather stay home? It’s gonna be boring.”
Max shook her head. “Better than being stuck here.”
El added quickly, “And I wanted to look at movies anyway. Isn’t Sunday a short day for you?”
Letty hummed, taking a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, half shift. I’m done at four.” She set the mug down, tapping her nails lightly against the rim. “But you know the deal — no wandering, no sneaking free tokens, and definitely no setting up shop in the prize booth again.”
El tried not to smile. Max didn’t bother.
“It’s family dinner at the Byers’ after, anyway,” Letty added.
Max made a face, scrunching her nose. “Ew. Playing house.”
Letty laughed, a low, soft sound that filled the space between sips of coffee. “Hey, adults get to have romance too.”
That got Max’s attention. She narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Are you looking for romance?”
El elbowed her hard in the ribs, muttering, “Max!”
Letty just smiled — a small, crooked thing that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sometimes you’re just too busy for it,” she said, shrugging. “Not everyone can be like you and Lucas.”
Max sputtered instantly, face heating. “Me and— what? We’re not—!”
Letty rolled her eyes, standing to rinse out her mug. “You should probably share that breaking news with him then.”
El snorted into her juice, and Max groaned, burying her face in her hands.
For a fleeting second, the cabin felt lighter. Warm. Like maybe all of them could pretend that normal still existed — even if it only lasted until four o’clock.
By three o’clock, the girls had gotten restless.
“We’re gonna go to Family Video,” Max announced, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. “Check out what they’ve got for the weekend.”
El nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You want anything?”
Letty waved them off with a smile. “Nah, I’m good. Don’t get caught harassing the customers.”
Max smirked. “No promises.”
The bell over the door jingled as they left, their laughter fading into the quiet hum of the empty arcade. The moment the door shut, silence settled in — the kind that made the fluorescent lights buzz a little too loud and every sound feel like it echoed twice.
Sunday afternoons were always slow. She’d learned to love them that way.
A kind of stillness that let her breathe without thinking too hard.
Last week, she’d shut down early — killed the lights, locked up, and gone home before anyone noticed. But two weeks in a row might raise questions, and the last thing she needed was Keith asking why she couldn’t handle a few quiet hours.
So she worked.
The rag in her hand was damp and smelled faintly of lemon cleaner. She wound her way through the aisles of machines, wiping down the joysticks and screens, clearing fingerprints from the glass. Every few steps, her sneakers hit a patch of carpet that squelched faintly, and she made a face each time, muttering under her breath.
When she reached the far side of the arcade, she stopped.
The yellow tape that marked off the small corridor to Jellybeans sagged in the middle, the Sharpie letters faded from too much light and time. DO NOT ENTER.
Letty stood there a moment, rag dangling from her hand, the hum of the machines pressing against her ears. She could still remember when the lights in Jellybeans burned bright — before the closure, before the sign went up, before that particular wing of the arcade settled in silence.
Her chest ached faintly.
And then, unbidden, Steve crossed her mind — the memory of the lake, of his hand on her arm, of the way his voice cracked when he said her name.
She tried to shove it away.
But as soon as she did, Eddie took his place — the sound of his laugh, the smell of motor oil and clove cigarettes, the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes in the parking lot anymore.
It all came in waves. Two people, opposite poles tugging at the same fraying thread inside her.
Letty exhaled sharply, stomping the thought flat before it could grow. She scrubbed harder at the side of a machine, muttering under her breath, “Not today.”
The rag squeaked against the glass. The carpet squelched again when she turned.
And still, the quiet pressed close — thick, unrelenting, waiting.
“And then Max just asks Will and Jonathan if they were sad when their dad left,” Letty said, voice rising halfway between disbelief and amusement. “Like, out of nowhere. And I mean—yeah, sure, she’s got a point, but still. Hopper’s halfway through a drumstick and just freezes, and Joyce—Joyce starts pouring wine like she’s trying to hit a personal best.”
Marnie didn’t interrupt, pen hovering over her pad.
Letty leaned back in the chair, hands moving animatedly as she went on. “It was disgusting but not, like, in that cool kickflip Max can do way. More like bailing mid-trick and eating pavement. And Hopper’s trying so hard to keep it together, right? He’s making jokes, Will looks like he wants to crawl into the mashed potatoes, and Jonathan just… stares at the ceiling. Easily the best family dinner we’ve ever had.”
A beat of silence followed.
Marnie blinked slowly. “I meant the reckless thing you did.”
Letty’s grin faltered. “That was the reckless thing,” she insisted, gesturing with both hands. “I brought Max to dinner. Did you not hear me? She’s—she’s unhinged.”
Marnie’s brow arched slightly. “You’re avoiding the question again.”
Letty groaned, dropping her head back against the chair. “Oh my god.”
“Deflection is a form of self-preservation,” Marnie said evenly. “But it doesn’t change what’s under it.”
Letty peeked at her through a curtain of hair. “Maybe I just don’t want to talk about what’s under it.”
“That,” Marnie said softly, “is usually the part that needs to be talked about most.”
Letty huffed, crossing her arms. “You ever get tired of being right all the time?”
Marnie smiled faintly. “Not as much as you get tired of me saying it.”
That earned the smallest laugh from Letty, quiet but real. She looked away, eyes drifting toward the window, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“Fine,” she muttered. “You win. But I’m still not talking about it.”
Marnie tapped her pen against the pad, the faint sound filling the quiet. “You seem a little more… talkative today,” she said finally. “About everything except what we’re supposed to be talking about.”
Letty groaned dramatically, slouching in her chair. “Maybe I just like making your job harder. Keeps you sharp.”
Marnie smiled. “I think you like pretending everything’s fine so you don’t have to look too closely.”
Letty pointed at her. “And there it is. The therapist voice.”
“Mhmm,” Marnie said. “You’re deflecting again.”
“I’m multitasking,” Letty shot back, half a grin curling at her mouth. “God, do you ever just—like—live vicariously through all your teenage clients’ stupid drama?”
That actually earned a laugh from Marnie. “Oh, I don’t think you’re having a teenage fuckup, Letty. I think you’re learning to navigate what matters to you.”
Letty tilted her head, mock-suspicious. “You say that like there’s a difference.”
“There is,” Marnie said lightly. “One means you’re not thinking. The other means you are — just maybe a little too much.”
Letty sighed, rubbing at her temple. “Yeah, well. That tracks.”
There was a pause, long enough for the silence to settle comfortably again. Then Marnie said, “You mentioned feeling caught between two people last week.”
Letty hesitated, eyes flicking toward the window. “Yeah,” she muttered. “That’s… still a thing.”
“Still a thing,” Marnie repeated softly. “You sound almost proud.”
“I sound tired,” Letty corrected. She shifted in her seat, pulling one knee up to her chest. “Okay, so—fine. I skipped school last week, went to the lake, Steve found me. We argued. Like—really argued. Not our usual ‘you don’t understand me’ teenage melodrama. Like, full-on emotional boxing match. It was… something.”
Marnie’s brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t say anything.
Letty waited a beat, then gestured with her hands. “What? No wise therapist take? No ‘how does that make you feel,’ or ‘what did you learn from that experience’?”
Marnie just smiled faintly. “You seem to already know how you feel.”
Letty blinked, thrown by the simplicity of it.
She sank back into the chair, exhaling through her nose. “Yeah,” she said finally. “That’s about how I feel.”
Marnie opened her mouth to say something, but Letty was already talking.
“It’s not even that simple, though, right?” she said, hands flying up as if trying to catch the thought midair. “Like—he said he liked me. Steve. He said it. Out loud. That he wanted to try this thing out, whatever this is, and what did I do?” Her voice cracked with a short, humorless laugh. “I fucking curb-stomped him.”
“Letty—”
“No, because seriously.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees now, eyes glassy but hard. “What am I supposed to do with that? Just—say yes? Pretend it’s fine? Pretend that all the feelings I’ve got for Eddie are just gonna politely sit in the corner until I’m ready to deal with them?”
She dragged a hand through her hair, the motion jerky, restless. “It’s not fair to any of us. It’s not fair to Steve, and it’s sure as hell not fair to Eddie, and it’s definitely not fair to me, but—what, I’m supposed to pick one and hope it doesn’t explode?”
Her voice wavered, frustration bleeding through the fatigue. “Because that’s what it feels like. Like no matter what I do, I’m just building the next thing I’m gonna screw up.”
Marnie stayed quiet, letting her breathe through it.
Letty laughed again, softer this time, shaking her head. “And I miss him,” she said, the words slipping out before she could catch them. “I miss Eddie. I miss just sitting in his room, laughing, sharing cigarettes. I miss how easy it was before all this shit got in the way. But every time I think about it, it’s like—Steve’s there. Hanging over it. Like a ghost that won’t leave the room.”
She sat back, exhaling hard. “So yeah. I feel guilty. Because I keep saying I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I keep doing it anyway. It’s like the universe won’t let me have a single uncomplicated thing.”
Her fingers toyed with the edge of her sleeve, tugging until the fabric bunched in her palm. “And the worst part? I can’t even tell which one of them I’m trying to protect anymore.”
Marnie waited a long moment before speaking, voice low, steady. “Maybe it isn’t about protecting them,” she said. “Maybe it’s about protecting the version of yourself that thinks you don’t deserve either.”
Letty’s throat worked, but no sound came out. She blinked hard, trying to force the sting back down.
Marnie just nodded once, jotting something on her pad.
Letty stared at her, a laugh bubbling out—thin, brittle, and half-angry. “Yeah? That’s it? It’s my mommy issues and childhood trauma making me an emotional whore? Great. Fantastic. Thanks, Marnie.”
She threw her hands up, eyes wide with mock enthusiasm. “Maybe I should just drive to Eddie’s trailer right now and be like—‘O M G-ee, I’m so into you, Eddie, but gosh, I also really like Steve, and ugh, maybe we should all hold hands and sing Kumbaya around the campfire or some shit.’”
Marnie didn’t flinch, didn’t even look up from her notes. “If that’s what you need to say,” she said softly, “then maybe it’s not as much of a joke as you think.”
Letty blinked, scoffed. “Okay, now you sound insane.”
Marnie glanced up, unbothered. “Do I?”
“Yes!” Letty snapped, hands cutting through the air as if to physically ward the thought off.
“You’re either high or you’ve lost it completely, because no one actually does that. No one sits two people down and goes, ‘hey, surprise, I caught feelings for both of you, let’s just figure it out together!’ That’s not real life, that’s like—bad sitcom logic. That’s—” She broke off, laughing without humor. “—that’s certifiable.”
“Or honest,” Marnie offered.
Letty groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Oh my god. Honest gets you committed. I’m already on anxiety meds, I don’t need to add ‘emotional lunatic’ to the list.”
Her voice cracked a little at the end, caught somewhere between hysteria and exhaustion. “No one does that,” she repeated, quieter now.
Marnie studied her for a long moment, her pen stilled above the page. “Maybe that’s the point,” she said quietly. “Maybe it’s time someone did.”
Letty laughed—too sharp, too defensive. “Sure. Let’s just get me two boyfriends and roll into that. Amazing. Round of applause.”
Marnie didn’t rise to the bait. She leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees, her voice soft but firm. “With the way you’re setting it up, it sounds like you’re already trying to pick one or the other and then hating yourself for it. Either you choose one and feel guilty for leaving the other behind, or you try both and assume you’ll lose them anyway.”
Letty stilled, her fingers twisting in her lap.
Marnie went on. “Or maybe,” she said, careful with the word, “you stop assuming it has to be either-or. Maybe you ask. Maybe you tell them the truth and see what kind of answer you get. I don’t know how that conversation would go—I’ve never tried it personally—but it might be worth asking if that’s something you want.”
Letty blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in her tone. “That’s—” she started, then shook her head, almost laughing. “That’s insane.”
Marnie smiled, patient. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just honest.”
Letty sank back in the chair, pressing her palms over her knees like she was holding herself together. “Yeah,” she said finally, voice small. “Honest sounds scarier than insane right now.”
Marnie nodded. “It usually is.”
The library was quiet in that mid-day kind of way — low murmurs, the faint scratch of pens, a chair creaking every so often. Dust motes drifted in the light that cut through the high windows.
Letty crouched at the back of the room, the smell of paper and glue heavy as she stacked oversized atlases on the bottom shelf — the ones with cracked spines and torn maps that needed fixing. Her sandwich sat untouched beside her bag, crumbs dusting the corner of her notebook.
“Hey,” a voice said behind her, low but cheerful. “Thanks, by the way.”
Letty twisted at the waist, blinking up at Gareth. “For what?”
He leaned on the shelf, pushing a hand through his hair. “Taking the Saturday shifts.”
A laugh escaped before she could stop it, quick and bright, and she clapped a hand over her mouth when Ms. Ives shot her a warning look from the front desk. She grinned behind her fingers. “God, I thought you were about to tell me something was broken or someone quit.”
Gareth’s grin widened. “No, nothing like that. Just — you remembered I said I couldn’t do Saturdays. Band practice, y’know.”
“Right,” she said, still half-smiling. “I figured you’d rather be a rockstar than count tokens with me.”
“It’s nice of you, though,” he said, lowering his voice like they were conspiring. “But now you’ll never make it to a show.”
Letty shrugged, sliding another heavy volume into place. “Guess that’s the price my kindness pays.”
He made a face. “Total bummer, though. We’ve got a small one this weekend. Part of me hoped you’d show up.”
She arched a brow. “You just want extra hands for setup and cleanup.”
Gareth tried not to laugh, shoulders shaking. “Okay, maybe. But also, you’re like, our number one fan. You’ve probably heard all the new stuff from Eddie already.”
Letty froze just a little — not enough to show, just enough to feel. “Why do you think that?”
He shrugged. “Dustin was giving him shit about you and Steve the other week — said he needed to ‘back off’ or something. But Will told him you guys weren’t even together, and I figured, you know… if Eddie’s still talking about it, you two must be inching toward something.”
He wagged his eyebrows. “Romance, Munson-style.”
Letty shook her head, trying for indifferent. “You talked to Eddie about it?”
“God, no.” Gareth rolled his eyes. “I don’t need the details. He’d never shut up.”
She didn’t mean to smile. It just happened.
The bell hadn’t even finished ringing before Letty was slipping out of the library.
She shoved her sleeves up as she crossed the courtyard, the afternoon heat already pooling heavy against her skin. Eddie always spent the tail end of lunch behind the gym, tucked away where the teachers didn’t wander — cheap cigarettes, a few dime bags, and that lazy grin that said caught me? never.
She told herself it wasn’t about anything serious. She just wanted to ask why he hadn’t said anything about the show.
That was it.
That was all.
But when she rounded the corner, it wasn’t just Eddie.
Chrissy Cunningham sat on top of the picnic table, legs crossed, her laugh soft and breathy over the hum of cicadas. Eddie leaned against the bench beside her, one hand drumming idly against his thigh, smiling that easy, lopsided smile that always got her.
Chrissy said something Letty couldn’t catch, and her hand landed on his shoulder — a casual touch, light as air — but it hit like a flicked match in her chest.
Letty forced herself forward.
Chrissy looked up first, smile bright. “Oh! Hi! You’re the sheriff’s kid, right? Jane?”
Letty shook her head. “No. That’s my sister.”
Chrissy’s face lit with recognition. “Oh, duh! Charlotte.”
For a second, Letty thought, God, she’s really sweet. The kind of sweet that doesn’t have an edge to it.
She opened her mouth to answer, but Chrissy was already standing, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt. “I’ve gotta run to class. It was nice talking to you, Eddie.” She turned to Letty with that same easy warmth. “Nice meeting you! I’ll see you around, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Letty said, and somehow, she meant it.
