Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Welcome to Hawkins sign looked smaller than Lottie remembered tilted a little to the left, as if the whole town had exhaled and slumped while she was gone. Heat shimmered above the road in a wavering film. Somewhere out past the trees a radio bled a pop song into cicada noise, and every breath tasted faintly like cut grass and gasoline.

Her father’s patrol car waited in the driveway, engine idling. The paint on the steps was chipped in the exact same place as when she was ten. He had left the porch light on it buzzed, steady as a heartbeat. The house smelled the same coffee and cigarette smoke sunken into worn wood, laundry soap, the ghost of last Christmas’s cinnamon. Time hadn’t bothered to move the furniture. The house was clean in the way that happens when no one’s really living in it. There was a single plate in the sink. A badge on the counter next to a half-empty cup of diner coffee. Even the stack of mail had the same slope as it always did, like a sand dune frozen mid-fall. “Look at you,” he said, opening his arms just long enough for her to step in and out again. “You grew.” He still smelled like coffee and gun oil.” “I’ve got the night shift,” he said, not meeting her eyes as he searched for his keys. “I’ll be back before breakfast. There’s leftovers in the fridge, and the lock sticks if you don’t slam it.”

Lottie smiled anyway. “Same as always.”

He tried to, too. “Yeah. Same.”

He was gone before the streetlights even warmed to orange. The sound of his cruiser faded into the hum of summer insects, leaving the house hollow and polite. She unpacked in silence faded shirts, notebooks with scribbled doodles done with dying ball point pens, the same mixtape she’d been dragging between homes for years. The blinds were half drawn. Dust motes drifted in slow constellations. Her room smelled faintly of old coffee and case files, his office newly exiled to the living-room corner, a quiet trade he hadn’t mentioned, proof he still tried in his own small ways.She sat on the edge of her bed, the house too still around her. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound, a low mechanical sigh.

She couldn’t stand it.Ten minutes later, the Beetle coughed to life in the driveway, headlights splashing against the mailbox. The air was thick and sticky, the kind that clung to her hair and made the world feel smaller. The radio picked up half of Take On Me before dissolving into static.

The road to Starcourt wound through darkness and fireflies, all the familiar trees leaning too close. Hawkins looked the same but felt stranger—like a movie set built from memory.

The parking lot glowed pink and blue when she pulled in. Neon reflected on puddles from an afternoon rain, shimmering like oil on water.

Robin Buckley was already outside, leaning against the glass doors of the mall’s side entrance in her Scoops Ahoy uniform, a cigarette dangling between her fingers. Her hair was frizzing from humidity, her smile immediate and bright.

“Holy shit,” Robin said, flicking ash toward the curb. “You didn’t tell me you were actually coming back.”

Lottie grinned, climbing out of the car. “I thought it’d make for a better surprise.” Robin let out a low whistle. “Well, consider me surprised. You look the same maybe a little cooler. You got city-girl hair now.”

“It’s just humidity,” Lottie said, tugging at her ponytail, pretending the bow hadn’t been chosen for nostalgia’s sake. “Uh-huh.” Robin smirked, crushing the cigarette under her sneaker. “Come on. You’ve got to see the temple of late-stage capitalism we built while you were gone.” Inside, Starcourt was a cathedral.

The blast of air-conditioning hit first sharp and dry, carrying the ghost of buttered popcorn and perfume. The tile floors shone like wet marble, reflecting the kaleidoscope of neon signage that lined the upper balconies. Every sound echoed: the high whine of pop music from cassette kiosks, the squeak of sneakers, the syrupy laughter of teenagers circling the fountain. Storefronts gleamed like little stages mannequins frozen mid-laughter, endless rows of pastel clothes arranged by artificial color. A skylight crowned the main atrium, still freckled with raindrops that caught the pink light and fractured it like stained glass. “Welcome to the beating heart of Hawkins,” Robin said dryly, spreading her arms. “It’s like if a disco ball and a credit card had a baby.”Lottie laughed softly. “It’s definitely brighter than I remember.”

“Yeah, that’s what they’re counting on.” Robin’s sneakers squeaked against the tile as they walked. “You stare long enough and forget there’s nothing real under the polish.”

They passed the food court—half-empty now that the dinner crowd had thinned—where lights from the fountain danced across the floor in fractured blues and pinks. The air smelled like melted sugar and fryer grease, all sweetness layered over something sour.

Mannequins grinned out from window displays, their glassy smiles caught in a permanent summer. A janitor’s radio buzzed somewhere in the distance, cutting through the hum of fluorescent light.

“It’s weird, right?” Robin said. “How the town feels smaller but the mall feels like its own planet.”

“Yeah,” Lottie murmured, taking it in. “It’s… too clean.”

Robin laughed, pushing open a glass door with her shoulder. “Wait till you see my corner of the galaxy.” The sign for Scoops Ahoy glowed like a promise an anchor lit in electric blue, bobbing above the polished counters. Everything inside smelled like vanilla and chlorine, the sweetness so heavy it clung to her throat. “Behold,” Robin said with mock reverence. “My personal prison and the reason I smell like waffle cones.” 

“Robin, you’ve been gone for like twenty minutes! Customers don’t scoop themselves!”

Robin groaned. “And that,” she muttered, flicking the end of her cigarette into the gutter, “is the melodious sound of my coworker losing his mind.”

Lottie laughed under her breath. “You said he was chill.”

“I lied.”

“I’m telling you,” a smaller voice piped up, “you could totally pull off the hat if you wore it right!”

Robin groaned under her breath as she pushed open the glass door. “Christ, he’s arguing with children again. Hold on, I’ve gotta go supervise the downfall of Western civilization.” Cold air rolled out like fog from a freezer. Lottie followed her inside, blinking against the neon light and the blindingly cheerful blue-and-red décor. Scoops Ahoy looked like a set built by someone who’d only ever heard rumors about boats.

Behind the counter stood a boy in the uniform bright navy, white piping, the red neckerchief slightly untied like he’d lost a fight with it hours ago. His curls clung damply to his forehead, his hat sitting slightly askew. “I’m serious,” the kid insisted. “You just don’t have the right attitude. You gotta, like, salute or something.”

The sailor boy let his head fall back with a groan. “Dustin, if I salute one more customer, I’m going to lose it.” The boy looked up his frustration melting into a grin when he saw her. “Finally. Do you know how many seven-year-olds came in demanding sprinkles? I’m one bad order away from snapping.”

“I keep telling you to embrace the chaos,” Robin said. “It’s part of the Starcourt experience.” 

“That’s not chaos, that’s hell,” the boy behind the counter muttered, wiping his hands on a towel. “You left me with children.” Robin snorted, already stepping through the swinging door. “They’re your people.”

“They are not my people,” he said, voice pitching up. “One of them threw a spoon at me.”

“Character building,” Robin said breezily, looping her apron over her head. “Besides, you’re good with kids.”

“I’m good at surviving them,” he corrected, rubbing a smear of fudge off his sleeve. He looked up then, eyes catching on Lottie someone new, someone who didn’t fit into the fluorescent sameness of the mall. “Oh. You brought company.” Robin smirked, tying her apron back on. “Relax, it’s not another middle-schooler. See? Not all my friends are children.”

The boy blinked, mock-offended. “Wow, low blow.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, hanging her nametag back on her shirt. “You spend your weekends chauffeuring Dustin and his little nerd herd to the arcade. You’re basically the babysitter of Hawkins.”

“They’re my friends,” he protested.

“They’re thirteen.”

“Fourteen,” he said automatically, then grimaced when she grinned. “You’re the worst.”

“That’s what makes me interesting,” Robin said, sweeping behind the counter. “Anyway- this is Lottie Clark. She’s an old friend of mine, back in town and blissfully unaware that this place is the ninth circle of capitalism.” He straightened, grabbing the little navy hat off the counter like it was a prop he was determined to make work. “Right,” he said, slipping into the overly cheerful cadence of someone trying to convince himself this was normal. “Welcome aboard Scoops Ahoy, sailor! I’m your captain, and today’s voyage includes—”

Robin groaned loudly. “Please, for the love of God, don’t.”

“—choppy seas, high-quality service, and a strict no-refund policy,” he finished anyway, tipping the hat at Lottie before it immediately slid sideways over his curls.

Lottie laughed, hand over her mouth. “Is this… part of the bit?”

“Unfortunately,” Robin said, tying her apron. “Corporate-approved.”

He straightened the hat again, eyes darting toward the mirrored freezer door to check if it looked any less ridiculous. “See? It’s the hat,” he said, turning toward Dustin, who was leaning against the counter grinning like he’d been watching a sitcom. “Tell her it’s the hat.”

“It’s definitely not the hat,” Dustin said, delighted. “It’s the guy wearing it.”

Steve sighed, shoulders dropping. “I hate this job.”

Robin smirked. “No, you don’t. You love the attention.”

“From seven-year-olds,” he deadpanned.

“Hey, you work with what you’ve got,” she said, pulling open the freezer. “Cherry, right, Lottie?”

“Yeah,” she said, still smiling. “You remember.”

“Of course I do.” Robin scooped a perfect swirl and passed it over the counter. “One Hawkins classic, on the house. Don’t tell corporate.”

“She’s lying,” Steve said. “They track everything. We’re basically under surveillance.”

Robin shot him a look. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Yeah, because you left me here for twenty minutes with children,” he said, turning back toward her. “Literal children, Robin.”

“You mean your peer group?” she teased, ducking around him.

“They’re thirteen,” he groaned.

“Fourteen,” she corrected instantly, grinning when he froze mid-sentence. “Gotcha.”

“You’re the worst,” he muttered, pointing the ice cream scoop at her like it was a weapon.

“That’s what makes me interesting,” Robin said, brushing past him to wipe down the counter. “Anyway—welcome back to Hawkins, Lottie. Enjoy your complimentary scoop of existential dread.” Lottie laughed softly, the sound catching in the hum of the freezers. “Thanks. It’s nice to feel so… welcomed.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Steve said. “She gets smug.” Robin smirked. “Only when I’m right, which is always.” She turned toward the back door. “Be nice to my friend while I go pretend to mop the stockroom.”

“You mean hide from work?” he called after her. “Semantics!” she shouted back, vanishing through the swinging door. The shop quieted. The air smelled like sugar and disinfectant, and the glow from the mall outside painted everything in watery shades of pink and blue. Steve adjusted the hat again, catching his reflection in the glass. “See? It’s definitely the hat,” he said, half to himself. Lottie tilted her head, pretending to study him. “I don’t know. I think it suits you.” He blinked, a little thrown. “You think this suits me?”

“The… enthusiasm,” she said, lips twitching. “The hat’s a bonus.” He laughed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, the grin softening into something a little sheepish. “You’re the first person who’s said that all summer.”

He grinned, crooked but easy. “So, you back for good, or just passing through?” She hesitated. The question hung there, heavier than he meant it to be. “I’m not sure,” she said finally. “I guess it depends how long it takes for my mom to get bored of France… or her new husband.”

He nodded, not pushing it. “So, temporary Hawkins citizen. Got it.”

“Something like that.”

She smirked faintly. “And what about you? Did you stumble into a small town?”

He shook his head, lips twitching. “Nah. I’m a Hawkins original. Born, raised, tragically still here. I think the town’s got me under contract or something.”

“Lifetime supply of small-town charm?”

“Something like that. Only without the charm.”

She laughed quietly, the sound catching in the hum of the freezers. “You make it sound like a prison sentence.”

“More like… community service,” he rested his forearms on the counter, head tilted just slightly as he studied her. “So,” he said, voice warm and easy, “how do you know Robin, anyway? She just said you were ‘an old friend,’ but she says that about the lady at the pretzel stand too.”

Lottie smiled faintly, tracing a circle in the condensation on her cup. “We grew up next door to each other. Back when my parents were still together.”

He blinked, straightening a little. “Wait — you lived on Maple Drive?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Two houses down from hers. My mom used to bribe us with popsicles to stop digging holes in the yard.” He laughed, the sound surprised. “No way. I used to bike through there all the time. Red Schwinn, silver handlebars—” She tilted her head, recognition flickering. “You’re the kid who crashed into our mailbox.” Steve froze mid-grin. “Okay, wow. That’s not the story I was hoping survived.” She laughed softly, the sound like it had been tucked away for years. “You hit it hard. My mom ran outside because she thought there’d been a car crash.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It was a cat, alright? It jumped out of nowhere.”

“I remember it being a leaf,” she teased.

“It was a very fast leaf.”

She tried not to laugh but failed, hiding it behind a spoon. “You dented the whole thing. The mailman stopped delivering for a week.”

He stared at her, squinting like she’d just unearthed evidence of a crime. “How do you even remember that?”

She shrugged, the faintest hint of nostalgia in her smile. “It was a very defining moment for Maple Drive. My mom made me write you a get-well card.”

He groaned. “Oh my God. I still have that somewhere. It had stickers all over it.”

“Unicorns,” she confirmed. “Robin picked them.”

He laughed, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah, sounds about right. I remember opening it and thinking, ‘Great, now my mailbox victims are taunting me.’”

“That’s one way to interpret concern,” she said, taking another slow spoonful of her ice cream. Robin’s voice cut through the quiet like the squeak of her mop bucket.  “Am I interrupting something?”

Steve nearly jumped, spinning around. “Do you ever make noise when you walk?”

Robin smirked at her. “He give you the ‘captain of customer service’ spiel yet? He practices in the freezer sometimes.”

“I do not,” Steve said, scandalized. “You’re making me sound unhinged.”

“Oh, honey,” Robin said sweetly. “You are unhinged. Just charming enough that nobody files a complaint.”

Lottie smiled, shaking her head. “I can see why you two work well together.”

“We don’t,” they both said in unison.

Lottie blinked, spoon frozen midair. “…Right. Totally convincing.”

Robin groaned. “Ugh, we sound like we share a brain cell.”

“You wish you had my brain cell,” Steve shot back. “Why would I want that?” Robin fired back immediately, resting her mop handle against the counter. “It’s probably full of hair gel and ego.” Steve’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me, this—” he gestured vaguely to his hair “—doesn’t happen by accident. It’s called effort. Lottie tried not to laugh and failed miserably, pressing her spoon to her lips to hide the grin spreading across her face. “Don’t encourage her,” Steve said, pointing at her like he’d just caught her in a crime. “I didn’t say anything!” Lottie protested, though her shoulders were shaking. Robin smirked, eyes glinting. “You didn’t have to. That’s the sound of someone who agrees with me.”

Steve groaned theatrically and dropped the scoop into the rinse well. “This is a hostile work environment.”

“File a complaint with corporate,” Robin said, deadpan. “I’ll countersue on behalf of the mop.”

Lottie’s smile wouldn’t quite go away. The three of them stood in a pocket of humming refrigeration and neon glow, the mall beyond dimming into closing-time blur. Somewhere out in the atrium, a security announcement crackled to life—last call for shoppers—and the fountain lights flicked from pink to a softer, sleepy blue.

“I should head out,” Lottie said, setting her empty cup on the counter, careful like the quiet might shatter. “Before the Beetle decides it doesn’t believe in reverse anymore.”

“Legendary,” Robin said, eyes bright. “If it dies, call me. We’ll push it, and by ‘we’ I definitely mean Harrington.”

“I lift with my mind,” Steve said solemnly. “And also my stunning charisma.”