Chrissy smiled once more before disappearing around the corner, ponytail swishing.
The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward — just thick.
Eddie hadn’t said a word the whole time.
He was still looking at her.
Her hair was braided in two messy plaits down her back, tied with yellow scrunchies that definitely belonged to El. The sleeves of her red-and-black flannel hung loose around her shoulders, black tank tucked into black shorts, sneakers scuffed and inked where the pink peeked through. There was a smudge of mascara under one eye, like she’d tried to fix it and gave up halfway.
She looked tired.
She looked like she’d been thinking too much again.
He pushed off the bench, exhaling slow. “Hey,” he said softly.
Letty crossed her arms, the movement small but steady. “Hey.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind caught the edge of her flannel, the smell of smoke and pine and asphalt drifting between them.
“So,” she said finally, her tone level. “You gonna tell me why I had to hear about the show from Gareth?”
Eddie blinked, the faintest wince crossing his face before he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
“Yeah, he, uh—” He cleared his throat, eyes darting to the cracked pavement between them. “He wasn’t supposed to—well, I wasn’t trying to make it a thing.”
Letty’s brow furrowed. “A thing?”
He looked up then, eyes soft but tired. “You know. An invite, or whatever. Figured you didn’t need more noise.”
“Noise,” she repeated flatly. “You mean your band?”
His mouth twitched, half-smile, half-grimace. “Among other things.”
Letty crossed her arms tighter, something twisting in her chest. “You know, you do a real good job of writing out other people when you don't want to deal with them.”
That hit — she saw it land. He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing.
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what’s it like?”
Eddie hesitated, jaw working. He wanted to say everything and nothing at once.
“It’s like…” He trailed off, frustrated with himself. “It’s like you already got enough people pulling you in a hundred directions. I didn’t wanna be another one.”
Letty blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. “You think you’re pulling me?”
He huffed a laugh, a small, nervous sound. “C’mon, Letty. You walk into a room, and I forget what I’m doing for, like, ten minutes straight. It’s—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I’m trying to be decent about it.”
Her voice softened despite herself. “You don’t have to protect me from liking you, Eddie.”
He looked at her then — really looked. “Maybe not. But I gotta protect myself from it a little.”
Letty’s breath caught. “Why?”
“Because I know how this goes,” he said quietly.
“You and me— we’re not the kind of story that ends clean. You’ve got a life to figure out, and I…” He gestured vaguely, a humorless smile tugging at his mouth. “I fix bikes and play D&D. We’re not the same.”
She wanted to argue, to tell him that wasn’t the point — but she couldn’t find the words.
Eddie exhaled, stepping back just enough to feel the distance again. “And then there’s Harrington. He’s—”
“Don’t,” Letty snapped, sharper than she meant.
He froze.
Her voice wavered, angry but brittle. “Don’t make this about him again. It’s not fair.”
“I’m not,” he said quickly, hands raised. “But he’s there, Letty. You think no one notices? The guy looks at you like he’s still trying to figure out where he fucked up.”
“Then that’s his problem,” she said, quieter now. “Not yours.”
Eddie’s jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of frustration breaking through. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t spent the last week trying not to care that maybe I’m just the guy you talk to when you can’t talk to him?”
She flinched like he’d struck her.
“Thats not what happens,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he said, voice softening instantly. “I know.”
The silence stretched — full of the things they weren’t brave enough to say out loud.
Finally, Letty exhaled, her voice a rasp. “You’re doing it again.”
He blinked. “Doing what?”
“Pulling away before I even get to catch up.”
Eddie stared at her, something pained flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth, but the bell rang — loud, shrill, splitting the moment clean in two.
Letty turned toward the sound, then back to him. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle,” she said quietly. “You don’t get to disappear every time it gets complicated.”
And before he could answer, she walked off — braids swinging, her flannel slipping off one shoulder, sunlight catching in the curve of her jaw as she went.
Eddie stood there, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, the echo of her words hanging in the air.
He muttered, “That’s kinda my thing, though,” half under his breath — like he didn’t think she’d hear him.
But she did.
Letty stopped mid-step, spine stiffening. She turned on her heel, hair whipping over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”
Eddie blinked, caught. “What?”
“You disappear,” she said, voice low but cutting. “You decide what I can handle, how much I should care, and then you vanish like that’s some kind of selfless act. Like it’s noble to run.”
“Letty—”
“No.” She crossed the space between them, small but fierce, eyes shining. “You don’t get to do that to me. Not when I’m trying—god, actually trying—to do this the right way this time. To say what I mean before it rots in my chest.”
Eddie’s throat bobbed. “You think this is easy for me?”
“No, I think you’re scared,” she shot back. “You keep telling yourself you’re protecting me, but really, you’re protecting yourself from being the guy who gets left.”
That landed like a slap made of truth.
He didn’t deny it.
He couldn’t.
She took another step forward, close enough that he could see the faint tremor in her jaw, the smudged edge of her eyeliner.
“And you know what’s crazy? You’d probably never even have to worry about that with me. Because I don’t want to leave. I just—” Her voice cracked, her hand half-lifting before falling uselessly to her side. “I just want you to stop treating me like I’m a bomb about to go off.”
Eddie opened his mouth — then shut it again. His eyes softened, guilt and longing all tangled up in the same look. “Letty, I didn’t mean to—”
“Yeah,” she said bitterly. “That’s kinda your thing too, huh?”
He flinched.
She let out a shaky breath, anger cooling into something raw. The air between them crackled — not with tension, but truth.
Eddie ran a hand over his mouth, exhaling hard. They stood there, the world moving on around them — the sound of the bell fading, a breeze tugging at her flannel, the faint smell of motor oil and cigarettes hanging in the air.
Eddie’s voice dropped to something raw and quiet.
“What do you want from me, Letty?”
She stared at him for a long moment, hands tightening at her sides. When she spoke, it wasn’t sharp—it was steady.
“I want what you’re willing to give. I like you, Eddie. A lot. And I know this whole thing with Steve is sitting in your head like a damn ghost, but I can’t control that. I can’t control him, or what he feels, or what you think it means.”
Her voice faltered, just a breath, before she found it again.
“But I can tell you what I feel. I like you. I wanted this to move somewhere. And if it doesn’t—if you’re too caught up in all the ways it could go wrong—then that’s fine. We can do friends. I can do that.”
Eddie’s eyes flickered, the line of his jaw tightening as if holding something back.
“It’s not that simple,” he said.
Letty gave a small, tired laugh. “You say that like it’s supposed to scare me.”
She stepped back, her shoulders softening. “The truth is—it’s only complicated if you make it that way.”
He didn’t answer. Not right away. His hands stayed buried in his jacket pockets, knuckles white against the fabric.
Letty glanced down, breath trembling in her chest before she looked back at him.
“For what it’s worth, I’m not asking for forever. Just honesty. That’s it. You don’t have to protect me from how you feel. I’ve lived through worse.”
That landed somewhere deep, beneath his ribs. He wanted to say something—anything—but all he could do was look at her, really look.
She gave him a faint smile, small but real.
“And for the record,” she added, voice low, “you should tell me about your next show yourself. I won’t break if you invite me.”
She started to turn, then paused—half looking back, half not.
“You’re not a mistake, Eddie. And I’m not a ghost. Don’t treat me like either.”
Then she walked off, flannel slipping down one shoulder, the yellow scrunchies at the ends of her braids catching the light.
Eddie stood there long after she was gone, the air heavy with everything unsaid.
He dragged a hand down his face, breath shaking out of him in a quiet laugh that didn’t sound amused.
“Friends,” he muttered, the word tasting like something he wasn’t ready to swallow.
Chapter 18: Freaking out on the interstate
Notes:
yall they put me on meds and they're killing my whimsy. I accidently wrote my mental illness LOL
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Eddie was perched on the edge of his bed, guitar in hand, fingers fumbling over a riff he’d played a thousand times before. The strings buzzed, sour and wrong.
“Jesus H.,” Wayne muttered from the kitchen table without looking up from his crossword. “Didn’t you just change them strings last week?”
Eddie let the chord die, the metal whining under his fingertips.
“Yeah,” he shouted, sighing. “Guess they’re already shot.”
Wayne snorted. “Strings ain’t the problem, boy.”
Eddie grinned weakly, plucking one at random. “You calling my technique sloppy, old man?”
“Callin’ your head somewhere else.” He could hear wayne folding the paper, and the floor creaking as he approached his bedroom door, leaning in the door way and leveling him with that look—the one that always cut right through.
“You been pickin’ the same three notes for the last hour. I could set my watch to it.”
Eddie froze mid-riff, then slumped forward, resting his chin on the guitar’s body. “Guess I’m just outta tune.”
“Hmm.” Wayne turned and headed into the kitchen, pouring another cup of coffee, the kind of noncommittal sound that meant he wasn’t buying it. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
“You fightin’ with the Harrington kid or something? Aint that what you said?”
Eddie groaned. “No, man, it’s not—” He hesitated, grimaced. “It’s not Steve.”
Wayne raised an eyebrow. “Then it’s the girl.”
Eddie dragged a hand through his hair, sighing. “You ever have somebody tell you the truth so hard it felt like a punch in the ribs?”
Wayne smirked. “Your mama used to say that every time your daddy opened his mouth.”
That earned a small laugh, quiet and short-lived. Eddie dropped his gaze to the fretboard, fingers twitching restlessly.
“She said she likes me,” he admitted softly. “Said she wanted… something. But she also said if I can’t get past all the bullshit, then she’s fine just being friends. Like it’s that simple.”
Wayne took a slow sip of coffee. “Ain’t never simple, son. Not if it’s real.”
Eddie’s mouth twisted. “Yeah, well. I’ve never been real good at simple either.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the soft hiss of the radio and the faint creak of the fan. Eddie strummed again, gentler this time. The note wavered but held.
Wayne tipped his head forward. “If she’s got you this tangled up, might mean she’s worth a little untanglin’.”
Eddie’s pick scraped too hard against the string, the note warbling sharp. He hissed under his breath, shook out his hand, tried again. Same result.
Wayne finally set his mug down with a quiet clink. “You gonna sit there beatin’ yourself up or actually fix whatever’s broke?”
Eddie blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wayne shrugged, easy and steady. “Means you got two choices. Either you talk to the Harrington boy, clear whatever mess is rattlin’ around between you, or you talk to the girl and quit lettin’ ghosts do the talkin’ for you.”
Eddie looked up, startled. “You think I’m just—what—scared of Harrington?”
“I think,” Wayne said, pulling a cigarette from the pack on the counter, “you’re scared of lookin’ like the bad guy. But here’s the thing—” He struck the lighter, the flame catching with a soft click. “You keep standin’ still, you end up being the bad guy anyway. Nothin’ pisses folks off faster than feelin’ like you’re leavin’ ‘em in limbo.”
Eddie winced. “Christ, Wayne. You don’t pull punches, do you?”
Wayne smirked, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth. “Ain’t my job to.”
Silence stretched between them for a moment. The fan ticked. The guitar sat quiet in Eddie’s lap, the strings vibrating faintly from where his fingers still rested against them.
He muttered, mostly to himself, “She said she wanted honesty.”
“Then start there,” Wayne said. “If it’s Harrington that’s got you twisted up, tell her. If it’s her, tell him. But stop actin’ like you can’t talk your way outta a paper bag, son. You’re too damn smart for that.”
Eddie leaned back in the chair, letting out a long breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “You really think I could just… walk up to Harrington and say, ‘Hey, man, I like your maybe-girlfriend, we cool?’”
Wayne chuckled. “Somethin’ like that. Maybe without the smartass tone.”
Eddie grinned, running a thumb along the neck of the guitar. “Yeah, that’d go over real smooth.”
Wayne gave him a look—half fond, half unimpressed. “So would lettin’ her slip through your fingers ‘cause you’re too busy worryin’ about how it’ll look.”
That shut him up.
Eddie dropped his gaze to the fretboard again, the tension in his shoulders fading into something smaller, more thoughtful. He plucked a string, just once. It rang clean.
“…Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “Maybe you’re right.”
Wayne snorted softly. “Told you that years ago. You just finally got old enough to listen.”
Eddie huffed a quiet laugh, but his mind was already miles away—turning over every word, every look, every conversation with Letty. The way she said honesty. The way it sounded like a challenge.
The next chord he played was softer. Hesitant. But steady.
The bell above the Family Video door gave a halfhearted jingle when Eddie pushed it open. The air inside was cool and faintly musty, like carpet cleaner and old VHS cases. Rows of tapes stretched out in crooked aisles, plastic clacking as the ceiling fan turned lazily overhead.
Steve Harrington was behind the counter, flipping through a stack of returns, his hair catching the late sunlight through the front windows. He didn’t look up right away, just muttered something that sounded like “be with you in a sec.”
Eddie’s stomach twisted.
This was a bad idea.
He should’ve just gone home, practiced, done literally anything else.
Then Steve glanced up — and for a split second, his expression flickered from bored to wary recognition.
“Munson,” he said.
“Harrington.” Eddie shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, forcing a grin. “Didn’t think you’d be workin’ today.”
“Yeah, Robin called out,” Steve said, gesturing vaguely toward the back. “So lucky me, I get to alphabetize comedies alone. What brings you here—renting something or just haunting the place?”
Eddie leaned an elbow against the counter, trying to sound casual. “Guess I’m here for a little of both.”
Steve arched an eyebrow. “You come to rent both?”
Eddie smirked. “Nah. Just figured I’d finally do the adult thing and talk to the guy I keep accidentally pissin’ off.”
That got Steve’s full attention. His hand stilled on the stack of tapes.
“Accidentally, huh?”
Eddie shrugged, the grin slipping into something smaller, more real. “Look, man. I don’t want this to sound like some macho bullshit. I just… I think we got wires crossed. About Letty.”
Steve’s jaw tightened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said quietly. “She’s—she’s not just some girl I’m tryin’ to screw over, alright? I like her. Like, really like her. And I know there’s history with you, and I’m not trying to—” he hesitated, rubbed a hand through his hair “—I’m not trying to make this weird. But it already is weird, and I’d rather just say it plain than keep guessing what the hell’s going on.”
Steve didn’t say anything right away. Just leaned back on the counter, eyes flicking toward the front door, then back to Eddie.
When he did speak, his voice was calm, careful. “So this is you being honest, huh?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Trying to be.”
Steve didn’t answer right away. The air between them stretched, heavy with the quiet hum of the store’s AC. Finally, he said, “She’s easy to like, isn’t she?”
Eddie blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Yeah, she really is.”
Steve gave a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t even have to try. She’s just… there, you know? All this warmth she doesn’t even realize she’s giving off.”
Eddie nodded, leaning on the counter. “That’s the part that kills you. You wanna protect it and touch it at the same time.”
“Yeah.” Steve’s eyes softened, distant for a second. “I think I’m already in love with her.”
The words hung there like smoke. Eddie didn’t flinch. Didn’t fight it. He just exhaled, slow and steady.
“I figured,” he said quietly. “That’s kinda the problem, isn’t it? I don’t think I’m there yet. But I can see it. I can see it happening.”
Steve looked at him then — really looked. There wasn’t a challenge in his face, just something tired and human. “That’s the difference between us, I guess. I’ve already fallen. You’re still standing on the edge.”
Eddie huffed out a small laugh. “Yeah, well, edges are kind of my thing.”
For a long moment, there was nothing but the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights and the low whir of the ceiling fan. Then Eddie said, almost sheepish, “For what it’s worth, I get why she likes you.”