“That explains the hat,” Robin muttered.

He rolled his eyes and—almost shyly—tugged the little sailor cap off, smoothing it once like a truce. “Uh—hey.” He fumbled under the counter, came up with a napkin, and a motel pen that said STARCOURT FAMILY FUN in flaking ink. He scribbled, then slid the napkin to her. “In case you… need directions. Or a decent mixtape. Or someone to file a formal complaint about my coworker.” Robin beamed. “I love being somebody’s first complaint.”

Lottie glanced at the napkin—numbers, a quick star doodle, a wobbly little anchor—and tucked it into the pocket of her jean jacket. “Thanks,” she said, and the word came out softer than she meant it to. “For the ice cream. And the… tour of the ninth circle.” She said nodding to him and Robin.  “Anytime,” Steve said. He meant it, and it sounded easy in his mouth, like he didn’t overthink offering it. “Drive safe, Maple Drive.” Robin leaned her shoulder into the swinging door, smirk cocked. “Don’t be a stranger, Clark. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to the food court nachos. It’s more of a cautionary tale than a meal.”

“Tempting,” Lottie said, backing toward the glass. The world beyond the threshold wavered—mall lights, her reflection, a slice of Indiana summer night like a held breath. She paused with her hand on the door. “Good night, Robin. Good night, Steve.”

“Night,” they answered together, perfectly in sync, then both grimaced at each other.

“Gross,” Robin said.

“We rehearse,” Steve lied.

Lottie laughed, and the sound trailed with her into the hall. Outside, Starcourt’s neon washed the tile in melting sherbet colors. She passed the fountain, a couple of bored teens, the closed gate of the record store. On the far doors, her reflection ghosted ahead of her: same ponytail, same jacket, same girl who’d left—except not quite. The night air met her like warm water when she pushed into it, cicadas sawing, asphalt still breathing heat.

In the Beetle, she sat for a second with the engine off. The napkin rustled under her fingers. Through the windshield, the sign glowed a pulse of blue—STARCOURT MALL—steady as a heartbeat. She could still taste cherry, faint and sweet, clinging stubbornly to the back of her tongue. The car coughed, Headlights opening a path over the puddled lot, oil-slick colors breaking and sliding away. 

The road out of the Starcourt lot curved into darkness, past fireflies hovering low to the asphalt. Hawkins was asleep, mostly. The houses blurred past in their same-old quiet rows, porches sagging under the weight of summer air. When she reached the turn for Maple Drive, her fingers twitched on the wheel—but she didn’t turn. She hadn’t lived there in years. Someone else’s lights filled the windows now. The mailbox that used to bear her last name had been painted over.

Her dad’s new house sat on the far edge of town, past the old grain mill, where the air smelled like cut grass and diesel. The porch light buzzed above the front steps, moths flickering through its orbit. His cruiser was gone, just like he’d said. She kicked her shoes off by the door, the old floorboards giving a tired sigh under her weight. The refrigerator hummed from the corner, the only steady sound in the house. The walls were bare except for a few leftover nail holes and a small scuff where his filing cabinet must’ve stood. Her suitcase looked out of place against the empty desk. She sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled, rubbing her palms along her jeans.

The napkin came back out of her pocket. She smoothed it flat on her knee the ink faded in the center from where her thumb had pressed. Outside, a lone car passed on the road, headlights sweeping across the blinds before vanishing. The hum of the cicadas was thick enough to feel. She got up, cracked the window, and leaned against the sill. The air was heavy, warm, sweet with the smell of rain still caught in the dirt. She leaned against the window frame, the screen cool against her palms, watching the porch light buzz in the dark. The glow caught the curve of her car out front, the dull blue paint looking more gray under the thin halo of moths. The sound of cicadas pulsed through the yard, steady and loud, like the town’s own slow heartbeat. She sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, and stared at her shoes kicked half under the desk. There were so many ways Hawkins looked the same. Same cracked roads. Same houses with sagging porches. Same porch lights left on too late.

Tomorrow, she thought. She’d call Robin. Maybe she’d even call him, if she didn’t talk herself out of it first. She closed her eyes, listening to the rhythm of a town that never really changed, and for the first time since she’d arrived, she didn’t feel like she had to leave.

Chapter Text

At first there was only darkness.
It wasn’t the blank kind that comes with sleep — it moved. It had weight. It breathed in and out around her, slow as a tide. Lottie couldn’t tell if she was standing or floating, only that something in the dark was listening.
Then, far ahead, a dim shape appeared. A door stood alone, untethered, impossibly tall. The wood was blackened with age, carved deep with patterns that might once have been vines. In the center, a stained-glass panel glowed blooming roses, petals the color of old wine, its stem traced in gold. Light pulsed faintly behind it, like a heartbeat trying to shine through. She took a step, and the void rippled underfoot like water. Another step, and the rose’s light grew brighter. When she reached for the handle wrought iron, cold and familiar, she thought she felt something stir on the other side, like breath meeting breath.
Her fingers closed around it. The world tilted as darkness folded back, blooming outward in a spill of amber light and she was no longer in the void. Ceilings arched impossibly high above her, disappearing into shadow; hundreds of candles hovered midair, their flames steady and gold, drifting like slow stars. The floor was black marble shot through with veins of silver that glimmered faintly when she moved. Every wall was dressed in dark wood paneling, gleaming like wet ink, carved with curling roses that seemed to shift and sigh.
The air smelled of wax and old rain, a faint sweetness underneath, like crushed petals steeped in smoke. Her reflection stretched across the marble, then broke apart as if the floor were liquid. At the end of the hall, a grand staircase curved upward, its banister twined with thorned vines cast in gold. The house rearranged itself with every breath hallways folding like ribbon, curtains breathing softly though no wind stirred them. Music drifted in from nowhere: a slow, hesitant piano, notes bending as if underwater. At the end of the corridor, a staircase spiraled upward through a haze of candlelight. Its railing was made of interwoven vines, golden thorns glinting between the leaves. The steps themselves shone faintly, dusted with something like pollen or starlight.
“Lottie.”
His voice was a breath more than a sound, carried on the candlelight itself.
She turned and there he was half-shadowed, half-light, his outline soft at the edges as though the world hadn’t finished drawing him. The candles leaned toward him, their flames bowing low. He descended one slow step at a time, the light gilding the curve of his throat, the edge of his jaw, the pale of his shirt open at the collar. His eyes caught the glow and held it. He felt familiar like the shape of a memory she’d worn smooth from touching too often.
And yet, there was distance in him, too.
A softness that kept its secrets.
When he spoke again, the sound rippled through the air, warm and low, as if the house were listening. “You always find your way back,” he said. His voice carried the ache of an old song, something she might have heard once in passing, on a night she couldn’t quite remember.
“I didn’t mean to.” The words came out quieter than she meant, barely stirring the candlelight. He smiled slow, knowing, not unkind. “You never do.” The flames swayed with his breath, gold light spilling over his face until she could almost see him clearly. Almost. He was beautiful the way half-finished masterworks are beautiful not in what’s shown, but what’s missing.
She took a small step forward. The marble sighed under her bare feet. The air shimmered between them, threaded with drifting motes of dust and gold.
“Do I know you?” she asked. Something flickered in his expression something fragile, that was gone too fast. “Once,” he replied. “Maybe twice.” He tilted his head, as if weighing the truth against the light. “You were smaller then. You used to leave the door open behind you.”
Her brows knit. “The door?” He nodded toward the far end of the hall. The rose window shimmered there, faintly pulsing. “You were never afraid of what followed you in.” Her pulse stilled. “And was there something to be afraid of?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “There always is,” he said, voice soft as candle smoke. “It’s been quiet,” he said at last, his voice low and sure, echoing faintly through the vaulted space. “Too quiet since you’ve been gone.”
Each step he took seemed to wake the hall around him. Candles flared as he passed, casting ripples of gold across the marble; somewhere far above, the slow music stirred again—notes like glass breaking underwater. “The place remembers you,” he continued, descending slowly, one hand grazing the gilded vines of the railing. “It hums when you’re near. It sleeps when you’re not.”
“I don’t remember this house,” she said. “I’ve never been here.”
He smiled faintly, not in amusement, but in recognition. “You found it once,” he murmured. “Long ago. When the world outside was still loud.” Her throat tightened. “Found it?” He nodded, the motion gentle, like he was careful not to break the stillness. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to.” His tone softened, almost kind. “You heard the music then, just as you do now. You stepped through and it made room for you.” He reached the final step and stood before her, the flicker of candlelight threading gold through his hair. His presence felt heavy and light all at once—comfort and warning, warmth and ache. “The halls remember the sound of your steps,” he said quietly. “Even when you forget the way back.” The music drifted closer slow piano chords, blurred and wistful. The walls shimmered faintly, their carved roses breathing in rhythm with the melody.
Her gaze lingered on him, drawn to the strange tenderness in his expression, to the way it faltered when she met it. “And you?” she asked. “Do you remember me?” He hesitated. The faintest shadow crossed his face. “I remember the door opening,” he said after a moment. “And the feeling that I had been found.”
He looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his expression too gentle to be guarded, too measured to be free. Then his gaze drifted past her shoulder, to the long hall that stretched away in light and shadow. “It’s different now,” he said. “Quieter.” His voice softened, threaded with something almost wistful. “Would you like to see what’s changed?” Lottie hesitated. The question wasn’t a command, but it carried weight, as if he were offering her more than a tour, an invitation into something she’d half-forgotten.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m not sure I belong here.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s never stopped you before.”
He extended his hand, palm open and patient, light pooling across his skin. After a breath, she placed her fingers in his. The contact was warm but unfamiliar, as though they were shaking hands across a dream. The air shifted, the candlelight brightened, and the hall began to unfold ahead of them—each archway opening into another, the shadows bending away as if to clear a path.They walked together in silence. The floor glimmered faintly underfoot, and the light from the chandeliers bent across the marble like ripples of water. Roses, carved into the paneling, gleamed softly as they passed—petals traced in gold leaf, thorns dulled by time.
“It feels emptier,” she said quietly.
“It is,” he answered. “Things fade when no one looks at them.”
She looked up. The high windows were latticed with color—stained glass in deep blues and muted amber. Behind the glass, light wavered as though the sky outside were full of slow-moving water. “When was I here before?” she asked. He glanced down at her, his smile flickering like a candle’s edge. “When you still believed the door would open both ways.”
Her chest tightened. “And it doesn’t?”
His gaze drifted forward again. “Not easily.”
The words fell between them like dust, soft and final. For a moment, they simply stood there two figures in a corridor that seemed to stretch forever. The music was still playing, faint and liquid, seeping from somewhere beyond the walls. It sounded almost like it was trying to remember itself.
She looked up at him. “What’s on the other side?”
His eyes flickered toward her, the light catching in them. “That depends,” he said. “Sometimes morning. Sometimes nothing at all.” Her lips parted, but no sound came. The question she meant to ask scattered before it could leave her mouth. He stepped closer instead, his presence gentle but absolute, as if he were part of the architecture itself — carved from the same candlelight and shadow. “Come,” he said softly. “You’ll see.” They moved again, side by side. The air felt heavier now, thick with warmth and perfume. The scent of roses deepened, sharper, less like petals and more like memory.
The corridor began to change. The walls widened, stretching into a vaulted gallery. Candles hovered higher here, reflected endlessly in the marble until they looked like constellations adrift beneath their feet. A faint breeze stirred the hanging drapes, though the air was still. He stopped at the center of the room. “Here,” he said, almost to himself. Lottie’s eyes adjusted slowly. The space opened before her like a secret a ballroom drowned in candlelight. Chandeliers hung low, their crystals dripping gold and glass. At the far end, a wide mirror spanned floor to ceiling, its surface clouded with age.
Her heartbeat slowed. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was,” he murmured.
He didn’t elaborate, and somehow that said more than if he had. They walked on. The corridor curved gently, tapering into a smaller passage lined with mirrors. Each one reflected candlelight at a different angle, making it seem as if a hundred small suns flickered and followed them. In some panes, their reflections lagged behind by a breath; in others, they moved too quickly, outpacing their real selves.
Lottie slowed, her hand brushing the frame of one. The glass was warm to the touch, as though something living pulsed beneath its surface. “This isn’t how I remember it,” she murmured.
He didn’t look at her. “Memory has poor eyesight,” he said softly.
“What do you mean?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her, the faintest glimmer of humor or sorrow in his eyes. “It sees what it can bear.” The answer wasn’t cruel, but it settled in her chest like a weight. She followed him anyway. The hall widened again into a great room she couldn’t recall crossing the threshold into. The air changed cooler, touched with the scent of something metallic, like rain striking stone. Curtains draped the walls in velvet, a deep crimson that seemed to swallow sound. The ceiling was so high it faded into dark, but here and there, faint motes of gold drifted like dust catching starlight.
In the center of the room stood a fountain. Its basin was carved from the same black marble as the floors, and water spilled from its tiers in threads of silver. The sound was soft, almost human—like someone whispering beneath their breath.
Lottie moved closer. “I don’t remember this either.”
“Few do,” he murmured.
He joined her by the edge of the fountain, his reflection rippling beside hers in the water. The candlelight turned their faces strange—half real, half imagined.
“What is this place?” she asked, her voice barely above the trickle of the fountain. He looked down into the water. The surface trembled where a droplet fell from somewhere unseen, spreading rings of silver light across their mirrored faces. “A threshold,” he said finally. His tone carried no mystery, no performance—just quiet fact. “Between what was and what isn’t anymore.” The words made the air feel colder. Lottie watched the reflections blur and reform. The ripples gathered small images for a heartbeat at a time—branches, moonlight, faces she thought she almost knew—then broke them apart again.
She tried to laugh softly. “That doesn’t explain much.” He almost smiled. “It’s not meant to. Explanations don’t work well here.” The fountain’s sound deepened, turning rhythmic, hypnotic. Water ran down in thin silver ribbons that caught the candlelight and split it into hundreds of trembling threads. She leaned closer, drawn to the shimmer. Beneath the surface something moved—slow, deliberate, the color of smoke seen through glass. Her hand hovered above the water.
He spoke again, a little sharper now. “Careful.”
“What happens if I touch it?” He didn’t answer at first. The candlelight slid across his face, gold catching on cheekbone and throat, and for a beat he only watched the water as if it might decide for them. “If you touch it,” he said at last, “it will touch back.” Her fingers hovered another inch lower. Cool rose-scent rose from the basin, sweet enough to sting. The surface went darker, like night concentrating.
“Show me,” she whispered. He reached and, without quite taking her hand, placed two fingers under her wrist—light as breath. “Let me show you something else instead.” She didn’t pull away. The water shivered, disappointed, and in that tremor she thought she saw a flicker of neon drowned beneath the surface—pink and blue gone murky, a blur of glass and rain. The image thinned to silver threads and bled apart. He guided her back a single step. The whispering in the fountain softened, like a lullaby forgetting its words. They stepped beneath the arch and the floor changed underfoot: marble giving way to old flagstone, warm and irregular, the seams furred with moss that drank the candlelight. The ceiling rose and then dissolved into tracery, a lattice of ribs and vines; between them the night wasn’t sky so much as a slow-breathing blue, as if water hung there instead of air.
A garden waited, walled by hedges high as cathedral walls.
Roses climbed everywhere—along the arches, through the ironwork, over statues whose faces had been softened by time. Some blooms were flesh-soft and pale as moonmilk; others were glass, petals thin as spun sugar, catching the light and breaking it into rose and amber. Thorns showed like ink strokes. Where the path bent, lanterns hung in the vines—no flame inside, only a pearly glow like trapped moth-light.
“Is it always night here?” Lottie asked.
“Only when it wants to be looked at,” he said.
They walked. The path curled like ribbon, leading them past a sundial whose numbers ran backward and a stone bench warmed by invisible sun. A white moth swam through the air beside them, its wings dusted with a faint aurora; when it settled on a rose, the petals breathed and opened wider. At the garden’s heart, a small pavilion of iron thorns cupped a second fountain, this one hardly more than a bowl. Its water was dark until a petal fell; then ripples skated outward, silvering the surface in thin rings. He did not take her hand again, but he stayed near, as if the distance were a string he held gently, never letting it pull taut. Beyond the pavilion, two archways opened in the hedge: one bright with lantern-milk and the scent of fresh rain, the other dim and rose-dark, a deeper thicket where the light gathered low and warm.
“Where do they go?” she asked.
“Left is gentle,” he said softly. “Right is true.” His eyes didn’t quite meet hers. “Neither is wrong.”
She laughed under her breath, though nothing about the sound felt amused. “You’re not going to tell me which one I choose.”
“I never have.”
A breeze braided through the arches, carrying different notes: on the left, lilting piano, the hush of silk; on the right, a slower three-beat pulse that set something aching under her ribs, like the first step of a waltz she hadn’t danced yet.
She looked back at him. He stood as if carved from the same dusk as the garden—familiar in the way of a song she knew the words to but not the verses, a stranger in the way the chorus still surprised her.
“If I get lost?” she asked.
“You won’t,” he said, and then, honest: “Or if you do, I’ll find you.” She stepped toward the right-hand arch. The light there was low and honey-warm, the perfume sharper, more like memory than flower. As she crossed beneath the thorns, the roses brushed her shoulders and left cool color on her skin—smear of garnet, breath of gold.
The path narrowed. Overhead, the vines knitted together until the night showed only in small, breathing patches. Petals littered the stone like confetti after some careful celebration. From somewhere ahead came the faintest chime—glass on glass, gentle as a promise.The chime ahead drew her forward — faint, crystalline, the kind of sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once. The path narrowed beneath her feet, stone veined with gold, petals gathering like small breaths around her steps. The air shimmered, too warm for night, too quiet for morning.
The vines above arched lower, forming a tunnel of shadow and light. Roses opened as she passed, their petals glinting faintly with dew or maybe starlight. The scent was dizzying — sweet and sharp, like something remembered from long ago.
Behind her, he stood still among the lanterns, half lost to the glow. The distance between them stretched, thin and humming, as if the whole garden were holding its breath. She didn’t look back. The chime rang again closer now, and through the web of vines ahead she glimpsed it: a faint light, pulsing slow and soft like the heartbeat of the world. Each step seemed to pull her deeper into the sound, her reflection flickering briefly on the glassy stones underfoot.
Her fingertips brushed a curtain of hanging roses. The petals were cool, damp, impossibly real.
Another step—and the world broke. The light fractured, bleeding white through the dark. The ground vanished beneath her. The scent of roses collapsed into clean air and silence. Lottie’s eyes flew open. Morning. The ceiling was close and dull, the gray of early light. The hum in her ears was only the refrigerator in the next room. She lay still, breathing hard, her hand outstretched toward nothing. The warmth of the dream was already fading, the weight of candlelight and perfume slipping through her fingers.
The room around her was ordinary.

Chapter Text

The fan above her turned in a slow, complaining circle, pushing the air around without really moving it. Someone’s mower droned faintly outside, the sound thinning as it crossed the fields and the road and the space between her and the rest of Hawkins. No candles. No rose-scented dark. No boy carved from shadow and gold. Just the old house and the subtle smell of coffee her father hadn’t remembered to turn off. Lottie lay there for a moment, fingers still half-curled like they were expecting petals to brush against them. The feeling of the garden clung to her skin the cool ghost of night, the soft drag of roses at her shoulders burned off by dull morning light.
She pushed herself upright. The sheets had tangled around her legs, twisting her into the corner of the mattress. The alarm clock on the milk crate that served as a nightstand blinked 11:32 in an insistent red that felt too bright. She’d slept later than she meant to. Her father was probably already buried under a blanket after his night shift. The house hummed with the peculiar emptiness of a place that only learned how to be quiet after everyone left.
The floorboards were cool under her bare feet. When she opened her door, the hallway met her with the same faded runner rug with faded ivy leaves. The same framed photograph of her mother at the county fair caught mid-laugh, cotton candy in one hand, the Ferris wheel a blur behind her. Someone, probably her father, had dusted around the frame instead of taking it down; a faint halo of clean wood circled it on the wall. In the kitchen, the coffee pot had boiled itself down to something dark and tar-like. She clicked it off and dumped what was left into the sink. The smell of it rose up, sharp and bitter. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend it was candle smoke instead.
The house felt too still in daylight like everything in it existed one layer to the left of where it should be. Her father’s boots were by the door, laces undone, his jacket tossed over the back of a chair. Evidence of a night shift lived in every corner: an empty mug, the lingering smell of stale coffee, the bedroom door shut tight. She kept her footsteps soft out of habit but hallway creaked anyway. She passed his door, pausing the way she always had as a kid, listening for his breathing. Slow. Heavy. Exhausted. She didn’t knock. She never did when he slept, not after years of him stumbling in at sunrise and collapsing into bed like something hunted.
She grabbed her denim jacket from the hook by the door, slipping her arms through it carefully so it wouldn’t brush against the walls. She opened the front door slowly, the hinges giving a soft, tired groan. Warm air rushed in immediately thick, summer-heavy, the kind that stuck to the back of her neck. The sunlight outside was too bright after the dim interior, turning the dust on the porch into dancing gold flecks.
The screen door clattered behind her as it shut, louder than she meant it to. She flinched, glancing back instinctively toward her father’s room, but the house stayed still. No footsteps. No shift of blankets. Just that steady, exhausted breathing through the cracked door down the hall. She stepped off the porch, her shoes crunching lightly against the gravel drive. The cicadas were screaming in the trees an insistent, buzzing chorus that filled the whole yard. The grass smelled sun-warmed and slightly sour. A dog barked a few houses over, quick and high-pitched, then fell silent again. Lottie shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, rolling her shoulders as if she could shrug off the remnants of the dream still clinging to her skin. The garden. The candlelight. Him. It all felt like something she’d stolen from a book she wasn’t supposed to be reading.
She didn’t want to think about it. She needed movement. Noise. People. Something ordinary. Robin’s shift would be ending at Scoops Ahoy in a few hours. The mall would be crowded by then bright, loud, dizzying in a way that made it impossible to think too deeply. Exactly what she needed. Lottie crossed the yard toward the driveway, gravel crunching under her shoes. Her burgundy Beetle sat beneath the line of patchy shade cast by the maple tree, still dusty from the drive back into town. Sunlight caught the curve of its fender, turning the paint a warm wine-red. She’d forgotten how small it looked parked in front of this house like a visitor instead of something that belonged.
The metal door handle burned her palm when she pulled it open. The heat inside the car hit her like a wave, thick and stale, smelling faintly of old upholstery, strawberry lip gloss, and the pine-tree air freshener she’d bought at a gas station somewhere between Indianapolis and here. She cranked the window down before even starting the engine, letting the heavy summer air rush in. Her keys jingled softly as she turned them the house receded in the rearview mirror, still and sunlit, nothing out of place. She rolled the window down farther, letting warm wind whip through the car and rattle the loose receipts in the cupholder. The radio crackled when she flicked it on, landing somewhere between static and a pop song she recognized from a month ago.
Starcourt Mall rose ahead like something out of a catalog all pastel panels catching the sun, glass doors gleaming, the massive sign arching over the entrance in shades of pink and blue that didn’t exist anywhere else in Hawkins. Even from the lot, she could hear the distant thump of music leaking through the walls, a steady pulse of mall noise already awake for the afternoon. Lottie locked her Beetle behind her and stepped into the flow of people heading inside. A group of teenagers clustered near the entrance, comparing mixtapes and sunburns. A mom herded two sticky-fingered kids toward the food court with the patience of someone who had already given up for the day. The air smelled faintly of pretzels and something sugary, like cotton candy that had melted hours ago.
The doors slid open, and Starcourt washed over her in a cold rush. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Arcade sounds drifted from down the hall electronic chimes, digital explosions, a chorus of game-over bleeps. Somewhere, a blender screeched inside Orange Julius. Scoops Ahoy sat tucked into its corner of the food court, red and navy banners snapping slightly in the air conditioning. The ship’s wheel behind the counter gleamed under the lights, and rows of colorful tubs shone behind the glass like a melted rainbow. Robin was behind the counter, elbow propped dramatically on the register, sailor hat pushed crooked on her head as she stared down a customer with the dead-eyed determination of someone who had been at work far too long already. She handed off a cone to a little girl, waited until the family drifted away, then let her shoulders drop in a long, silent exhale.
When she glanced up and saw Lottie, her expression shifted not dramatic, just a small spark of recognition that softened the tiredness in her eyes. “Well,” she said, a smile edging into her voice, “look who decided to rejoin civilization.” Lottie stepped closer, the cool air spilling from the open freezer brushing her calves. “It was either here or stare at the wall until my brain melted.” Robin snorted under her breath. “Good choice. Starcourt’s bleak, but at least it’s… moving.” She gestured vaguely at the swirl of people in the food court kids with trays, a couple sharing a pretzel, two teens arguing over a map of the mall like it was a national crisis.
“How’s your first full day back?” Robin asked, leaning her hip against the counter. The question was casual, but her eyes tracked Lottie with something more careful. Lottie drew in a slow breath. “It’s been… quiet,” she said. “Like everything’s waiting for me to catch up.” Robin nodded once, like she understood that more than she’d ever admit out loud. “Yeah. That tracks.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the stockroom, then back again, lowering her voice a little. “So—good timing on your part. Steve’s letting me go early.”
Lottie blinked. “Really?”
“Oh yeah,” Robin said, lifting one shoulder. “Apparently he has ‘important evening plans.’ His mysterious date on Friday or something. And I may or may not have already promised to cover his shift for it.” Her mouth tightened into a dry line. “Which he is now using as leverage to release me early. Like he’s doing me a favor.” Lottie felt the corner of her mouth lift. “But you’re off now?”
Robin tapped the countertop with two fingers, decisive. “I’m off now.” She set the scooper in the rinse bin, wiped her hands, and grabbed her backpack from under the counter. Her sailor hat stayed crooked, her hair escaping around the edges, but she didn’t bother fixing it.
Robin slipped her backpack onto one shoulder and glanced around the food court like she was already halfway done with the place. Then her eyes cut back to Lottie, something bright and decisive sparking there. “Before we do anything else,” she said, “we’re going across the street.” Lottie tilted her head. “Where?”
“The record store,” Robin answered, as if that explained everything. “The little one with the crooked OPEN sign and the window full of sun-bleached album covers? I’ve been going there a lot lately.” She stepped around the counter, wiping her hands on her shorts out of habit even though she wasn’t holding anything. “I’ve been wanting to take you,” she added, more quietly. “I kept thinking about it when I heard you were coming back.” Lottie blinked, unsure what to say.
Robin filled the space for her. “Remember how we used to sit on your floor and listen to your record player?” she said, her voice softening at the edges. “How we’d stay up way too late flipping through whatever your mom had left behind? Fleetwood Mac, Joni Mitchell… all that stuff you swore sounded better at night?” A small smile pulled at Lottie’s mouth. “It did sound better at night.”
“Exactly.” Robin’s eyes warmed. “So I found this place. And it has the kind of records you would’ve lost your mind over. Stuff you can’t get at Starcourt—things that feel… lived-in.” She nudged the door open with her hip, letting the sunlight spill across the tile. “I figured you should see it. First.” The heat outside wrapped around them immediately, thicker and brighter than the mall’s air conditioning. They crossed the lot together, Robin walking just a little ahead, talking with her hands like she couldn’t help it. “You’re going to love it,” she insisted over her shoulder. “The guy who runs it buys everything secondhand. Half the sleeves look like they’ve been carried around in someone’s backpack for years. The good kind of worn.” Across the street, the little shop sat tucked between a barber shop and a travel agency that had never once updated its posters. The record store’s door was propped open with a cinderblock, music drifting faintly out something old and warm, the dusty crackle of a needle finding its groove.