Steve’s brow furrowed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, meeting his eyes. “You care about her. I can tell. Makes it hard to be honest about this shit. Doesn’t exactly feel fair, liking the same girl as someone who actually deserves her.”
Steve frowned. “You think you don’t?”
Eddie shrugged. “I think I don’t not. But I also think I’m not the safe bet.”
Steve leaned back, studying him. “You know, she said the same thing when we talked.”
Eddie froze, mid-nervous tap against the countertop. “You guys talked about me?”
“Yeah,” Steve said simply. “We kinda had to. She thought I was trying to ruin her chances with you.”
Eddie’s stomach tightened. “Were you?”
Steve shook his head, mouth twisting into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “No. You’re doing that all on your own.”
That one stung—but not in a cruel way. Eddie let out a soft, rueful laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he admitted. “That tracks.”
Steve’s voice gentled. “She doesn’t need saving, you know. She just wants someone who doesn’t make her feel small for trying.”
Eddie nodded slowly. “Guess we’ve both done a shitty job at that.”
“Guess we have,” Steve agreed.
They stood there for a long moment—two people who wanted the same thing, neither sure what came next. Finally, Eddie straightened, tapping his fingers against the counter like a man shaking off the last of his nerves.
“Well,” he said, “good talk, Harrington.”
Steve cracked a faint grin. “Yeah. Weirdly good.”
Eddie started toward the door, then paused, glancing back. “You know, if this ends with her choosing neither of us, I think we should start a support group or something.”
Steve snorted. “Yeah. Losers Anonymous.”
Eddie turned, grin crooked. “Yeah. Guess that’s the club name.”
Steve smirked. “You starting it or am I?”
Eddie’s laugh was quiet but real. “Neither,” he said, hands in his pockets now. “Just wanted you to know… that was me letting you know I’m going for it.”
Steve’s posture shifted, easy grin thinning. “You don’t need my permission, man.”
“It’s not about permission,” Eddie said, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “It’s about honesty. I told you I liked her. I meant it. And I’m not gonna be polite about it anymore.”
Steve’s jaw tightened, but his eyes didn’t leave Eddie’s. “Good. Because I’m not backing down either.”
Eddie nodded once. “Didn’t expect you to.”
For a heartbeat, the air went still — two opposing forces meeting in something that wasn’t anger, just inevitability.
Steve exhaled, his voice quiet but sure. “The thing is… at the end of the day, she still feels like I'm home.”
That hit harder than Eddie wanted it to. He swallowed, the flicker of something sharp crossing his face. “People move all the time, Harrington.”
Steve’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile, not quite regret. “Yeah. Maybe. But even when they do, they still miss their first home.”
Eddie’s gaze dropped, jaw flexing, and when he looked back up, there was no humor left, just plain truth.
“She told me she liked me, too. So what, we’re just gonna share her or somethin’?”
Steve let out a short laugh — too sharp at first, automatic. “Yeah, right. Like she’d ever be down for that—”
He stopped. The sound caught in his throat as the memory hit: the lake, the sunlight glinting off the water, her voice trembling but sure—
You want honesty? Fine. I feel like I’m caught between what feels safe and what feels like home. And it’s not fair that one of those things has your face.
Steve blinked, jaw tightening. The laugh died there, leaving a silence that buzzed low and heavy between them.
Eddie watched him, head tilting slightly, something knowing flickering in his eyes. “Didn’t sound so crazy when I said it, did it?”
Steve exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “No,” he admitted quietly. “Guess it didn’t.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything — two people standing in the echo of something they both understood but couldn’t name.
Finally, Eddie straightened from the doorframe. “I meant what I said, Harrington. I’m going for it. Not outta spite. Just because I think she deserves someone who won’t keep flinching every time it gets hard.”
Steve nodded, slow, serious. “Then you better mean it. Because if you don’t—she’ll know.”
Eddie’s grin returned, faint but firm. “Good thing I’ve always been terrible at lying.”
He pushed the door open, the late sun hitting his face as he stepped out, leaving the faint jingle of the bell in his wake.
Steve stayed where he was, the light from the front window cutting across the floor.
He rubbed at his face, her voice from the lake threading back through his thoughts.
Eddie’s words kept looping, caught somewhere between disbelief and dare:
What, we’re just gonna share her or something?
It had sounded stupid when Eddie said it. Crude, even.
It did.
But now—standing here in the quiet, the smell of oil and dust thick in the air—it didn’t feel as far-fetched as it should have.
Because he could still hear Letty’s voice from the lake, small and shaking but certain in a way that had gutted him.
You want honesty? Fine. I feel like I’m caught between what feels safe and what feels like home. And it’s not fair that one of those things has your face.
He used to think that line meant she didn’t know what she wanted—like she was confused, stuck in-between.
But maybe she wasn’t confused at all.
Maybe she already knew.
Maybe she wanted both.
Safety and home.
And she just didn’t know how to ask for that without breaking something.
He let out a soft laugh, the kind that caught halfway in his chest. “Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What the hell are we even doing?”
Because it wasn’t confusion. It was math.
Eddie was safe. He was home.
And she was standing in the middle, holding both halves and calling it complicated, when really—maybe—it was just whole.
He leaned back against the counter, staring out the window where the light had started to fade into gold.
It hit him then, clean and simple, the kind of truth that didn’t ask permission to exist.
He and Eddie weren’t rivals.
They were opposite poles of the same ache—proof that maybe Letty had been right all along.
Maybe that was what she’d been trying to tell him—
that she wasn’t waiting to fall in love with one of them.
She already had, just in two different directions.
And somewhere deep down, he was starting to understand what that might mean.
The trailer door creaked when Eddie pushed it open, letting in the last drag of evening light.
Wayne was still on the couch, TV murmuring some game show that didn’t need attention. He muted it when he saw him.
“How was school?” he asked, voice low and easy.
Eddie gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Still standing, so, y’know. Passing grade.”
Wayne hummed. “You talk to that Harrington kid yet? Sounded like you were gearing up to chew on somethin’ bigger than algebra last night.”
Eddie laughed under his breath, sliding past him into the hallway. “We talked. Didn’t throw hands, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Wayne called back.
Eddie’s smile faltered as he pushed into his room. He let his bag drop, the dull thud landing like punctuation. The guitar waited where he’d left it on the bed, strings catching the light like spider silk.
He sat, plucked once, twice. The note buzzed flat. He fixed it, tried again, still wrong.
Every sound tonight was wrong.
He looked down at the mess of a notebook beside him — lines rewritten, words circled to death. One phrase glared up from the page, ghostly through layers of ink: two halves of the same noise.
It’d felt poetic when he wrote it. Now it just felt true.
He thought of Steve then — of how their talk had started civil and ended strange, both of them circling the same name without saying it.
Letty.
Maybe they weren’t opposites, him and Steve, or well not exactly. Maybe they were the same goddamn thing, just split between two people trying to love her right.
Eddie strummed again, slower this time. A small, trembling chord, steadying as it rang.
She’d said once that music made her feel grounded — like if she could hear the rhythm, she could keep breathing.
He got it now.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at the strings. “Jesus, Harrington,” he murmured, not angry, just tired. “We’re not even fighting, and I still feel like I’m losing.”
But it wasn’t losing, not really
It was gravity.
She was just orbiting both of them, and he was starting to understand that maybe she was never meant to land.
Maybe that was what Steve had seen before him.
Maybe that’s why none of this felt wrong — just heavy, complicated, inevitable.
He let the next chord ring, low and raw. It sounded a little like an answer.
Notes:
i use these end of chapter notes like im doing a fucking book club on my own work, idk i guess i like the idea of maybe having a conversation about it? Whatever anywhooo
Steve’s arc right now sits in that uneasy place between realization and guilt.
At the lake, he finally heard Letty — really heard her — when she said she’s caught between “safe” and “home.” This chapter showed him starting to intellectualize it: he gets, on some buried level, that it’s not about who she picks. It’s about what she needs.
He recognizes that he and Eddie are two halves of the same emotional equation, but he hasn’t yet admitted that it might mean sharing her. The idea both scares and intrigues him.
What he feels right now:
Protective, remorseful, and possessive in a soft way. He’s realizing that his desire to “win” Letty is the same instinct that made him lose Nancy — trying to fix everything instead of staying with the mess.
He’s starting to see Eddie as an equal, not a threat. That makes it worse, in a way — because the thing between them all feels bigger than any one of them can control.
He hasn’t quite thought “throuple” in words yet, but that seed is there. It doesn’t feel wrong anymore — just new, unfamiliar, something he hasn’t yet learned how to name.
Steve is sitting at : I dont know if i want to win or if i just dont to lose. but maybe its not about either.
Eddie? well, his arch mirrors steves but in instinct, not logic.
His reflection scene was about feeling what Steve thinks. He’s been living this internal push-and-pull since the diner parking lot, without ever naming it.
When he looked at his notebook — “two halves of the same noise” — he wasn’t consciously talking about Letty and Steve, but he felt the resonance of it: they’re both part of the same chord.
Unlike Steve, he’s not scared of complexity — just scared of hurting her. That’s the key difference. He’s not jealous of Steve; he’s jealous of how easy Steve makes things look, even when they’re breaking.
What he feels right now:
Wistful, grounded, cautious. Eddie’s realizing that love doesn’t have to be exclusive to be real. He’s been an outsider all his life; he gets that people can belong in more than one place at once.
The idea of a throuple doesn’t sound insane to him — it just sounds fragile. Like something they’d have to handle carefully if they ever get there.
He’s not yet ready to bring it up. But he’d meet her there if she did. Eddie is sitting at: Maybe love isnt choosing who gets to have you- but showing up for the parts that need you most."
Now Letty? Shes spent the last few chapters coming apart and then building routine as an armor. Her and steve: thats emotional history, and her and Eddie is emotional safety. and shes only now realizing that it doesnt have to cancel the other out. Marnie's told her the possibility of loving both is a thing, even if she thinks its stupid. And now Letty is holding onto the guilt of it all because wanting both in her mind means she must be broken. She doenst want to pick, but she also wants to stop feeling like picking is the only way to be good.
so steve understands it before hes ready to accept it
Eddie accepts it before hes ready to understand it
and Letty feels it but feels wrong for it.thats it lolol
Chapter 19: The shape of quiet
Summary:
mentions of child abuse, domestic abuse, some physical violence and Letty getting caught in the crossfire.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The late afternoon heat sat thick on the asphalt, the kind that made the air above the hood of the Chevy shimmer.
Letty shoved another box into the backseat, the cardboard edges soft from too many repackings. Across from her, Billy wiped the sweat from his neck with the hem of his shirt, jaw tight.
Susan’s and his dads cars were gone. His Camaro parked just before the garage; a cigarette smoldering in the ashtray on its hood.
“I thought she was waiting till thanksgiving ,” Letty said, breaking the silence. She braced a hand against the car door, watching him without really watching. “You said she’d wait.”
Billy huffed through his nose. “Plans change.”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s one way to put ‘my step-mom’s packing up her life while my dad’s out of town.’”
He shot her a look, one brow raised. “You make it sound like she’s running away in the middle of the night.”
Letty leaned back against the car, crossing her arms. “You think my dad’s not gonna wanna get involved? Max has been on my couch since Tuesday. Hes already half-way to arresting your dad, Billy. It’s worse cause he was already suspicious. The man hears the word ‘runaway,’ and he’s gonna start arresting people.”
Billy slammed the trunk closed, the sound sharp in the still air. “You’re being dramatic.”
She snorted. “Yeah, well, maybe I’ve earned it. My mom tried to leave one of her boyfriends once. He broke her nose and two ribs before she made it to the door.” She turned toward him, voice steady but flat. “So forgive me for asking what exactly Susan’s doing going out with your dad tonight.”
Billy’s mouth tightened. “Keeping up appearances,” he said finally. “He’s got some out-of-town thing for the company—one of those schmooze-the-boss trips. He's supposed to be back on Saturday”
Letty gave a slow nod, but her eyes didn’t soften. She shoved another box toward the floorboard, muttering, “Yeah, that sounds healthy.”
He leaned on the open door, watching her stack the last of the boxes. “You know, at some point, we’re gonna circle back to that part about your mom’s boyfriend.”
She laughed under her breath, dry and humorless. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know. Anna Hopper was a goddamn wreck. You could spend years writing down that woman’s mistakes and still not run out of episodes.”
Billy cracked a grin despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, Hopper.”
Letty shut the car door, dusting her palms against her jeans. “You say that like it’s news.”
He tilted his chin toward her. “You ever think maybe you stick your nose in other people’s messes ‘cause it keeps you from lookin’ at your own?”
She met his eyes, the faintest flicker of challenge there. “All the time,” she said. “But yours is louder today.”
Billy laughed—short, rough—and reached for his keys. “Fair enough.”
The drive to Forest Hills felt longer than it should’ve been.
Letty followed the Camaro down the road, the steady red glow of Billy’s taillights flickering against the cracked windshield of her Chevy. Hawkins blurred by in a mix of fields and half-forgotten houses — the kind of drive that made you start thinking too much if you weren’t careful.
Long-ass drive, she muttered under her breath.
Her next thought came quieter, At least Susan didn’t pick the trailer right next to Eddies.
She didn’t say it out loud, but it lingered, sour at the back of her throat until Billy slowed and turned off the main road. The trailer park opened up in a wash of pale dust and dying grass, lined with patchwork lawns and the echo of somebody’s radio playing too loud.
Susan’s new trailer sat near the back of the lot — bigger than the Munsons’, sure, but still half the size of their old house. The siding was dented in places, the porch sagging just enough to make it groan when Letty stepped up behind Billy.
Inside, the air smelled like cardboard and Pine-Sol. The living room opened right into a cramped dining nook, a box of dishes half-unpacked on the table. To the right, she caught sight of what had to be Billy's bedroom — a tangle of bedding and open suitcases — and further down, a narrow hallway with a bathroom in the middle and two bedrooms flanking either side.
Billy was already moving things around, shoulders tight, motion sharp.
Max’s room was halfway there — the bed frame leaned against the wall, mattress still wrapped in plastic. Across the hall, Susan’s boxes were stacked like she couldn’t decide what belonged to her anymore.
Letty stood in the doorway, thumb hooked through a belt loop. “You want help with this?”
Billy grunted, not looking up. “I got it.”
She tilted her head toward the disassembled dresser pushed against the wall. “Yeah, looks like it.”
That earned her a glance — half annoyance, half something softer.
She shrugged. “I can read instructions. That’s about as good as you’re gonna get from me.”
He sighed, the kind of sound that came from somewhere deep, like letting air out of a tire. For a second, the tightness in his shoulders eased.
“Fine,” he said finally. “Grab the screwdriver set from the kitchen box. Should be marked with red tape.”
“On it.”
She moved through the narrow hallway, the sound of her boots against the linoleum filling the small space. Every creak of the trailer reminded her of old summers — of the ways families fell apart and tried to piece themselves back together in new, smaller spaces.
When she came back with the tools, Billy was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the dresser pieces, looking at the half-unfolded instruction sheet like it’d personally offended him.
Letty crouched beside him, their knees almost touching. “Okay,” she said, scanning the page. “Step one: don’t throw the instructions across the room.”
He snorted, shaking his head. “Smartass.”
“Yeah,” she said lightly, fitting the first screw through the board. “But a useful one.”
The quiet settled again, more comfortable this time — the kind that came from two people too tired to pretend they didn’t care.
Getting the dresser together hadn’t been a problem. Billy clearly knew what he was doing, and Letty, for once, knew when to shut up and follow directions.