Rows of crates stretched across the narrow room, each overflowing with vinyl some with glossy new covers, but most with worn edges and smudged corners, the art softened by years of hands flipping through them. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with shelves, every inch filled. A small fan in the corner clicked every time it rotated, barely moving the air.
Robin’s shoulders dropped, her whole posture settling into something comfortable like she belonged here. “See?” she said quietly, glancing sidelong at Lottie. “Doesn’t look like much from outside, but once you’re in…” Lottie nodded slowly. “It feels like someone’s attic.”
“In the best way,” Robin agreed. A man with wire-framed glasses and a ponytail glanced up from behind the counter, gave Robin a polite nod of recognition, then returned to pricing a stack of singles with careful, deliberate motions. Robin guided Lottie toward a crate near the back, nudging it with the toe of her Converse. “Start here,” she said. “This is where the good stuff hides.” Lottie crouched down, fingertips brushing the edge of a record sleeve—soft from age, cool from the shade of the shop.
She slid the first album forward.
Fleetwood Mac.
A different pressing than the one her mother had owned. Something in her chest tightened not painful, just… familiar. A thread pulled taut between then and now. Robin watched her face, her voice low. “I thought you’d like that one.” Lottie swallowed. “I do.” The bell above the door jingled again as someone entered, letting in a brief gust of hot sunlight. It faded as quickly as it came, swallowed by the calm, warm quiet of the shop and the steady, comforting crackle of the record still spinning somewhere in the back.
And for the first time all day, Lottie felt something like her breath settle slow, steady, grounding. Robin nudged her shoulder lightly, grinning. Robin nudged her shoulder lightly, grinning, then dropped down onto the worn rug beside the crate with a soft thud. “My legs are already giving out,” she said, folding herself cross-legged. “Might as well commit.” Lottie lowered herself beside her, the floor warm from the sun that slipped through the front window. The rug had flattened over years of customers sitting the same way, a faded geometric pattern soft under her palms. From the back of the store, the record spun on—low, steady, a little warbled, like it had lived a life before ending up here.
Robin leaned her back against the edge of a shelf, letting her head fall back with a soft sigh. “God,” she murmured, eyes drifting half-closed, “I forgot how good it feels to just sit somewhere that isn’t fluorescent.” Lottie smiled faintly, flipping through another small stack of records. “You’re acting like Scoops is a coal mine.”
“It might as well be,” Robin muttered, but her voice was soft, unworried.
Lottie paused on a sleeve Joni Mitchell this time, the corners frayed. “We used to hide all the time,” she said. “In my room. With the player on low so my dad wouldn’t hear.” Robin’s knee nudged against hers. “You’d fall asleep halfway through the second side and refuse to admit it the next day.”
“I didn’t ‘refuse,’” Lottie protested quietly. “I just… didn’t remember.” Robin’s grin widened, eyes brightening from the memory. “You’d curl up with one of the blankets from the couch the ugly one your grandmother made—and mumble along to lyrics like you were underwater.” Lottie huffed a breath of laughter, soft and surprised. “I forgot about that blanket.”
“Oh hold on,” she said, already scrambling to her feet. “Stay right there.” Lottie blinked as Robin darted behind a tall shelf near the register. There was a rustle, something sliding out from behind a stack of boxes, and then Robin reappeared with both hands behind her back, trying and failing to look casual.
She plopped down cross-legged again, barely containing a grin. “Okay,” she said, voice soft with excitement. “I was saving this. I really was. I thought, you know…this would make a great christmas gift.” Lottie smiled cautiously. “Robin… what did you do?”
Robin exhaled, then pulled the record out with a flourish earning a groan from the other girl. “Oh no,” she whispered. “Oh my god. Robin.” Front and center was Rick Springfield, shirt half-unbuttoned, guitar slung low on his hip, his name exploding across the top in neon-pink lettering. His feathered hair looked like it had been styled by angels. Robin beamed. “Remember him?”
“Unfortunately,” Lottie muttered, covering her mouth. “I cannot believe this exists.”
“Oh, it exists,” Robin said proudly. “There were at least three copies in the bargain bin. Most of them had lipstick on the sleeves.” Lottie’s face burned. “This was a childhood thing.”
“A big childhood thing,” Robin corrected. “You made me watch General Hospital just so you could see him show up as that doctor for two minutes.”
“I was eleven!”
“And in love,” Robin added matter-of-factly. “You had his poster on your closet door. Remember that one? The tight red shirt? The one your dad threatened to take down because it was ‘too much chest for a minor’?” Lottie buried her face in her hands. “Please stop.” Robin laughed, but it wasn’t mean—just delighted. She softened after a moment, leaning her shoulder gently against Lottie’s. “I wanted you to have it,” she said. “I found it months ago and hid it behind the jazz section so no one else would grab it. Figured it’d make you laugh when you finally came home.” Lottie let her hands fall away from her face, staring down at Rick Springfield’s dramatic, over-the-top pout. A reluctant smile pulled at her lips.
“He looks ridiculous.”
“He always did,” Robin agreed. “That was the appeal.”
Lottie bumped her shoulder lightly into Robin’s. “I hate how well you remember middle-school me.” Robin grinned. “Middle-school you was unforgettable.” Lottie rolled her eyes but her smile stayed. She set the record gingerly in her lap, tracing the glossy cover with her thumb.
“Fine,” she said. “We’ll play it when you come over.”
Robin let out a triumphant little puff of air. “Knew it.” They sat there a moment longer knees touching, vinyl piled between them, the air warm and humming with the soft crackle of music before Robin reached for another dusty sleeve, and the afternoon stretched out easy and golden around them.
. The record in the back crackled and shifted tracks, a warm, steady pulse through the small store. “God,” she murmured, “I could live in here. Just curl up under that shelf and haunt the place.”
Lottie smiled faintly. “You’d make a very annoying ghost.”
“Oh, absolutely. I’d mess with the alphabetization. Hide ABBA in the metal section. Total chaos.”
Lottie laughed, the sound small but real. Robin’s grin grew at that—like she’d been waiting for it.
They sifted through a few more crates, their shoulders brushing now and then, each moment dipping them further back into old rhythms. It felt oddly like reclaiming a language they both still remembered how to speak.
At one point, Robin leaned her head back against the shelf and exhaled dramatically. “Okay. My legs are numb, this floor is made of concrete lies, and if I stare at one more tracklist I might fuse with the carpet.”
Lottie raised a brow. “So…time to go?”
“Time,” Robin declared, pushing herself to her feet in one graceless motion, “to re-enter the neon hellscape.” Lottie rose too, brushing dust from her jeans. Robin gathered the stack of records they’d chosen Fleetwood, Joni, Rick Springfield the Menace and brought them to the counter. The man with wire-rimmed glasses rang them up without commentary, though the faint upward twitch of his mouth suggested he’d clocked the Springfield album. Outside, the heat hit them full force again, buzzing and bright. Robin winced. “God, it’s like being slapped by the sun. Okay. Milkshakes. Immediately. Preferably by someone who owes me and can’t say no.”
By the time they crossed the lot and stepped back through Starcourt’s glass doors, the cold air felt almost violent. Lottie sucked in a breath on instinct, the temperature shift sinking into her skin. The mall was even louder now—kids shrieking near the fountain, someone dropping a tray in the food court, the mechanical hum of the escalator rolling endlessly upward.
Scoops Ahoy was still busy. Steve stood behind the counter, one forearm braced on the register, reciting flavors to a customer with the calm, dead-eyed patience of a man doing penance. Robin didn’t bother hiding her approach she slammed her palm onto the counter. “Harrington. We require sugar.” Steve flinched, then exhaled when he saw them. “Jesus,” he said. “You can’t just… appear.”
“That’s exactly what I can do,” Robin replied. “I used to do drama club. I know all the entrances.” She pointed to the milkshake machine. “Two chocolate. And no complaining.” Steve looked between them. “This is about the Friday shift, isn’t it?” Robin nodded. “You are correct. And powerless.” He sighed, but with that familiar, put-upon affection. “Fine. Fine.” He grabbed the metal cups. “But I expect emotional support in return.” Robin leaned across the counter. “What you’re going to get is me not telling your date about the time you cried because the slushie machine jammed.”
Lottie blinked. “Wait, what—”
“Robin,” Steve hissed. “Oh relax,” she said. “I didn’t say which slushie machine.” Steve groaned, turning his back on them to scoop ice cream. Lottie stifled a laugh behind her hand. He moved with the tired efficiency of someone who could do this half-asleep—metal scoop scraping against frozen tubs, milk sloshing into the silver cups, the whirr of the machine kicking on. Over the counter, Lottie could see the edge of Robin’s reflection in the metal paneling, her sailor collar slightly askew, her mouth tipped up in a smug little curve.
Steve slid the first milkshake across the counter, then the second, both topped with a careless swirl of whipped cream that still looked weirdly perfect. “There,” he said. “Bribery complete. Now you’re morally obligated to tell me if my date shirt makes me look desperate.” Robin took both cups before Lottie could reach for hers. “You were already desperate before the shirt,” she said, handing one to Lottie. “The shirt is just documentation.”
Steve pressed a hand to his chest. “I am surrounded by cruelty.”
“And dairy,” Robin said. “Don’t forget dairy.”
Lottie wrapped her fingers around the cold paper cup, the chill biting pleasantly into her skin. “Thank you, Steve,” she added, a little softer. He glanced at her, the put-upon mask slipping for a moment into something easier. “Yeah,” he said. “Anytime.” Robin tipped her head toward the cluster of empty tables. “Come on,” she said to Lottie. “Before he starts asking for feedback on cologne, too.” They found a small two-top near the edge of the food court, half-shadowed by a plastic palm tree. The vinyl seat wheezed quietly when Lottie sat down. From here, she could see almost the entire sprawl of Starcourt the fountain throwing up glittering water beneath the skylight, the neon signs winking from every direction, families and teenagers and bored employees all caught in the same slow orbit.
Robin dropped into the chair across from her, nudging Lottie’s foot under the table as she took a long pull from her milkshake. “Okay,” she said, exhaling like someone coming up for air. “That’s criminally good.”
Lottie took a sip of her own. The chocolate was thick and sweet, cold enough to make her teeth ache. It tasted like summers before everything got complicated—sticky movie nights and parking lots and the hum of cicadas outside her open window. “You’re right,” she said. “Dangerous.”
“I’m often right,” Robin replied. “People don’t appreciate that about me.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The noise of the mall blurred into a steady backdrop, forks scraping against plastic trays, a kid whining about not getting another pretzel, the distant electronic shriek of some poor soul losing at Dig Dug in the arcade. Robin toyed with her straw, tracing a slow circle in the whipped cream. Robin dragged her spoon along the inside of the milkshake cup, scooping up a ribbon of half-melted chocolate like she was performing surgery. She didn’t look up when she said, “Okay. I’ve been sitting on something. Mall gossip. Grade-A, Hawkins-certified.”
Lottie raised a brow. “Since when do you sit on gossip?”
“Since I wanted dramatic timing.” Robin finally met her eyes, leaning in across the tiny table until her sailor collar nearly dipped into her milkshake. The absurd fake palm tree above them cast a shredded-looking shadow across her face, all jagged edges and stripes of neon. “Jonathan Byers,” she whispered. “Is dating Nancy Wheeler.”
Lottie froze mid-sip. For a second the sounds of Starcourt—the fountain’s rhythmic splash, kids shrieking near the arcade, the hiss of an Orange Julius blender—blurred into nothing.
“…No he isn’t.”
Robin’s grin spread slow and smug. “Oh, but he is.”
“Robin.”
“I have sources,” she said, sitting back and tapping the table like she was signing a contract. “Multiple. Visual confirmation. Steve almost walked into a ‘Wet Floor’ sign about it.”
Lottie blinked hard, trying to fit the image together. Jonathan, all soft eyes and camera straps and quiet, next to Nancy—pressed skirts, perfect posture, a brain like a steel trap. “How does that even… work?” Robin shrugged, stirring her milkshake lazily. The straw clinked against the cup. “I don’t know. Maybe she grades his essays. Maybe he brings her tragic mixtapes. Maybe the universe just likes chaos.”
Lottie’s lips curled. “Nancy Wheeler with a Byers boy. That’s… kind of cute?”
“Depending on your tolerance for earnestness, yeah.” Robin raised her milkshake for a toast. “To wildly unexpected pairings. Honestly,” Robin added, swirling a ribbon of whipped cream with her straw, “I don’t even know what’s next. Dustin’s claiming he has a girlfriend in Utah, so place your bets.” Lottie grinned into her cup. “A girlfriend in Utah?”
“Apparently she sings like an angel, is a genius, and writes letters in cursive.” Robin raised a brow. “So naturally, I believe every word.”
“I missed this,” Lottie murmured. Robin’s eyes softened, and for once she didn’t cover it with a joke. She nudged Lottie’s foot under the table, gentle. “Yeah. Me too.” The fountain sparkled behind them under the skylight, neon buzzing, kids running, teenagers flirting, the whole mall shifting in its noisy, shimmering orbit around their little table.
“Well, well, well,” Steve said, leaning a hip against the edge of their two-top like he owned it. “If it isn’t my favorite pair of deserters enjoying the fruits of my labor.” Robin lifted her eyes only long enough to deadpan, “Oh look. A nuisance.” Steve ignored her with the serene determination of someone who’d built up immunity. He slid into the chair beside Lottie without asking, folding his arms on the table like this was a conference he’d scheduled. “You’re not supposed to be on break,” Robin said. “And you’re supposed to be scrubbing the mop sink right now,” Steve shot back. “But here we both are. Funny how life works.” Robin rolled her eyes. Lottie hid a smile behind her milkshake. Steve exhaled, cleared his throat, and pointed decisively between them. “Okay. Important question. Very important. Potentially transformational for your summer.”
“God,” Robin muttered. “He’s pitching something.”
Steve ignored that too. “There’s a party on Saturday.”
Lottie blinked. “A party?”
“Not just a party,” Steve said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “The party. Tommy’s cousin’s place by the quarry. Big backyard. Actual stereo. A grill that won’t collapse if you look at it wrong. And—and—” he lifted a finger dramatically, “no parents.” Robin groaned like she’d been stabbed. “Absolutely not.”
Steve frowned. “Can I finish?”
“I already know it’s a terrible idea,” Robin said. “The answer is no.”
“Not your answer I’m asking her.” Steve turned back to Lottie, eyebrows raised in earnest hope. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Everyone’s going.” Lottie hesitated. “Everyone?”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “Nancy and Jonathan, Tommy’s cousin’s weird band friends, probably half the senior class—” Robin made a face like she’d bitten into a lemon. “Oh yeah. Nothing screams ‘fun’ like warm beer and boys named Clint.”
“His name is Clay,” Steve corrected.
“Even worse,” Robin said.
Lottie tried not to laugh. The noise of Starcourt swelled around them—the arcade shrieking, the blender at Orange Julius screeching, the mall PA buzzing with a distorted announcement about lost keys. The air smelled like popcorn, plastic, and sweet syrup melting on the tile. “This could be good for you,” Steve said, softening his voice. “You’ve been… you know.” He gestured vaguely. “Settling.” Robin’s foot tapped sharply under the table. Not at him toward Lottie. A silent pulse of caution. A friend’s instinctive brace.
Lottie wrapped her hands around her milkshake. “Settling isn’t bad.”
“No,” Steve agreed quickly. “It’s not. I just mean… being back here is weird. I get that. But the party could help. Ease you in. Let people say hi without it being a big thing.” Robin snorted. “It’ll be a big thing no matter what.” Steve shot her an annoyed look. “Why are you like this?”
Steve’s hand lifted in a helpless little gesture, trying to shape his words into something that wouldn’t spook her. “Look, it doesn’t have to be a big commitment,” he said, leaning forward like he was letting her in on classified intel. “Just… show up. Say hi. Grab a drink. Exist in the general vicinity of fun.” Robin snorted into her straw. “You sound desperate.”
“I am desperate,” Steve shot back, but there was a soft sincerity beneath the dramatics when he turned back to Lottie. “I’m serious. It might be good. And if you hate it?” He pointed between her and Robin. “You two can bail. Immediately. No questions asked. I’ll even pretend it wasn’t incredibly rude.” Robin kept her face flat, but her foot nudged Lottie’s under the table — a tiny, conflicted tap that wasn’t outright warning, just cautious. A do what you want kind of touch. Lottie’s fingers tightened around her milkshake cup. The cold seeped into her palms, grounding. The mall hummed around them — neon buzzing, fountain splashing, a child crying over dropped Dippin’ Dots somewhere across the court. Her heartbeat felt loud in her ears, like Starcourt itself was waiting for her answer.
“Just… show up?” she asked carefully. “Exactly,” Steve said, brightening instantly. “Show up. Hang for ten minutes. Fake a bathroom emergency. Robin invents a medical condition. Whatever you need.” Robin muttered, “I refuse to fake a medical condition,” but she didn’t actually look upset. Lottie drew in a slow breath, her chest loosening with the smallest, unexpected warmth — the good kind, the kind that meant she wasn’t alone in this. She glanced at Robin, who raised her brows in meaningfully pointed I’m not thrilled but I love you solidarity. “…Okay,” Lottie said finally. “I’ll go.” Steve’s relief was immediate and enormous. “Yes! Perfect! Great! I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
“I’m not going for you,” Lottie said, though she couldn’t stop the corner of her mouth from lifting. “You’re going for the experience,” Steve insisted, pointing at her like she’d just won a prize. “And again—if it sucks? If a guy named Clay tries to talk to you about his car for twenty minutes?” He tapped the table like stamping a deal. “You and Robin are out. I’ll even cover your escape.” Robin sighed, but her smile slipped out anyway. “We’ll leave him behind in a heartbeat.”
“Wow,” Steve said, wounded. “Okay, that felt targeted.” Lottie laughed soft but real. And that was that. She was going. Saturday. A party by the quarry. Ten minutes, maybe. Or longer, if the world didn’t swallow her first.