By the time they got it standing, her hair was shoved up into a messy bun—an act of survival after Billy had accidentally caught a chunk of it in one of the drawers.
She stepped outside for a moment, the air sharp with early fall chill, grabbed the boxes marked MAX from her Chevy, and carried them back inside. She stacked them neatly in the girl’s room while Billy tightened the last bolt on the bedframe.
When he went back out for another load from his car, she wandered into the kitchen, sorting through a box of dishes. The space was small, claustrophobic almost, but she moved like she’d been doing this her whole life—one box at a time, one small order against chaos.
The front door creaked open again. Billy came in with a couple of boxes balanced on his hip, set them on the table with a thud, and leaned against the counter to catch his breath.
“How long you been at this?” she asked, folding the now-empty dish box flat and tucking it into a bigger one near the door.
He rubbed at his shoulder. “Week or so. Mostly just the bigger stuff.”
“So you’re staying here then,” she said, sorting through another box—half cookbooks, half paperbacks.
“Yeah.” He hesitated. “I promised I would.”
She nodded, glancing toward the narrow hallway. “You want me to have my dad swing by the first few nights? He won’t mind.”
Billy gave a quick, humorless laugh. “Nah. But maybe keep Max with you a while longer. Susan won’t ask, but… it’s probably smart. Once my old man gets the news.”
Letty went still, a dish towel in her hand. For a beat, she just watched him. The way his jaw worked, the muscle twitching there like he was chewing on words he’d never say.
“You’re just gonna stay here?” she asked finally. “Alone?”
He didn’t look at her. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to deal with my dad alone.”
The bravado was paper-thin. Letty could hear the crack in it, see it in the way his hands flexed against the counter like he was trying to brace for something.
She crossed the kitchen without a word and reached out, setting a hand on his shoulder. He tried to shrug her off, muttering something about being fine, but she didn’t move.
Her voice, when it came, was quiet. “You don’t have to be.”
For a second, neither of them said anything. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, the faint sound of the park outside—the rattle of a screen door, a dog barking somewhere down the row.
Billy exhaled, slow, like letting the air out of a tire. “You really think he’ll lose it that bad?”
Letty’s thumb brushed absently over the seam of his shirt. “I think your dad’s a man who hates losing control. And he’s about to lose a lot of it.”
He looked at her then, eyes tired, older than they should’ve been. “Guess that makes two of us.”
Billy didn’t shake her off again when she leaned in. Letty pressed her forehead against his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt still warm from the sun. It wasn’t dramatic—just a small, human thing, a quiet weight to remind him he wasn’t as alone as he kept insisting.
For a long moment, they stayed like that. Neither of them moved. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the faint creak of the trailer shifting in the late-afternoon heat.
Billy was the one who finally broke the silence. “Why’re you even doing this, Hopper?” he asked, voice rough. “You could’ve dropped Max off and called it a day.”
Letty’s answer came easily, like it had been sitting there all along.
“Because that’s what friends do, right?” She shrugged lightly against him. “I care about her. About you too, believe it or not.”
He let out a slow breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. “Didn’t say I didn’t believe it. Just don’t always get why.”
She smiled faintly, head still against his shoulder. “Guess that makes two of us.”
For a while, neither spoke again. They just existed in the same small space—her steady in a way she never was for herself, him softer in a way he didn’t let anyone else see.
When Billy finally spoke again, his voice had dropped low. “What about your dad?”
Letty’s head lifted. “What about him?”
“Where’s he at?”
She straightened slightly, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Met him once,” she said, tone casual but not light. “I was, I don’t know… eight? First time my mom really bailed. He was married then, had two younger kids. His wife was nice enough. I stayed the summer.”
Billy looked over, saying nothing.
“He petitioned for custody,” she went on. “And next thing I remember, my mom was climbing through the bedroom window in the middle of the night. Packed my stuff into a pillowcase, told me to keep quiet. I don’t think he even knew I existed before that summer.”
Her mouth twisted into a wry half-smile. “No blame on him, though. Can’t lose what you didn’t know you had.”
Billy leaned back against the counter, rubbing his jaw. “My mom left when my dad started beating on her,” he said. “She knew she could take him. That’s what pissed him off the most. So she left first.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Pretty sure he hates her for that.”
Letty turned toward him, eyes soft. “You miss her?”
He looked at her for a beat, then asked, “You miss yours?”
“Yes,” she said, without hesitation.
Her voice was quieter when she added, “I miss when she was nice. When she was kind. Those moments weren’t around much, so I remember them well.”
Billy nodded slowly, eyes on the floor. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I get that.”
The air between them felt still, heavy with understanding. Outside, a dog barked somewhere down the row, a car door slammed, and the world went on. But for a moment, inside that cramped little kitchen, it felt like they’d both managed to set something down—just for a while.
“It’s a good thing I’m so domestic,” Letty said finally, breaking the silence with a little laugh.
Billy huffed, the sound shaky.
“I can make lunches for all of us,” she went on. “Take a page out of Joyce’s book. We can do weekly dinners or something.” She tilted her head toward him, half teasing. “I think it could be nice.”
She didn’t move when he slipped an arm around her waist. It wasn’t tight—just there, grounding, his forehead pressing into the space between her neck and shoulder. She felt him breathe her in, slow and rough, like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling.
Her hand came up automatically, fingers finding his hair, thumb tracing the edge of his scalp. She hummed low in her throat, like she was thinking out loud.
“I was gonna order pizza for dinner anyway,” she murmured. “Figure you’d want a meat lover’s. Seems manly enough for you.”
Billy didn’t answer. His breath stuttered against her collarbone, hot and damp, and she could tell the moisture on her skin wasn’t from the heat. Still, she didn’t mention it. Just kept talking, the words spilling out like a soft, steady cover.
“Maybe you guys should get some bright curtains,” she said. “So Susan sees a cute kitchen when she walks in. When I lived in Florida—like, for one winter, with my mom’s second ex-husband, and no, don’t ask—their kitchen was yellow. Bright yellow. Polka dots everywhere. Think she’d like that?”
He didn’t say anything, just stood there breathing her in like he was memorizing the scent.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red, jaw tight again. Letty smiled up at him anyway, dragging the sleeve of her flannel across his face in a lazy motion.
“God, you sweat a lot,” she said softly. “Gross.”
Billy huffed a weak laugh—barely there, but it was something. And for once, it didn’t feel like either of them was pretending.
Billy followed her out of the trailer, mumbling something under his breath about the porch boards bowing.
“I’ll drag my dad and El out here,” Letty said, stepping down the creaky steps. “We fixed the porch at the cabin—this’ll be a breeze. I’ll help, obviously. I can have him take a look?”
Billy shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Nah, it’s fine. I can check it out myself.”
Letty huffed, turning halfway toward him with a grin. “God, let me be domestic for once, would you? I’m living vicariously through your big move-out moment here. Might as well contribute.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was a faint twitch of a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Thank you,” she said, mock-bowing before she opened the car door.
She was halfway in when he called after her. “Hey, Hopper!”
She rolled the window down, elbow perched on the frame. “Wha?”
Billy leaned against the doorframe, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Meat lover’s pizza.”
Letty laughed, the sound bright in the fading light. “Good. Come by before you head for the next few boxes, then. I’ll save you a slice.”
He nodded once, the gesture small but certain.
“And I can help tomorrow after school,” she added, hand already on the gearshift. “But not Thursday—I’ve got an exam to study for.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go ace it, domestic goddess.”
She rolled her eyes and started the car, the rumble of the engine filling the quiet stretch of the park.
Billy stayed on the porch as she drove off, watching until the red of her taillights disappeared past the bend. The boards under his feet groaned softly, another thing to fix later. But for now, the trailer didn’t feel quite as empty as it had an hour ago.
The house smelled like pinesole and clorox. The kind of clean that tried too hard.
Susan was in the kitchen, tying an apron around her waist when Letty came in, hair loose and half-damp from a shower. The afternoon light spilled through the blinds, turning the dust in the air gold.
“Billy said you had to study today,” Susan said, glancing over her shoulder.
“I do,” Letty said, setting her keys on the counter. “But it’s fine. I’ve got straight A’s so far.”
Susan smiled faintly, shaking her head. “You’re a better student than I ever was.”
Letty shrugged, moving toward the stack of boxes by the door. “Billy said you still had some stuff here. Figured I’d help before your shift.”
“That’s sweet of you, honey, but you really don’t have to.”
“I know,” Letty said. “But I want to.”
Susan’s hands paused on the knot of her apron. “You remind me of myself when I was your age.”
Letty gave a small, knowing smile. “Sweet as apple pie?”
Susan laughed—a thin, tired sound that cracked halfway through. “Gosh you’re just like Max.”
They worked quietly for a bit, folding linens, wrapping some knick-knacks in old newspapers. The living room still looked mostly lived in, though the walls were bare now. The kids’ rooms were closed, empty, and the silence behind those doors pressed heavy.
Letty carried a box toward the door. “I figured if you’re fine with it, Max can stay till Monday? Just to see how things go once Mr. Hargrove’s back. You can stay at the cabin too, if you want. Dad said you two talked about it.”
Susan froze, one hand on the counter. Then she turned, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You’re a sweetheart,” she said softly. “But don’t worry about adult problems, okay? That’s my mess to sort.”
Letty sighed, leaning her hip against the doorframe. “I know. But the offer’s still there.”
For a moment, Susan just looked at her—really looked at her, like she wanted to believe the world would let a girl like Letty stay soft forever.
Then she blinked, the moment gone. “You should be out with friends, not saving tired women from their bad decisions.”
Letty smiled faintly. “Guess we all have our hobbies.”
She turned toward the door to grab another box, but stopped when she heard it—
the crunch of tires on gravel outside.
Susan’s head snapped toward the window, color draining from her face.
“I thought you said—” Letty started.
“I did,” Susan whispered. “He wasn’t supposed to be back until Saturday.”
A car door slammed.
Letty’s heart kicked once, hard against her ribs.
“Billy?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
“No,” Susan said, voice barely there. “It’s Neil.”
Letty swallowed. The sound of footsteps on the porch boards.
“I didn't park behind you,” she murmured.
Susan didn’t move. Just stared toward the door as the knob turned.
Neil Hargrove stepped inside like he’d never left—suit still on, tie loose, eyes sharp.
“Didn’t know we were hosting company,” he said, voice smooth and venomous.
Letty didn’t breathe.
Neil filled the doorway like a storm front, the air shifting as soon as he stepped inside.
He shut the door behind him with a casual click, slow enough that it sounded deliberate.
For a second, no one said anything.
Susan’s hands were still at her sides, her knuckles white around the dish towel. Then she moved—one step forward, smooth, practiced—just enough to stand a little in front of Letty. It wasn’t obvious, but it was instinct.
Letty took half a step back, the cardboard box still in her arms. Her fingers dug into the sides, her pulse beating against the slick paper.
Neil’s gaze flicked between them. “What’s in the box?”
His tone wasn’t curious. It was testing.
Susan opened her mouth, but the words stuttered. “It’s just—”
“Fall cleaning,” Letty said quickly, cutting in before she could stop herself. “Mrs. Hargrove asked me to help sort out old stuff. The high school’s doing a flea market thing, for—uh—for cheer uniforms.”
The lie slid out smooth, crisp. She almost startled herself with how easy it came.
Neil looked at her properly then, and the weight of his attention felt physical. Then his mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Is that right?”
“Yeah.” Her voice held. Barely. “Big fundraiser.”
He hummed, a low sound, and shifted his eyes back to Susan. “Where are the kids?”
“Billy’s at work,” Susan said, too quickly. “And Max is—she’s with El Hopper.”
That earned a slow blink. Then his gaze drifted over her outfit—denim and an apron, the diner logo printed across the chest.
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
Susan froze. “Neil, I—”
He took a step forward, slow and measured, like a man crossing a line he’d drawn himself. “You look like a damn waitress.”
“I—It’s for the fundraiser,” Susan said, trying for lightness that didn’t land. “Helping out at the diner—”
“You got a job.” The words came out flat.
Letty could feel it now—the temperature of the room dropping in real time, the silence between his sentences heavy enough to crack.
He wasn’t yelling yet. That was somehow worse.
Susan’s voice thinned to a thread. “It’s just part-time, Neil, I thought—”
“You thought,” he repeated softly. “You thought.”
He took another step forward.
Letty moved instinctively—half a step to the side, the box still clutched to her chest—but he didn’t even look at her. His entire focus was on Susan now, his eyes hard and glassy in the low light.
The air felt wrong.
Tight.
Like the whole room was shrinking around them.
Susan was talking again, words tumbling, trying to keep him calm, but he kept closing the distance, his voice raising by degrees.
“Always making decisions without me,” he said, sharper now. “Always trying to make me look like the fucking bad guy—”
“No one’s saying that—”
“Then what the hell is this?” He swept his arm toward the open hallway.
And that was when it happened— the door to Max’s room, the one Susan had barely shut earlier, creaked open from the force of the air moving through the house.
Neil turned his head toward it, just slightly. The motion was slow, dreadful.
The room beyond was bare. Empty.
Letty saw the realization click behind his eyes—the emptiness, the packed boxes, the proof.
The sound he made wasn’t a word. It was low and quiet, like the exhale before a storm.
Susan’s breath hitched. Letty could feel her shaking now, even standing beside her.
Neil didn’t shout. Not yet.
But his next step made the floorboards groan, and the way he filled the space between them—
the way he blocked the door behind him— made every muscle in Letty’s body lock tight.
Her mind went somewhere far away—half memory, half instinct—counting exits, distances, objects heavy enough to throw.
The box in her arms felt like dead weight now.
He was saying something again, voice rising, the rhythm of it too familiar—rage, disbelief, the echo of blame—but all Letty could hear was the ringing in her ears.
The kind that meant the next sound would be worse.
The air cracked.
A sound—thick, ugly—split the room before Letty even processed what she was seeing.
Neil’s hand was on Susan’s shoulder, shoving hard enough that she stumbled back into the counter with a dull thud. A glass somewhere shattered.
Susan gasped—half breath, half cry—and Letty’s body moved before her brain did.
“Hey—!” she started, dropping the box, taking a step forward.
“Don’t!” Susan’s voice snapped like a whip. “Charlotte, don’t move!”
Letty froze.
Neil turned, slow, the veins in his neck standing out like wire under his skin. His eyes landed on her—sharp, disbelieving, dangerous.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” His voice was soft, almost curious.
Letty’s mouth went dry.
“I—” she started, but nothing came out.
He took a step toward her, and she flinched back. The edge of the dropped box dug into her ankle.
“You think this is your business?” he said, voice rising now, the vowels going long and slurred. “You come into my house, tell my wife what to do—”
“I wasn’t—”
“Playing house with my son, huh? Think I don’t see it?”
Her stomach turned. Her heart was in her throat.
Neil smiled—a flat, humorless thing that made the air go cold. “You wanna play adult games, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, the smell of bourbon and sweat and cheap cologne rolling off him. “Then you get the adult prizes.”
His hand shot out, not a grab, not quite—not yet—but the motion was fast enough that Letty stumbled back, barely sliding out of the grasp, his fist landing in the dry wall next to her head.
The sound made her ears ring.
Everything in her blurred—the edges of the room, the light, Susan’s voice breaking somewhere between stop and please.
She couldn’t tell what was happening for a second. Couldn’t tell what was memory and what was real. Her hands came up instinctively, palms open, a useless kind of defense she’d learned years ago.
She couldn’t breathe.
There was the slam of a cabinet door, Susan shouting his name, and the low scrape of something hitting the tile.