Chapter Text

By early evening the little bedroom felt close, almost too still, the old box fan rattling in the window as it tried to push heavy summer air into something breathable. Outside, a game show theme drifted from a neighbor’s TV, tinny and distorted. A dog barked somewhere down the block. Someone’s sprinkler hissed in a lazy arc over a patchy yard. Lottie stood in front of her mirror, tugging the sleeves of her cardigan straight. The mustard turtleneck she’d chosen hugged her ribs, warm and familiar. Her fingers smoothed the deep green skirt, brushing down the sides to check the hem. She slipped her hands along her legs, making sure her plain black tights sat evenly, no snags, no twists. Her oversized striped cardigan hung comfortably around her, sun-faded reds and blues pooling past her wrists like it had been waiting in her closet for her to come home. It wasn’t a party outfit, it was a comfort outfit.
She tugged the sleeve of her cardigan back and winced. A neat, thin scratch curved across the inside of her elbow. It hadn’t been there earlier. She checked the seam, expecting a rough thread or hidden tag.
Nothing she brushed her thumb over the mark. It stung sharp, exact, like a thorn. “Nope,” she muttered. “Absolutely not thinking about that.” Lottie stepped into the hallway, smoothing her cardigan one last time, and expected the living room to be dark—her dad usually slept straight through the early evening after a long shift.
But soft light spilled across the floor. Her dad was awake, he sat on the couch in his off-duty clothes: grey sweats, a Hawkins Police Department T-shirt that had seen better days, and socks that didn’t match. His police utility belt, keys, and radio were piled neatly on the coffee table—heavy items placed with the deliberate care of someone who’d carried too much weight all day and finally set it down. He’d showered recently; his hair still had that damp, combed-back look he only ever had when he wasn’t exhausted. A half-empty can of Coke sweated onto a coaster beside him, and the muted TV flickered across his face.
“Well,” he said, voice warm, low, and already amused, “don’t you look… grown.” She pulled her cardigan tighter around herself. “It’s just clothes.”
“Mhm.” He shut the TV Guide in his lap. “And where exactly are those clothes taking you tonight, Miss Dressed-Nicely-For-No-Reason?” Lottie swallowed. “Robin and I are going to a party.” He blinked. “A party,” he repeated, drawing the word out like he was translating it.
His eyebrows climbed higher. “At the quarry?” She nodded. Her dad leaned forward, elbows on his knees, Coke can dangling loosely from his fingers. He gave her a long, slow once-over—not judgmental, just… surprised. Fond and a little blindsided. “Since when,” he said, genuine disbelief wrapped in warmth, “are you and Robin into parties?”
Lottie let out a tiny laugh, tugging her sleeves down. “We’re not. Steve invited us. We’re only staying for a few minutes.” He sat back again, rubbing his jaw his cop habit, something she’d seen him do while writing reports or listening to dispatch. “Feels like yesterday,” he muttered, “you two were begging me to drop you off at the library so you could ‘research’ backyard fairy kingdoms.” His mouth curved softly. “And now it’s—” he gestured vaguely toward her skirt and cardigan, “—quarry parties.”
“It’s not like that,” she said, but her voice was gentler now. “Sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head, “I know.” Then, softer: ““I’m allowed to notice it.” He spoke with that quiet gravity cops got when they saw too much, too often—when every year felt both long and terribly short. “You look nice,” he added. “Really nice.” Lottie hadn’t expected that. A warm flush crept up her throat. He lifted a finger, suddenly all Dad again, not Officer Clark. “Just—do me a favor.”
“What?”
“Stay away from the edge of that cliff. I’ve pulled too many teenagers out of stupid situations over there.”
“I won’t go near it.”
“And,” he continued, pointing the can at her for emphasis, “if Harrington tries to show off or impress you? Walk away. Immediately.” She laughed. “He has a date tonight.”
“Oh God,” her dad muttered. “Poor girl.” Lottie tried to hide her smile behind her cardigan sleeve. He stood up, joints cracking quietly, and came closer. His presence was steady, grounding—broad shoulders, the faint scent of clean soap, and that underlying edge of someone whose job was keeping other people alive. He rested a hand on her upper arm “Seriously. Call me if you need anything. I mean anything.”
“I will.”
“Good.” Lottie leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. He squeezed her elbow gently careful, and protective. “Have fun,” he said with a nod toward the door. “Or, you know… try to.” The porch door clicked closed behind her, and warm summer air rushed around her ankles like a welcoming tide. Fireflies blinked near the hedges Her burgundy Beetle waited where it always did tucked just beneath the lone maple tree, half in shadow, half caught in the amber wash of the porch light. The dings in the fender glimmered faintly in the warm glow, reminders of parallel-parking lessons gone wrong and late-night grocery runs after her dad’s shifts. A cicada droned somewhere close by. The air smelled faintly of cut grass and the lingering warmth of the day settling into night.
Lottie crossed the short path to her car, her cardigan brushing against her sides. The gravel popped under each step, familiar and grounding. The Beetle’s handle burned her palm when she opened it, hot from soaking in the last of the sun. Inside, the air was thick and oven-warm. She rolled the window down immediately, letting a gust of night breeze sweep through, rustling the old receipts in the cupholder. She set her keys in the ignition but didn’t turn them her dad’s voice echoed softly in her head:
“Since when are you and Robin into parties?”
“Stay away from the edge of that cliff.”
“Call me if you need anything.”
She hadn’t expected the moment to feel so heavy like leaving the driveway was somehow stepping into a different version of herself he hadn’t entirely caught up with yet. She blew out a slow breath and twisted the keys. The Beetle sputtered to life with the familiar uneven rumble, headlights splashing across the gravel and the low line of hedges. She backed out carefully always carefully, the way her dad taught her and turned onto the road as the porch light glowed behind her like a watchful eye. As she drove, the gravel beneath her tires faded into pavement, the houses thinned out, and the sky darkened into rich, velvety blue. The radio crackled before settling on a song she barely remembered from middle school summers something airy, repeating, nostalgic in a way that hurt if she let herself think too hard.
Streetlamps flickered by. Fields blurred into shadow. The road to the quarry opened in front of her like a long dark ribbon guiding her forward. She tightened her grip on the wheel. Ten minutes. Fifteen if Steve insisted. She turned onto the narrow pull-off beside the quarry and immediately saw cars lined crookedly along the edges hoods still warm, doors flung open, windows fogged from too many people leaning out to talk. A couple of bikes lay in a heap near the treeline. Someone had draped a string of lanterns between two trees, their light swaying softly with the breeze.
Lottie eased the Beetle into an open pocket of dirt and gravel, the headlights illuminating dust in thick swirling clouds before she shut the engine off. The sudden silence pressed against her ears for a moment before the party noise seeped in again.
She sat with her hands on the steering wheel. She stepped out, adjusting her cardigan sleeves. The bonfire glow washed across the clearing in waves orange and lively, painting silhouettes that moved like memories. “Lottie!” Robin’s voice cut through the noise she jogged toward her, hair pulled half-up, half falling loose, wearing jean shorts and a faded band tee that looked like it had gone through at least three different teenage owners. She looked… casual. Comfortable. Sharp-eyed as ever.
“There you are,” Robin said, grabbing her hand with the urgency of someone rescuing a friend from a burning building. “I was about one minute from assuming you’d ditched me for a quiet night.” They pushed through soft knots of people spread around the bonfire. Someone roasted something unidentifiable over a stick. Someone else argued about who stole whose mixtape. A couple was making out near someone’s car like the world might end tomorrow.
Heat rolled off the flames, sticky and comforting. Steve spotted them before they spotted him. He practically materialized, hair perfect in the chaotic way only he could pull off, expression bright with relief. “There you are,” he said, breathless like he’d lost her in a crowd. “I was starting to worry you got kidnapped.”
“By who?” Robin asked dryly. “Tommy’s cousin’s terrible band?” Steve ignored her. He looked at Lottie, eyes softening. “Glad you came.”
“Thanks,” she said, tucking hair behind her ear. He was about to say something else, absolutely something embarrassing when someone behind him yelled for help with the grill. Steve groaned, muttering something about “not tonight,” and rushed off. Lottie had barely turned when she nearly bumped into someone seated on the back of a nearby pickup.
A boy. Someone she had never seen before. He sat casually, legs dangling, the heel of one yellow Converse tapping lightly on the tailgate. His curls caught the firelight dark and soft at the roots, glowing gold at the ends. A pretzel stick hung loosely from his fingers. His brown shirt was faded in that lived-in way. He startled slightly at almost bumping her, looking up with warm, apologetic eyes. “Oh I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, shifting just enough to give her space. “Didn’t mean to sit right in the way.”
“It’s okay,” Lottie said, quietly. “I wasn’t looking.” He gave a small smile hesitant, gentle and nodded before turning back to the conversation happening beside him. His laugh was soft, unassuming, swallowed quickly by the night. Robin tugged her deeper into the party. “Come on. Harrington is seconds from setting himself on fire trying to impress a girl.” Robin tugged her deeper into the crowd, weaving them through pockets of teenagers sprawled across coolers, the ground, the hoods of cars. The bonfire roared high, spitting sparks into the night sky. Music thumped from a boombox someone had wedged into a milk crate.
“Okay,” Robin muttered, “brace yourself. He’s… short-circuiting.”
“Who?” Lottie asked.
Robin didn’t answer with words.
She just angled her chin toward the section of clearing by the logs.
There he was — the boy who’d invited them — standing far too close to the flames, smiling like he’d been electrocuted, hands moving in frantic little half-circles. And standing across from him was a girl Lottie had never seen before.
The girl was striking in the way pastel candy is striking.
Her honey-brown hair curled softly around her shoulders. She wore a blue and yellow letterman jacket, but not Hawkins colors brighter, sharper, newer. Another school somewhere probably bigger, maybe. Somewhere with an actual budget. Beneath it was a pale pink top, tucked neatly into a mint skirt, all soft edges and roller-rink fantasy. Her sneakers were bubblegum-pink, high-tops she’d drawn daisies on with pen. A pink portable cassette player clipped to her hip glinted every time she shifted her weight.
She blew a bubble.
It popped delicately.
She laughed — warm, sweet, sugary.
Lottie didn’t know her.
But she fit the scene like a postcard.
The girl held out a stick of gum.
He fumbled it.
It dropped into the dirt.
Robin made a soft choking noise. “Oh my god. He’s imploding.”
Lottie covered a smile with her cardigan sleeve. “Should we—help?”
“No. We let nature take its course.” Robin nudged her forward before she could stare too long. “Come on,” she whispered. “If we stay here any longer he’s going to rope us into moral support and I don’t have the emotional strength.” They slipped out of the cluster of kids circle-watching the awkward flirting and moved toward a quieter patch of grass near the edge of the bonfire light. Lottie let her eyes drift around the crowd—faces half-lit by flame, shadows rising and falling across cheeks and jawlines. The night hummed like an engine below everything, warm and restless. Someone tossed a frisbee too close to the fire. Someone yelled about lighter fluid. A girl tripped over a log and laughed until her friends shushed her.
Lottie tried to let herself sink into it. But even as Robin rambled about someone’s terrible mixtape, something else pulled at the corner of her awareness. A soft current running underneath everything, low and humming and not part of the party at all. A scent—roses and wax something warm and sweet, like the inside of a candle shop after closing. It brushed past her cheek like breath.
She blinked. At first she thought it was the bonfire, or someone’s cheap body spray, or a trick of the wind—but it was too familiar. Too specific. It was the scent of the garden from her dreams. A prickle crawled across her skin, slow and deliberate, settling along the scratch on her elbow. The mark warmed under her sleeve, like something remembering her.
“Hey,” Robin said, cutting through whatever Lottie’s face was doing. “You’re doing it again.” Lottie blinked. “Doing what?” Robin squinted at her. “Like you just remembered you left the oven running or something.” A short, breathless laugh escaped her. “I’m fine,” Lottie said. “I just… need some air. Real air. Away from the bonfire and Steve’s emotional combustion.”
Robin’s mouth softened. “You want me to come?” Lottie shook her head. “No. I’ll be right back. If I’m not, you can assume I joined a traveling circus.”
“That is not funny,” Robin said, but she let her go. “Stay where I can see you. And do not go near the cliff, or your dad will personally arrest me.” Lottie lifted a hand in a vague promise and slipped away. She kept her dad’s warning in her head like a line she could feel with her toes. She didn’t go near the edge. She stayed well back, where the ground still felt solid and flat and ordinary.
Lantern light from the trees bled only a little way into the dark, leaving most of the space ahead of her painted in soft, inky blue. The sky stretched huge above the quarry, scattered with faint stars struggling against the glow of fire and cars. She exhaled slowly. Out here, the air felt different. Cooler, thinner, like it had less to fight through. The smoke from the bonfire didn’t sit as heavy on her lungs. She could almost imagine she was somewhere else entirely somewhere quiet, where the night didn’t have edges.
Then the scent reached her.
Roses.
Wax.
That warm, sweet note beneath it, like honey melted into hot candlelight. It slipped past her like someone walking by just close enough to brush their shoulder against hers. The scratch under her sleeve pulsed, heat blooming in a narrow crescent along her skin.
A sound broke through the quiet.
Tick.
Soft.
Mechanical.
Rhythmic.
Like a pocket watch being wound by unseen hands.
She froze.
Another tick followed. And another. Slow, steady, deliberate. The air tightened around her, thinning to a single held breath.
“Robin?” she whispered.
No answer. She turned not toward the cliff, but toward the line of parked cars scattered along the clearing’s edge. Their metal surfaces caught faint reflections from the fire and lanterns, warped in curves of chrome and dusty windows. The ticking grew louder, clearer. She took a step closer. One of the car windows the backseat glass of a rusted blue sedan—held just enough of the fire’s glow to show her reflection faintly: cardigan, hair, the slope of her shoulders. And behind her reflection standing where there should have been empty air was him.
Tall. Still. Shadow-soft edges. Eyes lit faintly gold in the glass. A silhouette more than a body, details shifting like smoke. She gasped and spun around.
But there was nothing. Just grass and darkness and the distant party lights. The ticking stopped. The scent lingered. Roses brushing her cheek and was warming her throat. Her scratch pulsed again once, then twice like something tapping back from beneath her skin.
“Hey?” She jerked, breath catching. But it wasn’t the boy from the garden it wasn’t anyone like him. It was the boy from earlier the one with yellow Converse and curls that caught the firelight. He stepped closer slowly, hands tucked into his pockets, brows drawn in gentle worry. “You good?” he asked. “You kind of… wandered off and then just froze. Like you heard a math problem.”
She forced a breath. “I’m fine. I just—thought I heard something.” He glanced toward the dark treeline, casual, unbothered. “Probably just someone messing around,” he said. “Or a raccoon. This place is basically raccoon heaven.” She tried to laugh but I came out thin and forced.
He studied her a little longer. “Or,” he added softly, “you felt lightheaded again? ‘Cause you still look kinda… pale.” Her pulse hitched. Somehow, that normal kind of worry simple, human, real felt like a rope thrown into water. “I’m okay,” she said. “Really.”
He nodded, but doubt flickered across his expression. “I’ve got water actual water. In the truck, if you want.” He gestured with a thumb. “Seriously. It’s not weird. I’m just… prepared.” Despite herself, she smiled. “Thank you.”
He shrugged, relieved. “Cool. I’ll grab it.” Robin reappeared before he got far, twin cups in her hand. She stopped mid-step, eyes flicking between him, Lottie, and the way Lottie’s shoulders were still stiff. She stopped mid-step, eyes flicking between him, Lottie, and the way Lottie’s shoulders were still a little too tight.
One eyebrow arched, slow and sharp. “Oh,” she said, voice slipping into that dry, amused register she saved for truly important discoveries. “So you’re making new friends without me.”
Heat crawled up the back of Lottie’s neck. “I’m not—”
Robin tipped her head, studying them both like they were a very interesting science project. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re out here, what, hydrating with mysterious boys in yellow sneakers? Wow. Betrayal.”
The boy’s mouth pulled into a small, startled smile. “I, uh—just offered her water,” he said. “Didn’t mean to steal anyone.”
“Oh, she ditched me,” Robin said immediately. “It’s fine. I’ll recover. Eventually.” She shifted her gaze back to Lottie, eyes gleaming. “Could’ve at least warned me you were ducking out to flirt.” Lottie choked. “I was not flirting.” Robin’s lips twitched. “Right. You just wandered off into the dark, left me with Steve’s slow-motion romantic collapse, and picked up a boy on your way back. Totally innocent.”
The boy looked like he was trying not to laugh and also trying not to be rude about it. “I can, um, go get that water now,” he offered. “Let you two… sort out your custody arrangement.” Robin made a little shooing gesture with her cup. “Go on, Converse. We’ll be right here having a very calm, very normal discussion about loyalty.”
He dipped his head in a half-nod, half-bow that somehow managed to be both shy and a little amused, then backed away toward the truck. The second he was out of earshot, Robin turned fully on Lottie. “So,” she said, drawing the word out. “That looked suspiciously like you ditching me to flirt.” Lottie stared at her. “I went to get air. I thought I heard something.”
“And instead you found… him.” Robin wiggled her fingers in the direction of the pickup. “Congratulations, that’s the opposite of air.”
“He was just being nice,” Lottie insisted. “I nearly ran into him earlier. He - he was checking I wasn’t about to pass out.” Robin’s expression softened for half a second at that, worry cracking through the teasing. “You’re not about to pass out, right?”
“I’m fine,” Lottie said. “Just… weird night.”
“Uh-huh.” Robin’s gaze flicked briefly toward the rusted blue sedan in the shadows, then back. “Well, if you are going to start making new friends and abandoning me to deal with Steve’s cologne choices alone, I reserve the right to be dramatic about it.” Lottie huffed a quiet laugh. “You were dramatic before this.”
“Exactly,” Robin said. “Now I have material.” Before Lottie could answer, Robin’s eyes flicked back toward the pickup. Yellow sneakers, curls, soft laugh. He’d climbed onto the tailgate again, but his gaze kept drifting over in their direction like a moth that hadn’t quite decided whether the porch light was worth it. Robin followed the line of it, then made a quiet, triumphant sound in her throat. “Oh yeah,” she murmured. “Absolutely not wasting this.”
Lottie frowned. “What are you—”
“Come on.” Robin hooked their elbows together and started steering her across the dirt. “If you’re going to ditch me to flirt, we’re at least doing it with introductions. I refuse to be the anonymous best friend in the background of your epic love story.”
“Robin—” Lottie dug her heels in a little, but not enough to really stop her. “Please don’t—”
“Too late,” Robin sing-songed under her breath. “Social interaction has been initiated. There’s no going back now.” The closer they got, the more the noise of the boys clustered by the truck sharpened snatches of jokes, the rattle of an empty can nudged with a shoe, someone complaining about how long it took to get out here. Yellow sneakers noticed them first. His shoulders straightened almost imperceptibly, conversation around him softening as a couple of his friends drifted away, sensing something else about to happen. “Hey,” Robin called, friendly, like she was already mid-conversation. “Converse!”
He turned fully, one hand braced on the tailgate. Up close again, the firelight picked out the warm brown of his eyes, the curve of his mouth when he smiled—gentle, a little unsure, like he was waiting to see if the joke landed before laughing.
“Yeah?” he said. “Everything… okay?”
“Medically?” Robin said. “TBD. Socially? We’re correcting an injustice.” She jerked her chin toward him. “You brought my best friend water and I don’t even know your name. Where’s your sense of decorum?” He blinked, then huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s Danny,” he said. “Sorry. I should’ve said that earlier.”
“Danny,” Robin repeated, like she was testing it for structural integrity. “Great. Solid. No complaints.” She shifted, presenting Lottie like she was unveiling a prize on a game show. “This is Lottie. My best friend, recently re-imported from the glamorous world beyond Hawkins. Freshly back in town and, I cannot stress this enough, single for as long as I’ve known her.”
Lottie made a strangled noise. “Robin.”
Robin ignored her. “She has excellent taste in music, will absolutely judge your cassette collection, spends an alarming amount of time in tiny vinyl shops that smell like dust and regret, and reads fantasy books so thick they could be used as murder weapons.”
Danny’s smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corners. “That… sounds like a pretty good endorsement, actually.”
“Oh, we’re not done,” Robin said, lifting a finger. “Her favorite flavor is cherry slushies, lollipops, anything and she refuses to wear any bandages that don’t have cartoon dogs on them.”
Lottie stared at her, horrified. “That is not information he needs.”
“It’s crucial,” Robin countered. “It tells him you’re whimsical and committed to a brand.” Danny’s gaze slid to Lottie’s face, searching, amused but not mocking. “Is that… true?” he asked, gentle. She considered denying it out of sheer self-preservation. But his expression was open, not sharp, and something about the way he asked curious, not teasing knocked the lie right out of her. “…Yes,” she admitted. “The regular ones are ugly.” He laughed, soft and honest. “Yeah. They kind of are.”
Robin folded her arms, satisfied. “Anyway,” she said. “You’re welcome.” Lottie shot her a look. “Can you not?”
“What?” Robin said innocently. “I’m just facilitating human connection. You’re the one who went off to have a mysterious moment in the dark and came back with a boy and a water bottle.” Danny glanced between them like he’d walked into the middle of a long-running bit and was trying to catch up. “For the record,” he said, “I did not mean to steal her. I’m not, like, poaching party guests.”
“Oh, you can have her for a little while,” Robin said breezily. “She ditched me first. Fair’s fair.” Lottie glared at her, but it didn’t have much teeth. “I did not ditch you.”
“You emotionally abandoned me with Steve,” Robin corrected. “Same thing.” Danny’s gaze flicked toward the bonfire, where Steve was still very visibly trying to be charming at the girl in the blue-and-yellow jacket. “Is that the guy who keeps almost dropping the grill tongs?”
“That’s the one,” Robin said. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless. Mostly.” Danny’s eyes drifted toward the bonfire again, tracking Steve’s near-disastrous attempt to juggle grill tongs and charm at the same time. He winced. Then pointed almost apologetically with his pretzel stick. “…I’m pretty sure that guy,” he said slowly, “is the one my sister’s here with tonight.” Lottie blinked. “Your sister?”
“Yeah.” He tilted his chin toward the pastel girl in the blue-and-yellow jacket, the mint skirt, the bubblegum pink high-tops, the honey-blonde curls lit up in the firelight. “Donna. She begged me to bring her tonight. Like, legitimately begged. Promised she’d do my chores for a week if I drove her.” Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, that’s why you’re here?” Danny nodded, resigned. “Yep. I’m the designated driver.”
He lifted his empty hands like a man displaying evidence. “Haven’t had a single drink. Haven’t even smelled one. She said if I didn’t come, she’d ‘perish in social agony,’ so here I am. Perishing.” Robin made a strangled, delighted noise. “God, I love siblings.” Danny sighed, but smiled a little. “She’s harmless. Just… dramatic. I think she’s known that guy—Steve? for a week. Maybe. Hard to tell with her. She gets excited fast.” Lottie followed his gaze to Donna, who was currently poking Steve in the shoulder with her straw while he talked too quickly, too loud, hands flailing in nervous orbit.
“They look… sweet,” she offered. Danny shrugged. “Yeah. I guess. I’m just here to make sure her cassette tapes don’t get stolen and she doesn’t lose her jacket.” His voice softened into something wry. “I’m, like, the least fun participant at this whole thing.”
“You brought pretzels,” Robin said. “That’s fun.” He held up the single remaining pretzel stick. “This was all I had.” Lottie found herself smiling again, small but real. “So you didn’t actually want to come?” Danny hesitated, then tilted his hand side to side. “I mean… not really my natural habitat.” He nodded toward the bonfire where someone was now trying to shotgun a beer and failing miserably. “I’m more of a ‘quiet corner, decent music, not tripping over logs in the dark’ kind of person.”
Robin snapped her fingers at Lottie. “Oh my god, weird, that sounds exactly like someone I know.” Lottie shot her a look. “I am not tripping over logs. Yet.”
“Give it time,” Robin said. Then, to Danny, “For the record, she’s here under protest too. Harrington guilt-tripped us. Well- guilt-tripped her. I just came to watch him self-destruct.” Danny’s mouth curved. He looked at Lottie, really looked this time, like he was putting puzzle pieces together. “So we’re all here against our will,” he said lightly. “Good to know I’m not alone.”
“You have Donna,” Lottie said. “That seems… fun.” She nodded toward the fire, where Donna was now laughing so hard she’d doubled over, her hand on Steve’s arm for balance.
He huffed out a soft laugh through his nose. “Donna has Donna,” he said. “And she hasn’t even glanced my way since we got here. He hopped back up onto the tailgate, then seemed to remember something and twisted around, reaching behind him. Lottie only noticed the cooler when he popped the lid one-handed the cheap plastic creaked, a little puff of cold air drifting up, fogging faintly in the warmth. Ice clinked softly as he rummaged.
“Offer still stands, by the way,” he added, looking over his shoulder at her. “For the water. I wasn’t just saying that to sound responsible.” Robin made a quiet, approving hum. “Designated driver and hydrated? Be still my heart.”
Danny snorted under his breath, then fished out a bottle. Condensation beaded along the plastic in fast little rivulets, catching the lantern light as he turned back around. He hopped down from the tailgate again, closing the small distance between them with careful, unhurried steps, like he didn’t want to startle her.
“Here,” he said, offering it out. Up close, Lottie could see the chill fogging over the label, the way his fingers had gone pink from digging through the ice. For some reason, that detail lodged in her chest—the quiet fact that he’d actually brought a cooler to a quarry party where no one else had planned that far ahead.
Her own hand felt too warm when her fingers brushed his. Just a quick drag of knuckles against knuckles, but it sent a tiny jolt up her arm, like static. He noticed; she could tell from the way his gaze flicked up to her face, quick and searching, before sliding away again so he didn’t make it weird.
“Small sips,” he said lightly. “Or you’ll give yourself a brain freeze from the inside.” Lottie huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Is that… medically accurate?”
“Probably not,” he admitted. “But it sounds convincing, right?”
She raised the bottle in a tiny mock-toast and took another sip, slower this time. The cold threaded down behind her ribs, washing some of the tight, buzzing feeling out of her chest. The night didn’t feel quite so close anymore; the noise of the party settled into something she could stand to sit inside of, instead of something pressing against her from every side.
Robin watched her for a second, the corners of her mouth tipping up when a little color came back into Lottie’s face. “See?” she said. “Look at us. One designated driver, one emotional support best friend. You’re basically invincible.”
“Please don’t say that at a quarry,” Danny murmured, eyeing the vague direction of the cliff.
Robin snapped her fingers. “Right. Right. Retracted. You are very fragile and we are treating you like a priceless antique.”
Lottie made a strangled sound into the mouth of the bottle. “That’s somehow worse.”
Danny’s grin flashed, quick and crooked. “Could be worse,” he said. “Donna calls me ‘her chauffeur with benefits.’”
Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m not touching that sentence.”
He flushed, realizing how it sounded, and rubbed the back of his neck. “She means, like… I get to pick the music sometimes. And I get free gum. Not—” He broke off, grimacing at himself. “Wow. That didn’t help.”
Lottie’s shoulders finally loosened on a small, helpless laugh. “I assumed she wasn’t paying you in… whatever that sounded like.”
“Thank you,” he said, pointing the pretzel stick at her like she’d just saved his life. “Somebody here believes I’m not completely weird.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Lottie replied, a little surprised to hear the joke come out of her own mouth. “You brought a cooler to a quarry party. That’s at least mildly weird.”
He pressed a hand over his heart, delighted. “Okay, that’s fair. But it’s, like, practical weird. Strategic weird.”
“Functional weirdo,” Robin said. “My favorite subtype.”
From the fire, Donna’s voice lifted above the rest of the chatter, calling his name once, then again when he didn’t react fast enough. Danny glanced over his shoulder automatically. She was waving something pink and plastic in the air—her cassette player, dangling from its strap as she pointed dramatically at it, then at him, like she was mid-rant about its batteries.
Danny sighed through his teeth. “That’s my cue.”
“Battery emergency?” Lottie asked.
“Probably,” he said. “Or she wants me to hold it so she can dance without dropping it. Or she’s decided this is the moment she needs to tell me all her life plans in front of everyone.” He shrugged, helpless and fond. “Could be anything, honestly.”
Robin lifted her cup. “Go. Fulfill your sacred sibling duties. We’ll be here, judging everyone’s outfits in your absence.”
He took a step back, then hesitated, looking at Lottie again like he didn’t want to just… leave her standing there with the echoes of whatever had shaken her a few minutes ago. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, softer now that Donna couldn’t hear him. “If you start feeling weird again, I’m parked right here. You can sit in the truck or steal more water. I won’t tell.”
The scratch on her arm gave a quiet, ghostly pulse, but the panic that had come with it before had thinned to something she could manage, dulled under the steady hum of normal conversation and the cool weight of the bottle in her hand. She nodded.
Donna called his name again, longer this time, stretching the syllables into a dramatic wail. Danny winced. “That’s my five-minute warning before she comes over here and drags me by the jacket. I should…” He hooked a thumb toward the fire. “Go do my job.”
“Chauffeur with benefits,” Robin reminded him, sing-song.
He groaned. “Please never repeat that in public.”
“No promises,” she said.
He retreated a few steps, then turned back once more, walking backwards for a moment. “It was nice to meet you,” he said to Lottie, and it didn’t sound like a throwaway line. “If you need anything… cooler, truck, earplugs…” His mouth twitched. “I’m around.”
“Nice to meet you too,” she managed. It came out softer than she meant it to, but it felt true in her chest in a way that startled her. He nodded, satisfied, then spun around and jogged toward the bonfire, his yellow Converse flashing in and out of the shadows. Donna met him halfway, already talking, cassette player waving wildly between them. Robin watched him go, then leaned sideways, nudging Lottie’s shoulder with her own. “So,” she said quietly. “On a scale from one to ‘this is a John Hughes B-plot,’ how much are you into the designated driver?”
Lottie’s thumb rubbed absently along the condensation on the bottle, tracing half-moons into the cold plastic. Somewhere out by the cars, the wind shifted, carrying the faintest whisper of roses and wax before it thinned out again under the smell of smoke and pine and someone’s cheap beer. Her arm prickled under her sleeve, the scratch warming, then cooling as the night air brushed over her skin.
“I just met him,” she said, which wasn’t exactly an answer. Robin’s mouth pulled into a knowing little smile. “Mhm,” she said. “And?” Lottie kept her eyes on Donna’s bright jacket and Danny’s patient, lopsided smile as he took the cassette player from her and pretended to examine it. The bonfire threw their shadows long against the quarry floor, stretching them into something taller, stranger, almost storybook.
“And…” She took another sip of water, letting the cold settle her thoughts. “He has good timing.” Robin made a low, impressed sound. “Good timing,” she echoed. “That’s one word for it.” Lottie didn’t answer right away. She just rolled the cool bottle between her palms, letting the condensation slick her fingers, letting the noise of the party swell and settle again around them. Donna’s laugh rang bright over by the fire, Steve gesturing wildly with his hands as if volume alone could make him more charming. Danny stood just off to the side of them now, hands in his pockets, head ducked to listen.
“Okay,” Robin said finally, nudging her shoulder. “Here’s the deal. We give Harrington”—she checked an invisible watch on her wrist—“fifteen more minutes to humiliate himself. Then we go get milkshakes and pretend we were never here.”
“Fifteen?” Lottie repeated. “Ten if he drops the tongs again,” Robin amended. “I’m flexible.”