Letty’s body folded in on itself, her lungs refusing to work. The air had turned thick. The room had shrunk to a pinpoint.
It smelled like lemon cleaner and metal.
Her fingers trembled where they pressed against the wall. The hum in her head was deafening now, drowning out the rest—Neil’s voice, Susan’s, the dull thuds and sharp cracks that came in between.
Her chest ached.
“Four in,” she whispered, though the words were soundless. “Four out.”
It didn’t work.
Her lungs locked, and the room spun sideways.
Then — something in her just snapped.
She wasn’t thinking when she moved; she just did.
The sound of Susan choking out a breath hit her first, and then Letty’s hands were on Neil’s shoulders, pulling, shoving — anything. It wasn’t strength, it was panic. The kind that made you forget the rules of physics.
“Get off her!” she screamed, her voice raw and too high. Arms wrapping around his neck as she wrenched her body backward; the ghost of Susan’s too red face, eye already swelling.
Everything blurred.
The world went small and violent and loud all at once — the sound of her own heartbeat thundering behind her eyes, Susan shouting her name, the sharp crash of something hitting the wall.
There was a blur of movement — Neil twisting, the world turning with him — and suddenly Letty couldn’t tell up from down.
The air went out of her. Her back arching off the wall as she choked on pain and spit.
A burst of light behind her eyes. The taste of Copper feeling her mouth and stinging heaviness of a hand at her cheek.
Someone was still yelling, maybe her, maybe Susan. The house was shaking with noise.
Then — the front door.
A rush of outside air.
Billy’s voice cutting through everything, sharp and low, the kind of sound that silenced even the chaos.
“Get your hands off her.”
The words hit like a crack of thunder.
Letty didn’t see the rest. She heard it — a scuffle, the heavy stumble of footsteps, the sound of a chair tipping, the crash of a picture frame.
Her head hit the linoleum when she fell, vision swimming, the world gone pale at the edges.
Then there were hands — not rough this time, but steady, grounding — Susan’s voice somewhere close and shaking, saying her name over and over like it was the only thing holding her upright.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t try to get up.
She just lay there, the sound of her own breath rasping in her ears, the world finally going quiet except for the ringing.
The ringing in her ears wouldn’t stop.
Everything had gone strange — color and motion, shapes bending together in a blur that didn’t feel real. She could taste metal, smell dust and old lemons.
Someone shouted her name, a voice breaking apart mid-word.
Susan, maybe. Or Billy.
She blinked hard, once, twice — the light above her stuttering in and out of focus. Her jaw ached when she tried to move it, sharp and electric. Not broken, she thought. Please, not broken.
Hands brushed her shoulder, gentle, desperate, and she flinched before she even saw who it was. “Don’t—” she rasped, pushing weakly at the air, but Susan’s voice kept spilling out, cracked with fear, saying her name again and again.
Then — another sound. Lower. Rougher. The kind of noise that made the whole room tilt.
Letty’s vision tilted with it, catching flashes — Billy’s back, his shoulders drawn tight; the blur of motion in front of him; a dull, flat sound that felt more like thunder than anything human.
The screaming — she couldn’t tell where it was coming from anymore. Her throat hurt, so maybe it was her.
She pressed her palm against the cold linoleum, willing the world to stop moving. The ceiling swam.
When she blinked again, Billy was turned halfway toward her, his face streaked with something she couldn’t quite see, his breath ragged. He was saying something — her name, maybe, or “it’s over” — she couldn’t tell.
Neil was somewhere behind him, a shape against the kitchen light, too still.
Letty stared at the trembling outline of Billy’s hand, curled in the fabric of his father’s shirt. The way it shook — the way he wouldn’t look down.
She thought, distantly, that she could smell rain, even though it hadn’t rained all week.
Then Susan’s hands were on her again, and Letty let them stay this time. The ringing finally dulled, the world dimming at the edges until all that was left was Billy’s silhouette against the window — unmoving, too bright, like a photograph she didn’t want to keep.
The next thing she knew, light was burning straight through her eyelids.
“Hey—hey, easy,” someone said. A hand on her chin, fingers cold and gloved. The flashlight flicked again and she hissed, jerking back.
“I’m fine,” she rasped, shoving weakly at the EMT’s wrist. “Don’t— I don’t have a concussion. I can’t have a concussion, I’ve got an exam Friday.”
Her voice came out raw, paper-thin. But the words strung together, and that had to count for something. Her jaw throbbed when she talked, every syllable a pulse of pain.
Susan sat beside her on the bumper of the ambulance, a blanket slung around her shoulders, eyes glassy but clearer than before. Her arm hung loosely over Letty’s shoulders, trembling with the effort of keeping still.
Letty stared down at her own hands, at the shallow scrapes blooming red across her knuckles, and said the first thing that bubbled up through the fog.
“Aw, man… your little glass cats are probably all broken.”
Susan’s laugh came out half-sob, half-breath. “Guess I never liked them that much anyway,” she managed.
Letty opened her mouth to answer, but then there was movement in front of her—dark shape, familiar weight—and suddenly Hopper was there.
He crouched down, his big hands bracketing her shoulders, voice rough in a way she’d never heard before.
“Jesus, kid. Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”
“I didn’t even do anything,” she mumbled, blinking up at him.
“The hell you didn’t.” He pulled back just enough to look her over, eyes darting to the bruise along her jaw. “What were you thinking? Jumping on a grown man like that—”
“I— I don’t know,” she stammered. “I just—he wouldn’t stop—”
Susan made a sound next to her, a small, broken sob, and Letty turned her head instinctively toward it. The world tilted again.
That was when she noticed.
Billy wasn’t there.
Her stomach dropped. “Where—” she started, but the words strangled halfway out. Panic spiked, sharp and bright. Her hands started shaking before she could stop them.
“Where’s Billy?”
“Hey—hey, breathe,” Hopper said, but she was already sliding off the bumper, the EMT swearing behind her as she stumbled toward the grass.
Her knees hit dirt before she could steady herself, the taste of bile flooding her throat. She bent forward and heaved, the world tilting with every breath. Tears blurred everything—the trees, the flashing red lights, the faint hum of radios.
A warm hand touched the back of her neck, steady and careful. Hopper’s voice was low now, the kind he used when things were fragile.
“Easy, kid. He’s fine. You hear me? Billy’s fine.”
She coughed, wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist. “Mr. Hargrove?”
“Taken care of,” Hopper said quietly. “You don’t need to worry about him right now.”
The air around them hummed with static and night. Letty swallowed hard, throat aching, eyes fixed on the grass beneath her palms.
Her jaw still hurt.
Her stomach hurt.
But the thing pressing hardest against her ribs was relief—thin, exhausted, trembling relief that any of them were still standing at all.
Billy hadn’t meant to touch her at first—he just wanted to see her face. To make sure she was breathing.
But the second his hands found her shoulders, she gasped and looked up, eyes glassy, pupils blown wide.
“Billy—”
He swore under his breath, the word coming out rough and hoarse. “Jesus, Letty, your cheek’s all fucked up.”
She shook her head too fast. “It doesn’t even hurt,” she said, voice small and thin around the edges. But he could see the pulse jumping in her throat, the tremor in her jaw.
He huffed out something that wasn’t really a laugh. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” he said, his hand still on her shoulder like he wasn’t sure if he should let go. “You’re so goddamn lucky I came by the house before my shift. God knows what—”
He cut himself off, jaw tightening.
Letty blinked up at him, slow, like she was still catching up. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Billy just stared at her for a second before the laugh tore out of him—wet, shaky, nothing like it was supposed to sound. “You looked like a fucking monkey,” he said finally, shaking his head. “Flailing, screaming—hell, I didn’t know if you were helping or starting a riot.”
That pulled a laugh out of her, too—short and surprised and a little broken around the edges. It wavered in her throat before it could settle, spilling out of her in a way that wasn’t quite laughter anymore.
Billy watched her turn toward the ambulance, toward Susan sitting blanketed and silent in the open door, and the sound faded out of her completely.
She covered her face with her hands, shoulders hitching once, twice—then again, harder.
Billy didn’t move, just stood there in the wash of the flashing lights, watching her crumble.
She didn’t know who she was crying for—Susan, himself, her mom, maybe all of it. Maybe none of it.
She only knew she’d earned the right to cry, and she didn’t have it in her to stop.
And Billy just stayed there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his own breath shaking in and out.
The sirens were quieter now, farther away, the night air colder than it had been an hour ago.
He looked at her again, small and shaking in the glow of it all, and thought, well… fuck.
That was it. No grand thought, no lesson. Just that one, heavy word echoing through the noise in his head.
The bathroom light hummed.
Letty stared at her reflection until the edges of her face started to waver.
The bruise on her jaw had darkened overnight, a muddy violet that bloomed just under her cheekbone. The right side of her face was puffy, her lower lip split.
She turned, pulling up her shirt. A wide shadow was spreading across the small of her back—ugly, uneven, the shape of someone’s grip and a countertop. It should’ve hurt worse than it did.
Her first thought wasn’t even fear. Her mom had always left worse.
That thought hit first—cold, automatic. The kind that made her hate herself a little, even as she believed it.
She dragged a thumb along the swollen line of her jaw, testing the ache. The bruise was deep but not blooming; the skin just tender. Her reflection looked back dull-eyed, blank.
Could’ve been worse.
That old, ugly mantra.
She snorted under her breath, the sound rough.
Neil Hargrove hit like a drunk kid, all anger, no aim.
The kind of hit that stung more in memory than on skin.
Her cheek throbbed. Her ribs burned when she twisted, but she kept twisting anyway, cataloging the damage like it was homework.
see? she told herself. Still standing. Still breathing. Still you.
The laugh that followed didn’t sound right.
She blinked at her own reflection again, the hollow laugh caught in her throat. Her hair was a mess, the bruise looked like someone else’s, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d dreamed the whole thing.
Bits of the night were already slipping: the flash of blue lights through the trailer blinds, the sound of her name yelled over and over, Susan’s hands shaking against her shoulders. She remembered vomit, blood, Hopper’s voice cutting through static—then nothing but a long stretch of white noise.
Now everything was still.
Too still.
She pressed her fingertips lightly against her jaw again; winced, hissed. Then she turned away from the mirror, grabbing the door knob and slowly opening the bathroom door.
The clock on her nightstand had said 7:14 when she woke up to pee.
Outside, the world looked almost normal—dew on the grass, fog lifting off the tree line, the faint hiss of the coffeepot in the kitchen.
Letty exhaled, long and shaky, and muttered to her reflection before walking out the bathroom: “Guess we’re back to normal now.”
Hopper was already at the table, elbows propped up beside the newspaper, pretending to read while keeping half an eye on the girls.
He cleared his throat when Letty walked in. “Think we all just take the day, yeah? Reset, breathe a little. Back in the groove by Monday.”
He said it casually, like it wasn’t an order. But his eyes lingered on her bruised jaw.
Letty didn’t answer. She just reached for the jar of peanut butter, twisting the lid with her sore fingers. Max wordlessly held out an Eggo. Letty spread the peanut butter in slow, even strokes, pretending not to notice the way the younger girl kept sneaking glances at her face.
When she finally met Max’s eyes, the girl froze—guilt flickering there. Letty sighed, reached out, and ruffled her bright red hair.
“Hey. It’s fine, kid.”
“I’m sorry,” Max mumbled anyway, voice small.
“Don’t,” Letty said quickly. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who should be sorry.” She took a careful bite, then added, quieter,
“ I knew it was bad. I just didn’t know it was that bad. You shouldn’t have had to live with that.”
Max’s chin trembled. She shrugged, trying for nonchalance and missing it by a mile. Letty gave her a crooked smile and leaned back against the counter, chewing slow, pretending her jaw didn’t ache.
For a second, she thought about the pain, how Susan and Billy looked and the fact she probably got off the lightest of them all. The silence between them wasn’t heavy, just full.
“But hey,” Letty added, nudging her with an elbow, “I did get to see your new room first. Even helped set it up.”
Max’s mouth twitched, her sarcasm coming out on cue. “Great. Guess I’ll owe you interior-design credit or something.”
Letty snorted, almost choking on her Eggo. “You can pay me in pizza rolls.”
Across the room, Hopper finally looked back down at his paper, pretending not to smile. The air loosened—just a little.
“Letty!”
She turned just in time to see Hopper pointing a dirt-streaked hand at her, his face red from crouching under the porch. “For the last time—stop trying to help jack this thing up before you fall through it!”
“I can help,” she shot back, hands on her hips. “I don’t have a concussion!”
Before she could duck past him, Billy caught her by the waist. “Yeah, and you’re not gettin’ one on my watch either.”
“Billy—”
He didn’t even bother answering, just hauled her up like she weighed nothing and deposited her firmly behind him in the patchy grass. “There. Stay.”
She huffed, brushing dirt off her jeans, but he was already crouching beside Hopper again, both of them elbow-deep in the half-rotted beam under the trailer.
Inside, she could hear Max and El laughing—high, breathless, the kind of laughter that only happens when everything feels normal again, even if it’s temporary.
Susan was humming in the living room, the soft thump of folded laundry landing in neat piles.
Letty crossed her arms, kicking at a rock. “You could at least let me help with something,” she muttered.
Billy didn’t look back. “Then go inside and finish that bookshelf if you think you can do it without screwing it up.”
She gasped, mock-offended. “You’re so bossy. I can read instructions, you know.”
“You say that now,” he said, voice muffled by the porch.
“I helped with the dresser, didn’t I?”
“That’s debatable,” he shot back, earning a bark of laughter from Hopper.
Letty was mid-eye roll when Hopper shouted again, louder this time. “Letty! Grab the flashlight outta the cruiser, would ya? And the—uh—thing—”
“What thing?” she called.
“The wrench!”
“You have, like, twelve of those!”
“The big one!”
She groaned, stomping toward the cruiser. “You’re all insane,” she grumbled, but the corners of her mouth were already curving upward.
Letty crouched by the cruiser, the late-morning heat sticking to her neck. The trunk creaked open, revealing Hopper’s disaster of a toolbox—wrenches, screwdrivers, half-used duct tape, and a half-eaten pack of gum all jumbled together.
“Of course,” she muttered. “God forbid he keep this thing in order.” She dug past a handful of bolts, fingers clinking against cold metal. “You’ve got labels, Jim. Use them.”
Another mutter, louder this time: “What even counts as big? Half these things look the same.”
“You talking to yourself, or am I supposed to answer that?”
The voice was close—too close—and she spun on instinct, breath catching.
Her shoulder smacked the trunk lid as she whirled, heart lurching up into her throat. Eddie stood a few feet away, hands half-raised like he’d walked in on something private.
“Jesus, Munson,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that.”
He blinked, taking in the sudden space she’d put between them—the way she sidestepped, half-turned, body angled like she was ready to bolt. The joke that had been forming on his lips died fast.
Then he saw her face. The bruise.
His mouth went slack. “...Christ, Letty.”
She forced a shrug, trying for lightness, her voice coming out thin. “It’s fine. You should see the other guy.”
But she didn’t meet his eyes. She just ducked her head back into the cruiser, clanging tools around like the noise could drown out how fast her heart was hammering.
Eddie stayed where he was for a moment, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes still caught on the fading purple bloom along her jaw. He cleared his throat, forcing his voice steady.
“What’re you even looking for?”
Letty huffed, shoving another handful of tools aside. “Apparently, the world’s biggest wrench. Hopper’s under the porch trying to play Bob the Builder, and I’m the designated tool-fetcher.”