Chapter Text

Robin had just finished checking her invisible watch when Steve’s voice cut through the noise. “There you guys are!”
His shout rode over the music and the crackle of the bonfire, a little too loud, like he was trying to make sure the entire quarry knew he’d found them. Lottie didn’t have to turn to know he was weaving his way through the crowd—she heard the scuff of his sneakers in the dirt, the slosh of whatever was left in the red cup he was carrying, the breathy half-laugh he did when he was nervous and pretending not to be.
Robin groaned under her breath. “Spoke too soon.” Lottie turned anyway. Steve was heading toward them, cheeks pink from heat and embarrassment, hair still stupidly perfect even in the smoky air. Beside him, Donna walked with the easy bounce of someone who’d never once tripped over her own feet in public. Her mint skirt swished just above her knees, the blue-and-yellow letterman hanging open to effortlessly. The cassette player at her hip caught little flares of firelight every time she moved. Up close, she looked even more like Nancy.
Not exactly Nancy was sharper lines and darker eyes but there was something in the small, decisive tilt of Donna’s chin, the careful gloss on her smile, the way she seemed to carry color with her like a halo. Lottie felt the comparison land in her ribs like a pebble dropped into a full glass.
Steve skidded to a stop a few feet away, breathless. “Hey,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair like it might rearrange his whole life. “Uh. Good. You’re still here.”
“Tragically,” Robin said. “I was just about to call your time of death.”
“Be nice,” Lottie whispered, though her stomach doing a weird, slow flip.
Donna laughed at that, bright and easy. Up close, her lip gloss smelled like strawberries. “You must be Robin,” she said, shifting her cup to her other hand so she could wave without spilling. Her bracelet clinked softly against the plastic.
Robin blinked. “I- what?”
“I’ve heard so much about you,” Donna barreled on, eyes going wide with earnest excitement. “Steve will not shut up about how you’re the only reason the scoops hasn’t spontaneously combusted from mismanagement.” Steve made a strangled sound. “I did not say it like that,” he said quickly. “I said she’s uh—very organized. And mean. In a good way.” Robin’s mouth twitched despite herself. “Wow,” she said. “High praise.”
Donna smiled like she meant it. “I love your shirt, by the way. I had that tape and my brother sat on it and broke it and I cried for, like, three days.” Lottie watched Robin try, and fail, not to soften at that. “Then your brother is a monster,” Robin said. “But you have excellent taste.”
Steve seized the opening like it was the last life raft on the Titanic. “Right, okay, so—” He shifted his weight, almost bounced on his heels. “This is Donna. Donna Bennet.” He gestured too wide and nearly sloshed his drink, then corrected at the last second. “She, uh she goes to Lincoln. In Roane County. They’ve got this this insane cheer squad and she—” Donna nudged him in the side with her elbow, cheeks going pink. “Steve.”
“I’m just saying,” he insisted, grinning. “She did this flip thing in the parking lot earlier and I thought I was gonna have to call an ambulance. For myself.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Donna said, but she looked pleased. He turned to Lottie like suddenly remembering he was supposed to be hosting. “And this,” he said, his voice doing that little drop it did when he got oddly sincere, “is Lottie. Charlotte Clark. The one I was—”
He cut himself off, jaw snapping shut like he’d caught the words with his teeth.
“The one you were what?” Robin pounced.
“Nothing.” Steve’s eyes flicked to Lottie and away again, too quick. “Just. The one I was saying is back in town. My—uh. Friend.”
“Hi,” Donna said, stepping forward with that postcard-ready smile. “It is so nice to meet you. Steve said you grew up here and then escaped.”
“‘Escaped’ seems strong,” Lottie said, automatically tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Okay, ‘temporarily relocated,’” Donna corrected. “Still impressive. I’ve only been here, like, a week and I already feel like the diner is going to trap me in a loop.”
Lottie couldn’t help a soft huff of a laugh at that. “It does that.”
Steve relaxed a fraction at the sound, shoulders loosening. “She worked at the pool,” he told Donna, like that explained everything. “The—uh the public pool. Before. She was the only one who could get Dustin to stop cannonballing during senior swim.”
Robin snorted. “Incorrect. The only thing that stops Dustin during senior swim is the promise of free food.” Donna’s gaze flicked between the three of them, antennae up, catching all the threads. “So you guys all know each other from work?”
“Robin and I do,” Steve said. “She abandoned us for higher education,” Robin said solemnly. “And now she’s slumming it with the Hawkins masses again.”
“I just— went with my mom for a couple years, now I’m back” Lottie corrected, heat creeping up her neck. “Which is fun,” Steve jumped in. “Fun for us. Because, you know.” He floundered. “More people at the party.” Robin tilted her head at him. “Wow. Poetry.”
Donna bumped her shoulder lightly against Steve’s. “He’s been very excited you’re here,” she told Lottie, in the confidential tone of someone sharing harmless gossip. “He kept checking his watch earlier and, like, craning his neck every time a car pulled up.” Lottie felt the words land, strange and warm and complicated. “Did he,” she said, stealing a quick glance at Steve.
Steve’s ears went pink. “Okay,” he said. “Someone’s cut off from gum for the rest of the night.” Donna gasped. “You would never.” Steve clapped a hand over his heart. “Oh, I absolutely would,” he said. “There are lines, Donna. Some things are sacred.”
“Your gum supply is not sacred,” she shot back, but there was fondness tucked under the fake outrage. Robin watched them volley, her mouth doing that little sideways twist that meant she was recalibrating. “Wow,” she said softly to Lottie, just loud enough to be heard over the music. “Harrington found someone who argues with him in complete sentences. I’m both impressed and deeply concerned.”
Lottie hid a smile in the rim of her bottle. “Be nice,” she murmured again, though the weird, slow flip in her stomach hadn’t quite settled. It was one thing seeing Steve flustered from across the clearing, all flailing hands and dropped gum. It was another thing up close, with Donna’s strawberry lip gloss and Nancy-adjacent hair and the way he kept unconsciously angling his shoulder toward her like he’d forgotten there was a right way to stand.
Donna looked between them, completely sincere. “I’m really glad I got to meet you,” she said. “Both of you.” And the thing Lottie expected the sting, the comparison, the ache didn’t land the way she braced for.
Lottie blinked at her, caught off guard by how earnest Donna looked. No competition in her expression. No edge. Just bright, almost childlike sincerity. “Yeah,” Lottie said softly. “Me too.”
Donna’s smile brightened, warm and uncomplicated. She shifted her weight, the cassette player at her hip bumping lightly against her skirt. “I was nervous,” she admitted. “Coming here tonight. I don’t really know anyone except my brother and—well.” Her eyes flicked shyly toward Steve. “Him.”
Steve made a strangled noise. “Me? Why?” Donna elbowed him lightly. “Because you’re the only person who knows where anything is. I’d get lost going to the bathroom.” Robin raised a hand. “Okay, that tracks. Harrington is like a Labrador. He forms a bond and suddenly you’re in his pack forever.”
Steve threw her a betrayed look. “Do you even like me?”
“Unfortunately,” Robin said. “In a distant, begrudging way.” Donna giggled behind her cup, and Steve tried failed not to look pleased. Robin shifted her stance, leaning into her hip as she scanned Donna again, slower this time. Something about the initial resistance in her face softened at the edges. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll admit it—Steve could’ve done a lot worse.” Donna brightened instantly. “Is that… approval?”
“Don’t push it,” Robin warned, but the warning didn’t have teeth. Donna’s beam flickered into something small and real, like it actually mattered. Donna tucked a strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear, the bracelets on her wrist sliding with a soft metallic chime. “Sorry,” she said lightly, though her voice didn’t quite match the brightness she tried for. “I know I talk a lot. My brother says I’m like… uh…” Her nose scrunched adorably. “A radio stuck on one station.”
“Could be worse,” Robin said, deadpan. “You could be the station that only plays polka.” Donna laughed a little too hard at that like she’d been waiting for Robin to jab her and was relieved it wasn’t sharper. “It’s a good station,” Lottie added gently. “I like it.” Donna’s eyes flicked to her, wide and grateful. “Really?” Lottie nodded. “Really.”
Something inside Donna unclenched, just slightly. Her posture shifted from try-hard perfect to simply… present. She rocked back on her heels, breath fogging faintly in the warm air, and for the first time all night she looked less like a postcard and more like a person trying to land somewhere that might feel like home. Steve noticed the shift too. Lottie could tell by the way his smile eased not that bright, frantic thing he used when he was performing, but the softer version he saved for when he felt safe.
“Well,” he said, hands awkwardly hovering at his sides, “this is… nice.”
“Suspiciously nice,” Robin corrected. Steve shot her a look. “Can you just let something be good for five seconds?” Robin considered before shaking her head. “No.” Donna laughed again smaller this time, quieter. “I like you guys,” she said, almost shyly, like she was worried she was saying it wrong. “I mean I didn’t know what to expect, but… you’re not scary.”
Robin blinked, visibly offended. “I try to be.”
“I mean scary in the ‘don’t talk to us’ way,” Donna clarified quickly. “Not the horror movie way.”
“Oh.” Robin relaxed. “Then yes. We’re terrifying.” Donna grinned, relieved, and for a brief, quiet moment the four of them just stood there in a loose circle, the bonfire throwing soft gold across their faces. The night felt warmer here, away from the loudest parts of the party. Easier. Like they’d stepped into a gentler pocket of summer.
Lottie let her gaze drift over the clearing: the way sparks popped upward like tiny fireflies; the blur of teens sprawled across car hoods; someone yelling about how they definitely knew how to start a grill; the boombox buzzing through a song she half-remembered from middle school.
And for the first time since she’d parked her Beetle, she didn’t feel out of place. Steve rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight, the embers catching soft amber in his hair. “Uh… do you guys maybe want to sit?” He gestured toward a log a few feet away, not quite looking at Lottie but not quite not looking at her either. “It’s y’know loud out here.”
“It’s loud everywhere,” Robin said, but her tone wasn’t mean. She stretched her shoulders. “Sitting sounds good.” Donna perked up. “Yes. Please. My feet are going to riot.” Steve blinked. “You’re wearing sneakers.”
“Cute sneakers,” Donna corrected. He rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself, and led the way toward a fallen log near the outer ring of firelight close enough to feel warm, far enough that the smoke didn’t smother. The ground crunched softly under their shoes as they moved.
Robin took one end of the log, Donna plopped gracelessly onto the middle, and Steve hovered awkwardly, waiting to see where Lottie would sit before choosing his spot. Lottie’s chest tightened at the tiny gesture old familiarity wrapped in something newer and more careful. She slid onto the far end of the log, tugging her cardigan closer around her ribs. The wood was warm beneath her, pulsing faint heat through her tights.
Steve settled beside Donna, leaving just enough space between himself and Lottie that it felt polite, but not cold. Robin rested her elbows on her knees, glancing around the clearing like she was cataloguing every disaster waiting to happen. Donna took a long sip of her drink, sighing like she’d finished a marathon. “Okay,” she announced. “This is officially my favorite part of the night.”
Robin scoffed. “The sitting?”
“Yes,” Donna said confidently. “The sitting. And the… talking. And the not getting hit by a frisbee.” She shuddered. “Someone nearly decapitated me earlier.”
“That was Tommy,” Steve said immediately. “He has terrible aim.”
“You think?” Robin muttered. Lottie smiled into the rim of her bottle. The sound of them Robin’s dry bite, Donna’s airy warmth, Steve’s awkward eagerness it braided together into something that felt almost nostalgic, even though Donna was brand new and everything else was quietly rearranging itself.
Steve let out a slow breath, rubbing his hands together once. “I’m really glad you guys are here,” he said, quieter than before. No theatrics. No volume. Robin nudged him with her shoulder. “Don’t get sappy.”
“I’m not,” he said. He absolutely was. Donna leaned into him playfully. “I like sappy.”
“We know,” Robin said. Lottie traced a thumb along her bottle’s condensation, the coolness grounding her. Her chest was still doing that strange, fluttering tightness but not out of jealousy. Not out of discomfort. Something else. Something she didn’t want to name yet. She glanced at Steve. And for once, he didn’t immediately look away.
His expression was soft, open in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time maybe since that summer at the pool when she’d been the only one patient enough to listen to him rant about Dustin’s goggles or Mrs. Krell’s terrible sunscreen. The fire crackled, stealing her attention before anything could settle too deeply. Robin yawned exaggeratedly, stretching her arms above her head. “Okay, I’ve decided,” she declared. “Fifteen more minutes. Twenty if Lottie doesn’t pass out. Then we leave this hellscape and buy milkshakes.”
Donna perked up. “Milkshakes?”
“From Benny’s,” Robin said. “The only good thing in this godforsaken town.”
Lottie exhaled a laugh. “Deal.”
Steve’s face brightened. “I’ll drive.”
“No,” Robin said instantly.
Donna giggled. “He’s a good driver.”
“He’s an okay driver,” Robin said. “And he listens to terrible music.”
“I do not—” Steve started. Lottie looked past them toward the treeline, where the lanterns strung between the branches swayed softly in the breeze. Something eased deep in her chest—the strange tension, the tight held breath. It felt… manageable now. Smaller..
For the first time tonight, her dad’s warning didn’t echo like a threat—just a gentle memory. “Stay away from the edge of that cliff.” Robin nudged her knee with her own, subtle. “Hey,” she said quietly. “You holding up?”
Lottie nodded. “Yeah.”
“You sure?” Lottie looked at her, then at Steve, then at Donna, all three of them framed by firelight and dust and summer heat. Her cardigan sleeves brushed her palms as she tightened her grip around the bottle. “Yeah,” she said again, steadier this time. “I’m good.” Robin let out a long breath like she’d been waiting for that. “Alright. Then let’s get out of here soon.”