She pointed vaguely toward the trailer with a small tilt of her chin. “Over there.”
Eddie followed her gesture, squinting in the sunlight—then frowned.
“That’s Hargrove’s new place.”
“Mm-hm.”
He blinked. “You’re working on Hargrove’s trailer?”
“Not his. His mom’s. well Step-mom.” Letty straightened, wiping her hands on the back of her jeans. “Dads’s helping fix the porch before it caves in. I’m on… wrench duty.”
Eddie’s brows shot up, like he wasn’t sure if she was joking. “Wrench Duty?”
“Yup.”
Eddie studied her face again, the way she kept moving, kept filling the space with words. She was running on something—momentum, nerves, that restless need to do.
“Play nice,” she added, catching his look. “you're neighbors now. So no Munson-Hargrove turf wars, alright?”
That earned her a small, incredulous laugh.
“Guess I’ll try to restrain myself.”
Letty smirked faintly, bending back toward the box. “Good. Now, you wanna be useful and tell me which one of these is actually a wrench?”
Eddie hesitated—just long enough to register the way her hand trembled when she reached for the tools again. Then he crouched beside her, close but not too close, voice low.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I got it.”
She wasn’t sure when she’d been relegated to tool-fetcher. Somewhere between the first “hand me that thing—no, the other thing” and Billy barking for a socket she didn’t know existed, she’d dragged Hopper’s entire toolbox to the edge of the porch and settled into her new role.
Eddie crouched beside Billy, both of them grimed up to their elbows, trading off on the lifting and the holding while Hopper kept to the actual fixing. Or at least that’s what she figured was happening. Letty didn’t know much about construction—only that the sound of a hammer hitting wood was a hell of a lot easier to listen to than her own thoughts.
Sure, she and El had helped Hopper with the cabin earlier this year—shutters, siding, even a few shingles when she’d been brave enough to climb the roof—but that had been following directions, not whatever this organized chaos was.
And anyway, manual labor was not her thing.
So when Susan called her name through the open window, Letty was grateful for the excuse. She moved to stand under it, arms stretched high as Susan balanced a silver tray into her hands—pitcher of red Kool-Aid, stack of plastic cups teetering at the edge.
“Sandwiches for lunch,” Susan said, voice still a little thin, a little fragile.
Letty nodded, carrying the tray to the tiny metal table by the steps. It looked like part of a set—the rest probably still back at the house she didn’t want to ask about. Half because of what had happened. Half because Billy looked one bad comment away from exploding, streaked with dirt and cobwebs, and Eddie didn’t look much better.
Hopper straightened with a groan, arms stretched high until something in his lower back popped audibly. “Too damn old for this,” he muttered, reaching for a cup. He poured himself the drink, took three long gulps, then sighed with the satisfaction of a man who thought that counted as hydration.
The porch stood solid now—upright, steady, not sagging anymore. Mismatched planks, uneven color, but still good. Still theirs.
“I think I’ll paint it sage green,” Susan said suddenly, stepping halfway out the door with another tray stacked in sandwiches. Her smile was small, soft, almost shy as she looked over the new boards.
The bruises looked worse than they felt—she’d said that earlier—and Letty had agreed. They shared the sentiment, if not the words.
Because even with the green-yellow bloom around Susan’s eye, the split lip, the bandage over her brow—she looked good.
She looked free.
Letty didn’t notice when Eddie disappeared.
One minute he’d been by the porch, shoulder-to-shoulder with Billy, and the next he was gone—vanishing in that easy way of his, like smoke slipping out through a cracked window.
She caught herself glancing toward the other side of the park, toward the familiar rust-colored trailer, wondering if she should check on him.
Maybe just… make sure they were still okay.
But before she could stand, Billy called her name.
He was sitting on the steps, elbows on his knees, dirt still smeared across his forearms. The porch creaked under her as she sat beside him, knees almost touching.
They didn’t talk right away. The sound of the TV drifted out through the open door—some game show Susan was pretending to watch, Hopper’s low rumble of a laugh following the crack of a soda can.
Finally, Letty asked, “How you holding up?”
Billy exhaled, a short laugh that didn’t quite reach. “For once? Feels like maybe everything’s gonna be fine.”
“Big word,” she said lightly, bumping her shoulder into his. “Fine.”
“Yeah, well.” He glanced at her, mouth twitching. “Figure if I keep saying it, maybe it’ll stick. Got shifts lined up next week. Money’s gonna go toward rent and whatever else.”
“Look at you,” she teased. “Full-blown adulting. Next thing you know, you’ll be doing taxes.”
He groaned. “Don’t ruin it.”
They sat there for a while—letting the quiet hum, letting the world be normal for five whole minutes.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Hey. I appreciate you. For… you know. All of it.”
Letty shrugged, eyes fixed on the fading line of sunlight across the grass. “That’s what friends are for, right? You listen to me complain about boys and school, I help you survive your tragic soap-opera life. Pretty even trade.”
He huffed out a laugh, but it sounded like something caught in his throat.
She turned toward him, smiling faintly. “I do love you, you know. Not in love with you, don’t panic.”
He snorted.
“I mean it, though,” she said. “Like I love Max. And Hopper. You’re stuck with me now. I’ll always have your back.”
Billy didn’t answer right away. He just leaned in—barely, almost imperceptible—but enough.
And she leaned, too.
The kind of quiet that settled then wasn’t heavy. It was just… still.
Notes:
this feels like idk if i was doing a serial or something, like a manwha this would be the end of season 1 right here.
If you've noticed, i did up the chapter count. theres so much shit to get into that i havent even touched on it properly amongst all the world building and trying to get the threads started.
If you notice continuity issues lmk, I got put on new meds sooooo yea
Chapter 20: Note to self.
Notes:
lol welcome to the 2nd season. or thats how i have this all split up in my head.
brought to you by : Private, OMG and lovebomb by the neighbourhood
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The mornings came colder now.
Letty hissed through her teeth as she sprinted across the porch in socked feet, the frost biting at her ankles. She wrenched open the Chevy’s door, muttering when her breath fogged in front of her, and turned the key until the engine stuttered awake. It coughed once before settling into a low, familiar hum.
Steam rolled off the hood in thin, ghostly ribbons as she leaned against it, arms wrapped around herself. The leaves had started changing along the edge of the woods—amber bleeding into red like someone had dragged a match through the trees.
She rubbed her hands together and thought, September’s almost gone.
The bruise on her jaw had finally faded to a faint yellow-green smear, the kind that only showed up under the bathroom light. She still dabbed concealer over it out of habit. Same with the one at her ribs. Out of sight didn’t mean gone—it just meant easier to ignore.
She told herself things were fine now. Mostly, they were.
School had settled back into its rhythm—late nights and early mornings, homework in the library during lunch, tutoring sessions for freshmen who didn’t pay attention in algebra. She told Marnie it was for college applications. Truth was, she just liked the quiet.
Max and El weren’t having as easy a time. Some junior girls had been giving them hell—snide comments, hallway whispers, the occasional shove when teachers weren’t looking. Max pretended it didn’t bother her; El went quiet in a way that made Letty’s stomach twist.
Hopper said he’d handle it. She wasn’t sure what that meant.
The Chevy’s heater finally kicked in with a low groan. She exhaled, watching the air turn white, and looked toward the cabin. The curtains were drawn, El’s shadow moving back and forth in the window.
From the outside, it looked normal again—stable. Clean counters, stacked laundry, routines like armor.
But Letty knew what was behind the closet door.
Late-night pacing. Breath counts. Hands shaking just enough that she pretended it was caffeine.
Still, she told herself she was better. That was the rule: say it until it feels true.
She hadn’t seen Steve since the lake. Hadn’t heard from him either. It felt wrong to miss him, like reaching for something she’d already decided she couldn’t have.
And Eddie—he talked to her now, sort of. They shared smokes after class sometimes, joked in the parking lot.
But there was something off—a pause between words, a space they hadn’t figured out how to fill again.
She scraped a line through the frost on the windshield with her sleeve, peering inside the car as if she could see the road ahead.
“Almost ready?” El’s voice called from the doorway, soft and sleepy.
Letty nodded, even though El couldn’t see her. “Yeah. Coming.”
She rushed up the porch steps and into the warmth of the cabin, closing the door on the cold and letting the warmth seep back into her bones.
She didn’t look at her reflection in the window.
She wasn’t ready to see her own face in the daylight just yet.
Letty took the long way without meaning to.
The Chevy’s heater wheezed like a dying dragon as she wound down the backroads into town, muttering under her breath about the absurd geometry of the route. From the cabin to Dustin’s house to the high school—it was a triangle no map could justify.
She told herself it didn’t matter. She’d promised his mom she’d help. Steve could handle drop-off after school; mornings were hers. It wasn’t a big deal.
Except, this morning, everything felt like a big deal.
Dustin’s mom was already halfway down the front steps when Letty pulled up, her scrubs wrinkled and her coffee thermos tucked under one arm. “You’re a saint!” she called, breathless, fumbling for her keys. “Hospital’s short-staffed again—double shift.”
Letty smiled, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ve got him.”
“I owe you a pie,” his mom said, sliding into her car before speeding off.
Dustin thundered down the porch steps a moment later, backpack half-zipped, hair sticking up like static. He yanked the back door open and slumped in without looking up.
“It’s too early to exist,” he grumbled.
“Morning to you, too,” Letty said, but there wasn’t any bite behind it.
El twisted in her seat, bright-eyed despite the hour. “Did you hear?”
Dustin made a strangled noise. “Of course! She dumped him at Lunchables Hour in front of the entire cafeteria!”
Letty blinked. “Who?”
“Some second year” El said quickly, like it was national news. “You don't know her”
“None of us do El, but its the principle of it all” Dustin snapped.
“Whatever,” El shot back. “You’re just mad I saw him cry and you didnt..”
Letty sighed, turning onto the main road. Usually she’d toss in some snarky commentary, maybe play mediator, but today she just let them go. Their voices filled the car in an easy rhythm—El teasing, Dustin overreacting—and she found herself watching the rearview mirror out of habit.
Her own reflection looked washed-out in the glass, eyes ringed with faint purple half-moons. The bruise on her jaw was almost gone. So was the adrenaline.
All that was left was the exhaustion sitting low in her bones.
The kind of tired that didn’t go away after a nap. The kind that came from surviving too long.
She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, half listening to the kids argue about cafeteria drama, and thought of all the women she knew who worked double shifts—Dustin’s mom, Susan, even her own, once upon a time.
She wondered if they ever got tired of pretending tiredness was just part of the job.
“Letty,” El said, leaning forward slightly. “You missed the turn.”
Letty blinked, glancing up. The school’s brick facade was already sliding by in the side mirror.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Guess I did.”
She turned into the next lot, looping around to circle back, and Dustin laughed from the backseat.
“Wow. You okay, Letty?”
Letty gave him a sideways look in the mirror. “Define okay.”
He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “You get coffee?”
Letty snorted. “nope.”
The second bell had already rung by the time Letty turned into the Hawkins High lot.
Engines idled, breath fogged against cracked windows. The sky still looked half asleep.
She eased the Chevy into her usual spot beside the band van, killing the engine. El and Dustin were already arguing again before the seatbelts clicked.
“Don’t forget my notes for science,” El said, twisting to face him.
“I said I’d bring them,” Dustin shot back. “I’m not a total goblin.”
Letty rubbed at her temple. “Both of you—go. The late bell’s coming.”
They scrambled out, slamming doors and sprinting across the lot, voices echoing through the cold. Their energy left a kind of ache behind it, like the silence afterward was heavier for missing them.
She sat there a minute longer, hands loose on the steering wheel. The heater was still humming. Her reflection in the rearview looked pale under the weak sun, eyeliner smudged from rubbing her eyes too much.
Around her, the parking lot buzzed with small-town noise: stereos leaking synth pop, girls spraying Aqua Net under cracked car doors, the smell of cheap coffee and asphalt.
It was normal. That was the worst part.
She stepped out, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Frost crunched under her boots. Her breath made ghosts in front of her as she crossed the lot.
Chrissy waved from near the bleachers, a thermos tucked under her arm. “You’re gonna miss first period!” she called, grinning.
Letty smiled back—small, practiced. “You make it sound like it’s Christmas.”
“Same thing, Charlotte,” Chrissy teased. “Government’s a holiday compared to gym.”
Letty laughed, but it came out soft, automatic.
Since she’d met Chrissy, the cheerleader had made a quiet habit of showing up in her orbit—waiting for her outside their shared classes, stopping by the library under the excuse of “studying,” catching up with her in the parking lot before first bell. It was tentative, a friendship still finding its footing, but real all the same.
People stared sometimes when they walked together—Sheriff’s monochrome daughter next to the golden girl of Hawkins High—but Chrissy didn’t seem to care. If anything, she leaned into it, waving a little brighter whenever the whispers started.
And maybe that was why Letty didn’t pull away.
Because Chrissy never asked questions about the bruises or the gossip; she just smiled, like none of it mattered, like Letty was someone easy to know.
Inside, the hallways buzzed the way they always did—fluorescent lights, lockers slamming, the murmur of gossip looping like radio static. She moved through it like someone half underwater, the words barely sticking.
In her locker sat the same stack of assignments she’d ignored all week. She flipped through them, not reading, just looking.
Six weeks into the semester, and everyone was already talking about proper fall plans—football games, homecoming, Halloween parties. She was supposed to feel something about that.
Instead, her stomach just felt hollow.
She shut the locker door a little too hard.
“Rough morning?” a voice said.
Eddie. leaning against the row across from her, hair damp from the cold, guitar pick flicking between his fingers. He smiled—crooked, uncertain—and for a second she almost forgot how to breathe.
“Define rough,” she said.
He shrugged, grin twitching wider. “You look like someone who could use a smoke break before third period.”
“Tempting,” she said, locking the door. “But I’m trying not to add ‘truancy’ to my growing list of character flaws.”
Eddie laughed under his breath. “Your loss.”
As he walked away, she watched him go—head high, denim jacket catching the morning light—and something twisted in her chest, sharp and strange.
Maybe this was what Marnie meant when she said recovery wasn’t about being fine, it was about staying.
She shouldered her bag, exhaled through her nose, and headed for class.
She told herself turning Eddie down was the right thing—keep it friendly, keep it clean. That was the deal they’d made without ever saying it.
But the lie of it itched all day.
By second period, the hallways were too bright. The chatter of lockers too sharp. The smell of pencil shavings and cafeteria bleach hit like a migraine.
She slipped into her AP English class a few minutes late, mumbling an apology before taking her seat near the window. The teacher kept talking about metaphor, about how symbols build layers of meaning, and Letty tried to listen—she really did—but her brain wouldn’t stay still long enough to catch a single word.
Her notes turned to loops and doodles—small swirls, half-written song lyrics she didn’t even realize she was writing until Chrissy nudged her elbow.
“You okay?” she whispered.
Letty blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Chrissy gave her a look that said sure you are, but didn’t press. She just flipped the corner of Letty’s notebook and drew a tiny smiley face next to the scribbles before going back to her own notes.
It should have made Letty smile.
Instead, it made her chest ache.
By lunch, the halls had emptied into noise again—shouts, sneakers squeaking, the clang of vending machines. Letty ducked into the library, tray in hand. Her usual table near the back was already half-covered in textbooks and index cards she’d left earlier. She sat, opened her sandwich, and stared at it until it stopped looking like food.
She tried to read. Tried to work. But every time she started, her vision drifted—over the same lines, the same words, the same hollow feeling in her ribs.
Outside the window, the trees were already turning, leaves yellowing at the edges like burnt paper.
The whole world felt like it was shifting, and she was standing too still to keep up.
She tore a corner off her napkin, folded it once, twice, again and again until it was a tiny square.
Idle hands, devil’s plaything.
She rubbed the paper between her fingers until it came apart.
The day bled into gray by the last bell.
Letty’s eyes burned from staring at too many pages and hearing too many voices; her brain felt cotton-stuffed, her smile automatic.
She was halfway to the parking lot when Chrissy caught up, calling her name across the crowd. The cheerleader’s hair was up, her pink sweatshirt too bright against the dull sky.
“Charlotte! Hey—wait up!”
Letty slowed, turning just as Chrissy jogged the last few steps, breath puffing in the cold. “You vanish faster than anyone I know,” she said, grinning. “What, do you teleport?”
“Just a skill,” Letty said, trying to sound lighter than she felt.
Chrissy shifted the thermos in her hands, suddenly sheepish. “So—um. There’s a thing tonight. Not a big party, more like… people hanging out by Miller’s Field? Fire pit, cheap beer, bad music.”
Letty raised a brow. “That sounds suspiciously like a big party.”
“Okay, medium,” Chrissy admitted. “But everyone’s going—band kids, basketball guys, even Robin Buckley, which has to mean it’s safe.”
Letty hesitated, pulling her coat tighter. “I don’t really do the whole ‘everyone’ thing.”
Chrissy’s smile softened. “You don’t have to. Just come for a bit. I kinda promised I’d bring someone who wouldn’t ditch me when the keg runs out.”
Letty huffed a laugh, already feeling the edges of her resistance fray. “I don’t even drink.”
“That’s fine. You can make fun of everyone who does.”
The wind blew through the lot, sharp and dry, tugging at their hair. Somewhere, a radio blared a tinny pop song through open car doors.
Letty bit her lip, weighing it out. She’d done all the right things for weeks now—study, sleep, breathe, repeat—and she still felt like she was floating above her own life. El was going to stay the weekend at Max's. Maybe a little recklessness wouldn’t kill her.
“Fine,” she said at last. “But if I end up babysitting, I’m making you clean my windshield for a week.”
Chrissy squealed and threw her arms around her before Letty could protest. “Deal! I’ll pick you up around eight?”
Letty blinked, stunned but smiling despite herself. “I have a car, you know.”
“Yeah, but mine has better music.”
And before Letty could argue, Chrissy was already backing away toward the cheerleader carpool, waving. “Eight sharp, Charlotte! Dress warm!”
Letty stood there for a moment, watching her go. The lot had mostly emptied, the sky edging toward that soft, cold blue that meant fall had finally won.
She got into her Chevy, turned the key, and let the radio hum to life—some old Fleetwood Mac song bleeding through the static.
Maybe she could stand to feel like a normal girl for one night.
The field smelled like woodsmoke and cheap beer.
Someone’s boom box buzzed out a half-broken cassette, the bass thudding against the chill in the air.
Chrissy sat on the tailgate of a pickup, her legs bare and glowing in the firelight, heels kicked against the metal. Letty leaned beside her, shoulder to the truck, hands shoved deep into her sweater sleeves. Her slip dress brushed the tops of her boots, the knit beneath it smelling faintly of clove smoke and dryer sheets. Together, they looked like opposites that made accidental sense—sugar and soot, shine and shadow.
“See?” Chrissy said, nudging her with a knee. “Not so bad.”
Letty’s laugh was quiet, tight. “It’s fine. Cold, though.”
Chrissy grinned. “That’s because you’re dressed like a goth pilgrim.”
“I’m dressed warm.”
“You’re dressed moody,” Chrissy teased, reaching over to tug lightly at one of Letty’s sleeves. “There’s a difference.”
Letty rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curved. Around them, the crowd pulsed—couples sneaking toward the tree line, guys trying to impress each other by shot-chugging warm beer. Every few minutes someone would wander over, all easy smiles and fire-lit nerves, trying to talk to them.
Chrissy handled it like breathing, polite but distant. Letty, meanwhile, assumed it was all for Chrissy—the way they angled their shoulders, the way they laughed too loud. She just stood there, the friend, the shadow, the girl who fetched drinks and smiled small.
When a new group came by—football jackets, slurred confidence—Letty half-stepped back, pretending to check her watch.
Chrissy caught it.
“Hey,” she said softly, leaning close. “You okay?”
Letty nodded, too fast. “Yeah. Just… loud.”
“Yeah,” Chrissy murmured, brushing her thumb against the rim of her cup. “It gets easier after the first sip.” She offered it out—half-warm, half-flat beer in a plastic cup. “If you want. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
Letty hesitated, staring at the foam catching the firelight.
Chrissy’s tone stayed light, steady. “You don’t have to prove anything. I just don’t want you freezing out here with your arms crossed like you’re waiting for a test result.”
That made Letty snort. “That’s oddly specific.”
“Yeah, because I’ve been you,” Chrissy said. “Once. Maybe twice.”
Letty looked at her then—really looked—and saw past the pink cheeks and perfect hair, saw the same restless edge she felt vibrating under her own skin.
“Okay,” she said finally, and took the cup.
Chrissy smiled like that meant something bigger than beer.
The first sip was awful, bitter and metallic. She made a face and Chrissy laughed, bright and real, throwing her head back. The sound hit Letty somewhere warm, deep.
“See? Not that bad,” Chrissy said, bumping her shoulder.
Letty shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re a terrible influence.”
“Best kind,” Chrissy replied. “I don’t make you do dumb things. I just make the dumb things feel safe.”
The night went on around them, music skipping, smoke rising.
Letty’s pulse slowed for the first time in weeks.
Maybe this was what normal felt like—someone’s laughter, a fire, the ache of wanting without it hurting yet.
The fire burned higher now, the air thick with laughter and smoke and the sweet bite of cheap beer.
Someone had dragged out an extra speaker, the music louder, bass rattling through the ground like a heartbeat.
Letty was smiling without meaning to. The second cup in her hand was half-empty—warm, flat, but better than the first. The edge of her nerves had dulled into something fuzzy, a pleasant hum under her skin. She could breathe without checking the air first.
Chrissy stayed close, like she’d promised. She’d looped their fingers together somewhere between songs, pulling her into the crowd when a group of girls started dancing. Letty went with it, the movement awkward at first and then not at all—just her hair swinging loose, her sweater sliding off one shoulder, Chrissy’s laughter so close it vibrated through her ribs.
It wasn’t graceful. It was fun.
When the song shifted to something faster, Letty nearly tripped, cackling, both of them spinning in the churn of bodies and light. The music blurred, the world turning soft around the edges.
Maybe this was what it felt like to be normal.
To not carry every second like it might break you.
By the time she realized she was dizzy, Chrissy was already tugging her back toward the truck.
“Okay, lightweight,” she teased, steadying Letty by the elbow. “Let’s take five before you start quoting poetry.”
Letty tried to swat her hand but missed, giggling. “I don’t even know poetry.”
“Exactly,” Chrissy said, easing her up onto the tailgate. “You’d make it up.”
Letty laughed again, then winced when the metal chilled her through her tights. “You’re mean.”
“Only out of love,” Chrissy said, brushing a curl from Letty’s face before she caught herself, hand dropping back to her lap.
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The fire threw flickers across their faces, gold and shadow.
“You good?” Chrissy asked softly.
Letty nodded, her voice small. “Better than I’ve been in a while.”
“Good,” Chrissy murmured, squeezing her knee. Her hand lingered there, warm even through the fabric. “Stay put, okay? I’m just gonna… make one bad decision. Then I’ll come back.”
Letty frowned, the smile tugging back anyway. “Nooo. You just broke up with—what’s-his-name—Jackson”
Chrissy snorted. “That’s not his name, but close enough.”
“Don’t go,” Letty said, her words a little slurred, a little pleading.
Chrissy leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched, breath mixing. “We’re two halves of the same coin, remember? You keep this side warm while I go flip the other.”
Letty blinked up at her, caught for a second too long in the way Chrissy’s eyes looked—bright, open, a little sad.
“Fine,” she whispered. “Just… stay safe.”
Chrissy smiled, brushing her thumb along the side of Letty’s boot before she hopped down. “Always.”
Then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Letty watched her go, the night tipping gently around her, the music softening to a hum. She leaned back against the cold metal and closed her eyes, the world finally quiet in her head.
The haze came on easy.
The fire had turned from orange to gold, the smoke curling soft above it. The music was louder now, the bass slipping through her bones. Letty wasn’t counting drinks anymore — just warmth, laughter, the faint hum in her throat when she tried to talk.
She liked this. The looseness. The way her skin felt soft and distant, like a silk dress on a wire hanger. The tight coil in her chest had finally unwound.
She stayed near the truck, the one she’d claimed as her anchor — dark blue, she thought, though it could’ve been black or gray depending on the light. When the music shifted, someone grabbed her hand — a girl in a denim jacket with glitter on her cheeks — and spun her, laughing. Letty laughed too, a full sound that surprised even her. The circle of girls twirled her between them, the air sweet with perfume and cheap cologne.
By the time she stumbled toward the cooler, she was warm to the point of forgetting. She poured something she couldn’t name into a cup and sipped, wrinkling her nose at the taste but drinking anyway. It made her feel light. Pretty.
“Didn’t think Hawkins had girls like you,” a voice said beside her.
Letty blinked, trying to find the face it belonged to. A boy — older, maybe from another school. His smile was easy, confident in the way boys’ smiles got when they thought they were being charming.
“Oh?” she said, cocking her head.
“Yeah,” he said, offering his hand. “Most girls around here are cheerleader types.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Not if you like easy.”
She didn’t laugh, but she didn’t walk away either. His hand brushed hers when she passed the cup, and for a second she thought, Oh, he’s cute. Not earth-shattering, not cinematic, just cute — the kind of thought she didn’t let herself have very often.
He said something else she barely heard over the music, but his hand was warm on her arm, and she didn’t mind it. The night was nice. The fire looked like honey. Everything was just—
“Letty?”
Her name.
She turned, blinking at the blur of light. Someone tall stood at the edge of the crowd. She had to squint, the halo from the fire making it hard to focus. The smell hit first — oil, smoke, that clove-sweet spice that threaded into her every time she leaned too close to his jacket.
The boy behind her said something — maybe asked if she was okay — but she was already walking, slow, deliberate steps toward the figure.
“Hi,” she said, grinning, her voice a little too bright.
Eddie’s shoulders eased when she reached him, like he’d been holding his breath since he spotted her. Up close, she could see the worry written across his face, the small crease between his brows.
She tilted her head, eyes catching on his hands, on the silver glint of his rings. The light flickered across them like stars. She caught his fingers before he could speak, tracing one with her thumb.
“They’re pretty,” she murmured, her voice low, thick with beer and warmth. “Like… little mirrors.”
Eddie huffed a laugh, breathless, the sound coming out half fond, half exasperated. “Jesus, Letty.”
She blinked up at him, still holding his hand like it was something delicate. “You smell nice.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. Like… I dunno. Trouble.”
He smiled then, small but real, though his voice was gentler when he said, “How much have you had?”
Letty thought about it, squinting. “Enough to feel pretty.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You always were.”
The firelight turned everything amber. It glinted off the rings on Eddie’s hands, the curls of his hair, the smoke that hung between them.
Letty leaned closer without meaning to. His jacket smelled like clove smoke and pine sap and motor oil; it was grounding and dizzying all at once. When she exhaled, her breath brushed the skin at his throat, and the sound he made—half a laugh, half a sigh—was enough to make her smile.
“You’re warm,” she murmured, fingers still hooked in the lapels of his jacket.
“That’s ‘cause you’re freezing,” he said. “Here—”
She didn’t let go. Instead she pressed her face against the crook of his neck, her words muffled against him. “When did you get so tall?”
Eddie blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“It’s rude,” she said seriously, voice slurred at the edges. “You used to be normal height. Now I gotta tilt back just to talk to you. My neck’s gonna sue.”
He laughed—quiet, incredulous. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m observant,” she corrected, and tried to step back to prove it. The ground moved under her, and she stumbled; he caught her by the waist, steadying her.
The touch sent a pulse through both of them. Her eyes found his—dark and glossy in the light—and for a heartbeat the world stopped spinning. She tipped her chin up, fingers clutching the front of his jacket like an anchor.
“God, you’re pretty,” she said.
Eddie froze. “What?”
“You heard me.” She squinted, the corners of her mouth curving. “You look like one of those paintings on the covers of those trashy romance novels. All—” she gestured vaguely at his face, “windswept and tragic. The brooding love interest.”
He barked a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s a new one.”
“It’s true,” she insisted, swaying a little closer. “I’d read that book.”
Her honesty hung between them, raw and luminous, the beer stripping away everything she usually built around her words. For once she wasn’t backtracking, wasn’t apologizing. She just looked at him, wide-eyed and open, her thumb tracing the worn edge of his jacket.
Eddie’s smile faltered. Something like worry ghosted over his expression. He wanted to say something—anything—but all that came out was a soft, “You should sit down, sweetheart.”
“Don’t wanna.”
“I know. But do it anyway.”
He guided her back toward the truck, his hand light at her back, and she let him. The world felt safe for the first time in a long time, and she wasn’t ready to give that up yet.
“Sit,” he said again, gently.
Letty’s mouth tipped down into a perfect pout. “You could just carry me.”
Eddie huffed a laugh. “You’re not five.”
“You could pretend.” She straightened, wobbling only a little, her grin wicked. “Or—wait. No. You could dance with me instead. Like Gomez and Morticia.”
She twirled her finger in the air like a spell, stepping closer until the toe of her boot brushed his. “You’d dip me,” she murmured, her voice going soft, sing-songy. “And I’d swoon.”
“Yeah?” he said, his chest aching in a way that didn’t make sense. “That so?”
“Mhm.” She nodded seriously, eyes half-lidded, curls spilling over her shoulders. “You’d look at me like I hung the moon, and I’d say something really dramatic. Maybe in French.”
He laughed, low and quiet, because he couldn’t help it. She was ridiculous. Beautifully ridiculous.
This was Letty uncoiled. The version of her without the walls and the barbs and the exhaustion. A little drunk, a little dangerous, but free.
Eddie reached out, brushing his thumb over a curl that had fallen across her cheek. “You’re trouble, Hopper,” he said softly.
“Not trouble,” she mumbled. “Adventure.”
Her fingers trailed down his jacket, tracing seams, the cool slide of his rings catching under her touch. She lifted his hand again, studying the silver bands like they were relics.
“These,” she whispered, running her thumb along one. “They make you look like you could curse someone.”
Eddie’s throat tightened. “That a good thing?”
“Yeah.” Her nose brushed against the chain at his neck, breath warm against his collarbone. “You smell like clove and sin.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, voice rougher than before.
She giggled, leaning into him, her hands splaying over his chest. “It’s not like I’m gonna forget any of this,” she said suddenly, her tone earnest now. “I’ve been drunk before. Cheap vodka. Works way faster than beer, for the record.”
Eddie swallowed, watching the way her lashes fluttered when she talked. “That’s not the point.”
She looked up at him, that fragile, too-honest smile on her lips. “Then what is?”
He hesitated. “Making sure you’re okay.”
“I am okay,” she insisted, but her voice had softened again, the words melting at the edges. “Better than okay, actually. ‘Cause you’re here.”
And then she rested her forehead against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Eddie stood there for a long second, his hand hovering uncertainly over her back. When he finally let it rest there, she sighed—a quiet, contented sound that carved straight through him.
He looked down at her, at the girl who smelled like smoke and wildflowers, who was smiling in her sleep-deprived, drunk sort of way, and he thought: God help me, I’m already gone.
The night fractured like glass catching light.
Laughter, smoke, a song Letty didn’t know anymore.
Eddie had just started to smile—something soft and maybe dangerous—when another voice cut through the noise.
“There you are.”
Chrissy stepped out from between two trucks, hair a little mussed, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. Her hands smoothed down her skirt as her gaze swept over the small crowd before landing on Letty—who was currently hanging off Eddie like a very affectionate coat.
“Hey, you okay?” Chrissy asked, her voice all sunlight and patience as she slipped a hand to the small of Letty’s back.
Letty sighed dramatically, words dragging out of her like honey. “I would be if Eddie would stop running away from me, gosh.”
Chrissy laughed—bright and breathy—while Eddie’s ears went red. She gently pried Letty’s hands loose, easing her upright. The night air hit and Letty wobbled a little, mumbling something about gravity being rude.
Eddie’s instinct was to step back in, steady her again. But Chrissy met his eyes over Letty’s bowed head—firm, calm, unspoken. I’ve got her.
“You can kiss him when you’re sober,” Chrissy said, her tone teasing.
“I am sober,” Letty whined, batting at her friend’s shoulder. “Boys just don’t take initiative anymore.”
Chrissy grinned. “Funny, ‘cause half the boys here have been trying all night.”
“Not my fault they’re not my type,” Letty countered, head lolling as she leaned into her.
“Mm-hmm.”
Chrissy looped an arm around her waist and started steering her toward the edge of the lot. Eddie followed anyway, a half-step behind, hands shoved deep in his pockets, watching the way Letty’s curls bounced when she talked.
“I’m just saying,” Letty continued, gesturing wildly, “this world is cruel. There’s no Vincent Price in it, and I think that’s a crime against art. God, Eddie, if you don’t give me a kiss tomorrow when I’m all here mentally, I’ll never forgive you.”
Eddie laughed, ducking his head to hide it. “Yeah, yeah. Deal. Just—please stop wiggling so we can buckle you in.”
Letty turned in the passenger seat, blinking owlishly between them. “You know,” she said in what she clearly thought was a whisper, “I also wouldn’t mind kissing Steve. Maybe both of you. Equal opportunity, right?”
Chrissy snorted so hard she nearly choked. “Of course you’d jump right into a ménage.”
Letty squinted. “I don’t speak Spanish, Chrissy. Is this, like, world language class?”
Eddie lost it. Fully doubled over laughing, one hand on the roof of the car, the other covering his mouth.
Chrissy was still giggling as she brushed hair from Letty’s face and clicked her seatbelt into place. “God, you’re gonna hate yourself tomorrow,” she said fondly.
Letty just smiled dreamily, eyes already closing. “Doubt it.”
Eddie straightened, the laughter fading to something quiet. Watching them through the open door—the two girls haloed in the flickering streetlight—he felt it again, that pull he couldn’t name.
When Chrissy shut the door, she gave him a small nod. “I’ll get her home.”
“I know,” he said softly. “Thanks.”
Chrissy smiled, something knowing in it. “You’re both trouble, you know that?”
“Yeah,” he said, watching the taillights fade down the gravel road. “Guess we are.”
The drive home blurred. Headlights smeared into gold ribbons across the road; the radio hummed low, some forgotten pop song dissolving into static. Letty slumped sideways in the seat, cheek pressed against the cold window, watching trees slip past in dark silhouettes.
Chrissy drove with both hands on the wheel, knuckles pale, eyes fixed on the road ahead. The air in the car smelled faintly like peppermint gum and beer and the floral perfume Chrissy always wore—clean, bright, too soft for Hawkins.
“You should just stay the night,” Letty mumbled finally, voice small and cotton-thick. “We can make waffles in the morning. Maybe I’ll fight your mom like I fought Billy’s dad.”
Chrissy glanced over, startled into a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m serious,” Letty insisted, though her words were all tangled and loose. “I’m a menace with a toaster and righteous rage.”
“That I believe.” Chrissy smiled, shaking her head. “It’s fine, really. I’m just trying to finish the year. I got the cheer scholarship to Central, but I think I’m gonna skip it. Maybe focus on biochem instead.”
Letty turned to stare at her, eyes wide and sincere. “God, you’re so smart.”
Chrissy shrugged, a blush creeping up her neck. “You should talk. Miss Early-Acceptance.”
Letty blinked, caught. “How’d you—”
“You mentioned it last week. State, right? Librarian program?”
“And this all-girls nursing school,” Letty said, fiddling with the zipper of her jacket. “They offered a full ride. I just—” She trailed off, biting her lip.
“You haven’t told your dad yet?” Chrissy asked gently.
Letty shook her head, curls brushing her cheek. “I don’t wanna think about that.”
The hum of the car filled the silence that followed, soft and steady. Outside, the woods opened into the long stretch of road leading to the cabin, the frost catching on the grass in silver threads.
When Chrissy parked behind the old Chevy, Letty fumbled with her seatbelt until it finally clicked free. She wobbled a little getting out, boots crunching over the gravel just as Chrissy rounded the hood to meet her.
“You should stay,” Letty said again, more certain this time. “Seriously. It’s fine. We’re friends enough now.”
Chrissy smiled, the kind that hit somewhere deep. “Careful, Hopper. Keep saying things like that and you’ll never get rid of me.”
Letty looked at her then—really looked—eyes glassy and soft under the porch light. “Chrissy Elizabeth Cunningham,” she declared, hand over her heart, “if I thought for a second you liked women seriously, I’d tell you to run away with me.”
Chrissy cackled, hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”
“I’m being romantic,” Letty protested, mock-offended.
Chrissy was still giggling when she leaned against the car. “I’m so sorry, babe. I don’t like women to that extent.”
Letty gasped dramatically. “Tragic.”
“Besides,” Chrissy said, her voice going fond, teasing, “if you like two guys, little old me isn’t going to be enough for you.”
Letty grinned, swaying slightly as she pointed at her. “That’s fair. But you’d make a hell of a third.”
Chrissy laughed again, shaking her head as she reached to steady her by the elbow. “Goodnight, Letty.”
“Night, Saint Chrissy,” she murmured, the nickname slurring just enough to sound like prayer.
And for a moment, as the door closed and the engine faded down the drive, the cabin porch light hummed against the frost, and Letty stood there smiling to herself—warm, dizzy, and maybe, for the first time in a while, not lonely.
She woke up half on the floor, half on her bunk — one leg tangled in the blanket, the other pressed against the cold wood.
For a second, she didn’t know where she was.
Then came the smell.
Wood smoke, faint beer, and something floral clinging to her shirt — Chrissy’s perfume, light and ghostly, like sugar dissolving in air.
Her mouth tasted like metal and sleep. Her head throbbed. The soft whine of the refrigerator blended with the wind outside, and she could hear birds somewhere deep in the trees, too bright for how she felt.
It was almost peaceful.
Until the phone rang.
The sound split the quiet like a bullet.
Letty groaned, rolling over and dragging herself upright. Her knee cracked; her hair felt like it had grown a whole new ecosystem overnight.
She squinted at the clock on the wall — 8:47.
Too early for anyone who wasn’t already regretting their life choices.
The phone kept ringing.
She stumbled into the kitchen, tripping over her own shoes, one boot and one sneaker abandoned mid-path. The place didn’t smell like coffee, which meant Hopper either hadn’t come home or hadn’t stayed long enough to bother brewing a pot. The morning light coming through the window was weak and pale, like it was trying not to look at her.
Letty snatched the receiver off the hook just before the next ring could hit.
“Hopper residence,” she croaked, then cleared her throat, trying again. “Charlotte speaking.”
Her voice sounded like gravel wrapped in sandpaper.
There was a pause on the other end — static, a breath.
Then:
“Morning, sunshine.”
The voice was warm. Familiar. Somewhere between amusement and concern.
Eddie.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his own voice. “Just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”
Letty squinted at the window, sunlight cutting through the glass like it had a vendetta. “I did. Chrissy made sure I didn’t start a new life in a ditch.”
A short huff of laughter on the other end. “That’s good. I was, uh—just checking.”
“Very gallant of you,” she said dryly, rubbing her temple. “How’d you even get the number? Hopper doesn’t exactly hand it out with his badge.”
“Oh, that was easy.” His tone shifted—half amusement, half exasperation. “Your sister’s a total chatterbox. I asked if you made it home last night, and next thing I know, she’s rattling off the number and telling me to ‘find out myself.’”
Letty groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Of course she did.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, a small smile in his voice, “can’t blame her for caring.”
Something in her chest tugged. It was too early for feelings, too early for that particular warmth in his voice that sounded like he was smiling into the phone just for her.
“Thanks for calling,” she said quietly, meaning it more than she meant to.
“Yeah,” he replied after a beat. “You, uh—remember much from last night?”
“Define ‘much,’” she said, trying for dry but landing somewhere closer to wary.
Eddie hummed, a sound that was half amusement, half knowing. “Enough that I probably don’t need to fill in the blanks for you, huh?”
Letty’s laugh came out a little too quick, a little too thin. “Maybe.”
And she did remember.
Not all of it—just flashes, blurred around the edges like old film. The hum of music. The taste of cheap beer. Her hand in his, too warm, too sure.
The sound of her own voice, unfiltered. If you don’t kiss me tomorrow, I’ll never forgive you.
Her stomach twisted, that fizzy, unreal mix of mortification and want bubbling under her ribs. She pressed her knuckles against the counter, grounding herself in the cool metal edge.
Eddie hadn’t said anything yet, and the silence between them stretched, filled with all the half-truths they’d been orbiting for months.
Part of her wondered if this was his out—if he’d take her words as drunken nonsense, a convenient way to slip back into distance.
The other part—small, reckless, too tired to pretend—hoped he wouldn’t.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she managed finally. “About last night.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
There was something about the way he said it that made her chest ache—like he meant it, like he wasn’t going to pretend it hadn’t happened.
She swallowed hard, eyes flicking to the sunlight creeping across the kitchen floor. “Guess it’s on me then, huh?”
“For what?”
“Deciding if I meant any of it.”
Eddie let out a slow breath, and she could hear the faint smile in it. “Pretty sure you already did.”
Letty’s fingers tightened on the cord. “Maybe,” she said softly. “But I think I’m supposed to decide if I still do.”
That landed heavy between them—quiet but real.
Eddie didn’t push. “Take your time, Hopper,” he said finally, and the warmth in his voice made her throat tighten. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Letty traced the phone cord between her fingers, the silence stretching again before she finally said it:
“So what now? Does this mean we’re erasing the line in the sand again?”
Eddie blinked on the other end. “What line?”
“The one you drew,” she said. “Between you and me. Between this and… everything else.”
He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, rougher. “Thought you drew it.”
Letty huffed a laugh. “No, Munson. I just started walking along it ‘cause you were too scared to cross.”
That landed. He could picture her saying it — the small, wry tilt of her mouth, the way she hid nerves behind a barb.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers worrying at the rings on his hand. “You make it sound easy.”
“It could be,” she said softly.
Her voice was too honest, too awake for this hour. And somewhere in the back of Eddie’s mind, he could still hear her slurred confession from the night before — the way she’d said both their names like it was a prayer she didn’t know how to end.
The quiet stretched again, not cold but uncertain.
Eddie rubbed a hand over his face, teeth catching the inside of his cheek.
“Letty,” he started, “you remember everything you said last night?”
“I do,” she said, and the way her voice tightened made his pulse stutter.
Eddie nodded to himself, even though she couldn’t see it. “Right. Then… I just wanted to make sure you’re not freaking out about it.”
Letty froze, her thumb brushing the coiled phone cord. Not freaking out?
Her mind flashed through the blur of the night — the way she’d leaned into him, the warmth of his jacket, the ridiculous honesty spilling out of her mouth like it was nothing.
The kiss she’d asked for.
Her stomach twisted. “Why would I freak out?”
Eddie laughed softly, but there was something nervous in it. “I mean, you said a lot. About… stuff.”
Stuff.
The word landed weird. Soft, vague, too big to hold. She felt heat rise to her cheeks.
Letty’s grip on the receiver tightened. “You don’t have to make it weird, Munson. I know it wont happen.”
“No, it’s not—” he started, but stopped himself, biting back the rest.
He leaned forward, elbow braced against his knee. “I just—wanted to say it’s fine. That I get it.”
Letty’s pulse stumbled. “You get what?”
“That you’re still figuring it out,” he said quietly. “And that whatever’s between you and Harrington—”
Her breath hitched. “What does Steve have to do with anything?”
“Everything, apparently,” Eddie muttered, half to himself.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Forget it. I just meant… I don’t want you thinking you said something wrong. You didn’t.”
Letty blinked, her chest tight. “I wasn’t worried I did.”
Another pause — longer this time.
“Okay,” he said finally, the word small but heavy.
They sat in the static a few seconds longer, both convinced they’d made their point, both completely missing the other’s.
“Alright,” she said, her voice softening. “Guess I’ll see you at school.”
“Yeah,” he breathed out. “See you.”
When the line clicked dead, Eddie stared at the phone in his hand, a quiet curse slipping through his teeth.
Because she’d sounded sure.
Too sure.
And he couldn’t tell if that made him relieved or terrified.
Letty, on the other end, set the receiver down and leaned against the counter. Her reflection in the dark window looked back at her — tired, bruised, maybe a little foolish.
Eddie didn’t move for a long while after the line went dead.
The phone sat heavy in his hand, the hum of the dial tone fading to silence, and all he could think was shit.
He’d meant to make things clearer — to talk about what she said, what she really said. About Steve. About maybe both of them. About whatever impossible middle ground they were all toeing around.
But now that he replayed it — her voice, the edge of embarrassment there — he realized she hadn’t been talking about that at all.
She thought he’d meant the kiss.
Eddie groaned, dropping his head back against the wall behind him, the thud dull and deserved. “Jesus Christ, Munson,” he muttered. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
He raked a hand through his hair, staring at the phone like it might offer a do-over.
She’d said I know it won’t happen.
And he’d let her.
Let her think he was the one putting distance there again — when all he’d been trying to do was stop tripping over the ghost of Steve goddamn Harrington.
He pushed up from the chair, pacing the small living room. His guitar leaned against the couch, half a riff scribbled out in the open notebook beside it. Words circled, crossed out, rewritten. He knew the feeling.
He’d spent half the night before thinking about what she’d said at the party — the way her voice had gone soft when she said both their names, like it wasn’t a joke, like she’d already figured out the thing he was still pretending not to see.
And now he’d gone and made her feel stupid for it.
He stopped pacing, gripping the edge of the counter to steady himself.
Wayne’s coffee mug sat abandoned in the sink, a ring of grounds dried at the bottom. The clock ticked too loud.
You said a lot. About stuff.
Christ. Could he have sounded any less like someone who deserved her honesty?
He scrubbed a hand over his face, the thought biting deep.
He didn’t know what he wanted to fix first — the misunderstanding, or the part of him that kept hesitating every time her name and Steve’s got tangled in the same breath.
Because that was the worst part, wasn’t it?
That he could still see it — the version where maybe she didn’t have to choose.
Where it didn’t have to break something to keep it.
And instead of saying that, he’d fumbled it. Again.
He exhaled hard through his nose, muttering, “Perfect fucking opportunity, and you blew it.”
He sat back down, elbows on his knees, staring at the phone like it might ring again.
It didn’t.
Notes:
aw now she has chrissy and billy.
Chapter 21: My Endeavour
Notes:
busy-bee Letty, more chrissy, some stuffs
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.