Chapter Text

She closed the door with her shoulder, kicking off her shoes, and wincing when one ricocheted off the wall. Her legs were jelly-warm from the drinks. The bonfire smoke clung to her hair, her cardigan, and inside lining of her throat. She dropped her keys onto the counter missing only for them to clatter to the floor she whipped her head around checking to make sure she could still hear the soft snores of her dad before glancing back down to the keys. Whatever she’d get them in the morning. Her legs felt wobbly, warm, like gravity had loosened its grip on her just a little. She didn’t even bother turning on the overheads. The house was dim, not dark, washed in the soft amber glow from the small lamp from outside. She tugged her cardigan off, draped it blindly over a chair, and stood in the quiet for a second, letting the silence settle around her like a blanket.
She could feel her pulse in her fingertips and the weight of the room around her. Her eyes drooped before snapping open, only to drop again. She blinked and the ceiling blurred not vanishing. The edges softened as as took one slow breath.
Two.
The third came out heavier than it should have. The pillow beneath her head softened melted and then- She fell. Not like a nightmare drop, more like someone gently tipped her backwards into warm water. Her body sank into the bed as her ears filled with a low hum.
And the world clicked.
She was standing.
Barefoot. In the atrium. There was no confusion this time about how she’d gotten here. The shift was too smooth, too total. One second she was in her bed, skin warm under the blankets. The next she was upright, toes pressing into cool marble tiles. Moonlight streamed in from the high windows—too silver, too bright to be real. The plants towered higher than they should’ve, their leaves stretching like they were breathing. The walls hummed faintly, as though aware of her presence.
Lottie exhaled shakily. The sound echoed back, delayed by a heartbeat the air behind her tightened. A ripple, before it bent, like the atmosphere took a breath. Her skin prickled. She turned her head— she watched the shadows behind her fold inward, like a curtain being drawn across the world.
First a silhouette then shoulders, then the crisp white of a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. Then the deep brown vest, fitted perfectly to his frame. And finally his face. Sharp and pale. Eyes too bright in the dim but absent of warmth. His hair fell softly, catching the strange moonlight. He stepped fully out of the air as if it were simply another room he had been standing in.
He didn’t speak at first, his eyes tracked over the height of her once as he folded his arms behind his back. Her heart thudded. “You…” He tilted his head slightly—one smooth, elegant motion. He looked older than any boy she had ever met, younger than any man should be, and entirely out of place in the way dream-people always were. “Are very hard to reach.” He said finally.
“These halls have been very quiet. I was hoping you’d find your way back sooner.” Lottie’s heart jolted so hard it nearly hurt. He wasn’t surprised to see her, he wasn’t confused. He wasn’t anything except… expectant.
“You’ve been waiting?” she breathed. He dipped his chin once, elegant and deliberate. “Of course.” The way he said it wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t pleading, wasn’t even emotional. It was simply true.
The atrium seemed to lean toward him as he moved shadows stretching, moonlight brightening in thin silver veins along the floor. Even the stained-glass roses caught the glow, red petals blooming brighter in the dream-light. Lottie took a step back, toes curling against the cold marble. “I didn’t know I could come back.”
“Your last visit ended abruptly.” She swallowed like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar . “I woke up.”
“So you did.” His eyes traced her face, the way her breath trembled. “It was… inconvenient.” She stared at him. “Inconvenient?” He tilted his head slightly, the clean line of his jaw cutting through the moonlight. “You left before I could understand you properly.”
His voice held no accusation, only observation.
As though he’d been watching the way she moved through the world, collecting her habits like artifacts.
Lottie’s breath hitched. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of how bare she felt in this place even though she was still in her sleep shirt, even though nothing physically had changed. The air in the atrium shifted again, the temperature dropping just enough for goosebumps to rise on her forearms. He took one slow step toward her. “Do not misunderstand me,” he said softly. “Your leaving is inconvenient. Not unwelcome.”
“Unwelcome?” she echoed, breath unsteady. “What would that even mean?” His eyes flickered not with confusion, but with amusement so faint she doubted herself. “Do you truly want an answer to that?”
Her throat tightened.
No.
Yes.
She didn’t know.
The stained-glass roses pulsed with faint light behind him, a heartbeat of red and gold glowing through the glass. And the shadows around the baseboards seemed to crawl inward, gathering closer, as if listening. Lottie found her voice, thin and shaking. “You said you wanted to- to understand me.”
He nodded once, the motion precise. “Correct.”
“Why?”
He regarded her for a long moment too long—like he was reading the shape of her soul through her face. “Because,” he said at last, “you do not belong here.” Her breath caught.
“In this house?”
“In this dream,” he clarified. “In this threshold between your world and mine.” His gaze lowered, tracing the tremor in her hands, the flush at her throat. “You drift where you should not. Reach where you should not. I find that… interesting.” The word “interesting” landed in her chest like a cold stone.She took a shaky step back. “So I’m… trespassing?” For the first time since he appeared, something like emotion crossed his face a soft tightening around his eyes, a tiny crease in his brow. “No,” he said quietly. “You are visiting.”
“Visiting,” she repeated, the word fragile on her tongue. “Yes.” His voice was soft, almost indulgent. “A guest who does not yet understand whose threshold she stands upon.” Her heartbeat stumbled. He stepped toward her slow, deliberate, careful in a way that felt less like caution and more like calculation. The marble didn’t dare echo under his steps. The shadows peeled back as he moved, as though making room for him to pass. Lottie swallowed, her throat tight. “I didn’t mean to visit.”
“You did.” He said it with a certainty that brooked no argument. “As surely as you meant to breathe.” Her lips parted, but nothing came out. He studied the flicker of confusion on her face, the instinct to deny, and the way she always folded into herself when she felt exposed.
“You think intention must be conscious,” he murmured. “But so much of you is made of things you refuse to look at.” The words curled around her spine like cold fingers. Lottie’s arms dropped a little from where she’d been hugging herself. “You- you’re talking like you know me.” The corners of his mouth softened not a smile, but the shadow of something like it.
“I’m learning you,” he said again, quieter this time. “Even if you do everything in your nature to make it difficult.” Her heart thumped painfully. “And what is my nature?” she whispered.
For a moment, he only watched her, not blankly or coldly. But, as if weighing something behind his eyes the cost of answering, the consequence of not answering. His gaze dipped once to her trembling hands, then rose again to her face. It looked almost like he was about to speak.
Then he didn’t.
A faint crease formed between his brows thoughtful, deliberate. “That,” he said slowly, “depends.”
“Depends on what?” Her voice cracked, too raw, too hopeful. “On who asks.”The response knocked the breath from her chest. “That’s not- that’s not a answer.” Lottie’s breath wavered. “I wasn’t asking… someone else. I asked you.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “And yet you want an answer that does not belong to you alone.”
Her stomach dropped. “I don’t understand.”
“I know.” He said it without pity. The air shifted around them cool, then warm, then cool again like the room inhaled and exhaled in perfect time with him. “You ask for your nature,” he murmured, “as if it is a fixed point. A stone. An object I could simply hand to you.” His eyes drifted over her face again, lingering at the corner of her mouth, the flush on her throat studying her in ways that felt both tender and terribly precise. “But you are not a stone, Lottie.”
“Then what am I?” she whispered. He blinked once, slow, thoughtful and instead of answering, he stepped closer so close the faint warmth of him touched her bare forearms. “What you are,” he said softly, “changes each time you return.” Her breath caught. “That’s not that’s still not an answer.”
“No,” he agreed, almost indulgent, “because you keep asking the wrong question.” She stared at him, shaking. “Then what’s the right question?” He paused tilting his head to the side.His eyes softened softened, but in a way that felt dangerous, like a window opening onto a drop she couldn’t see the bottom of. “I cannot tell you that.”
“So you’re refusing to tell me.”
“I am,” he said simply.
“But not forever. You are waking,” he murmured, his voice suddenly close, warm, steady. “It is too soon.”
“Wait—” she reached for him, instinctive, unthinking. His fingers brushed hers — a whisper of contact and then the dream snapped. She fell backward into her bed, into darkness, into the stifling silence of her room.

Chapter Text

The headache hit first. A dull, thick pressure behind her eyes that felt like it had settled there overnight and gotten comfortable. Lottie blinked hard at her ceiling, trying to remember how many drinks she’d actually had and whether the dream had come before or after the dizziness. Morning light stretched in from the window in soft rectangles. The house was quiet, except for the distant hum of her father’s old oscillating fan in the hallway.
She pushed herself upright slowly. Her limbs felt heavy, like the warmth from the dream clung to her skin even now. When she flexed her hand, a small, strange ache pulsed along her wrist nothing visible, nothing real. Just pressure. Or maybe she was imagining it. Probably that.
She showered, dressed in an oversized T-shirt and jeans, and scrunched her damp hair into a claw clip. Her reflection looked pale and unfocused, like she’d slept with her eyes open. She grabbed her wallet and keys, the headache still thumping steadily, and headed out. She drove to the café on Main the only place open early that wasn’t the diner. She parked beside a familiar row of beaten-up trucks and station wagons. The moment she stepped out of the Beetle, she felt it again: the faint prickling at the back of her neck, like someone had been standing just a little too close behind her a second ago.
She turned. The parking lot was empty except for a stray grocery cart tipped into the grass. “Get a grip,” she muttered under her breath. When she opened the café door, the bell chimed overhead a soft two-note sound that made her heartbeat skip in a way she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t anything like the dream. It was just a bell. But her stomach pulled tight anyway.
Inside, the café smelled like roasted espresso and warm pastries. A few people sat scattered at tables Mrs. Kline reading yesterday’s paper, a pair of high school kids sharing homework. The normalcy grounded her for half a second.
The café door chimed as Lottie stepped inside, a soft two-note ring that settled uneasily at the base of her spine. She told herself not to read into it. It was just a bell. Just Hawkins. Just morning.
She kept her head down as she got in line, rubbing slow circles into her temple with her thumb. The smell of espresso and cinnamon rolls hit her in a wave warm, comforting, almost enough to convince her she hadn’t dreamed anything strange at all. Her turn came quick “One medium iced latte,” she murmured, her voice thinner than she meant. The barista nodded without looking up, tapping the register, the mechanical click-click nestling sharply under her skin. Lottie exhaled and moved aside to wait. A moment later her drink slid onto the counter, cold condensation pooling around it. She wrapped both hands around the cup, grounding herself in the shock of the cold.
She turned to find a seat and the door rang again, sharper this time. Nancy fumbling in balancing a million different things. Her hair was slightly at the ends, her blazer wrinkled in a very un-Nancy way, and she carried a manila envelope stuffed with papers that looked like it had been living under someone’s passenger seat. She didn’t even glance around just made a beeline for the counter with a tight press of her lips.
“Hi, welcome—” the barista began. “Sorry,” Nancy cut in, polite but visibly strained, “I need a twelve-coffee carrier. All hot. All different. I have a list.” The barista blinked at the aggressively folded paper Nancy passed across the counter.
Lottie sank into a booth near the window, sipping her drink, watching Nancy with something between amusement and sympathy. Nancy pulled her blazer straighter, exhaled through her nose once, and immediately winced like she remembered she was in public. God, she looked exhausted. Her foot tapped the floor impatiently. The barista read back the list slowly—too slowly and Nancy closed her eyes for a brief second, looking like she was praying for patience.
Lottie didn’t mean to stare but Nancy caught her anyway. Her eyes widened in recognition. “Lottie?” Lottie lifted her cup in a small wave. “Hey.” Nancy blinked like she wasn’t sure she was seeing her right. Then her features softened still tight from work, but warmer now and she made her way over, juggling the envelope under one arm.
“I didn’t know you were back already,” Nancy said, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice was polite, but the edges were frayed like she’d used up most of her patience on the drive over. Lottie shrugged, lifting her iced latte. “Got in a few days ago.”
“Right,” Nancy said, nodding. She gestured vaguely with her envelope, looking annoyed all over again. “I’m running errands for the office. Again.” Lottie gave her a sympathetic look. “Twelve coffees? That’s brutal.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Nancy sighed, her jaw clenching. “We have an intern. An actual intern. And yet somehow I’m the one who gets sent.” Lottie huffed a laugh. “Sounds like a fun morning.”
“It’s barely nine and I’ve already had one guy spill his coffee on his press badge,” Nancy said, shaking her head. “And he asked me if I could ‘run it under a dryer.’ I don’t—” She cut herself off, pressing her lips together. Her eyes drifted over Lottie’s face again. “Sorry. I’m ranting.”
“No, you’re fine,” Lottie said. “I kind of needed to hear someone else having a worse morning.” Nancy’s brows lifted interested, but not nosy. “Late night?” Lottie hesitated, thumb rubbing a small, frantic circle into her cup’s condensation. “Yeah. I just… didn’t sleep well.” Nancy’s gaze sharpened in that way she had the reporter instinct, the quiet perceptiveness that made her seem older than she was. Not judgmental. Just… observant. “You look pale,” Nancy said honestly. “And tired.”
Lottie snorted before she could stop herself. “Gee thanks.” Nancy’s mouth opened, then closed, her expression softening into something almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean it like well, I did, but only because I’m concerned, not judging.”
“It’s fine,” Lottie said, tugging the sleeve of her T-shirt down her wrist. “I know I look like death warmed over.”
“You look like someone who hasn’t slept,” Nancy corrected. “Trust me, I’ve seen that face in the mirror plenty of times.” Lottie tried to smile at that, but the headache thudded again behind her eyes, dull and insistent. She lifted her cup for another sip, letting the cold seep into her palms.
Nancy was still watching her, that reporter’s gaze softened into something almost… sisterly. Not pity just recognition. Sympathy from someone who’d had too many sleepless nights of her own.
“You sure you’re okay?” Nancy asked again, gentler this time. “Like… actually okay?”
Lottie opened her mouth to answer, but a sudden throb behind her eyes made her flinch. “Yeah,” she said, even though it sounded unconvincing. “I will be.”
Nancy didn’t push, but her eyes narrowed just slightly, as if cataloging the tiny tremor in Lottie’s hand, the way she kept rubbing her wrist, the pale tiredness sinking beneath her skin. Lottie had forgotten Nancy Wheeler notices everything. The barista slammed a lid onto a cup, making Nancy and Lottie both jump. Nancy sighed, shoulders slumping.
“That’s me,” she muttered. “My glamorous life as the office coffee mule.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Lottie said. “What, coffee duty?” Nancy huffed a humorless laugh. “Trust me, it’s better than some of the assignments I’ve been getting lately. At least this way I get out of the building.” She pressed her lips together, gaze shifting downward. “It’s… been weird there lately.”
“Weird how?” Lottie asked before she could stop herself. Nancy hesitated like she hadn’t intended to say that out loud. “Nothing,” she backtracked quickly. “Just work stress. Long hours. Stuff people don’t really talk about.” Lottie nodded, though a faint chill crept up her spine. She told herself it was nothing the café was just cold, she hadn’t slept, her imagination was still tangled up in dreams. The bell chimed behind them someone else coming in and she startled again, her shoulders jolting. Nancy’s eyes flicked to her, concern deepening. “Lottie… are you sure you’re alright?” she asked, quieter than before, almost careful.
“Yeah,” Lottie insisted too fast. “Just… tired. Really tired.” And she was bone-deep. Like her body wasn’t fully awake, like part of her hadn’t returned with the rest of her when she opened her eyes this morning. Nancy didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. She straightened her blazer, squared her shoulders like she was bracing herself, and nodded toward the counter where her overflowing tray waited. “Well,” she said with a tired smile, “if you crash later, make sure it’s on something soft.”
Lottie snorted. “I’ll do my best.” Nancy lingered for a moment just long enough to look like she wanted to say something more. Something she didn’t quite know how to phrase. Then she only said, “It was good to see you.”
“You too,” Lottie said softly. And she meant it.Nancy stepped away, gathering the tray with both hands. She turned just before she reached the door.
“And Lottie?”
“Yeah?”
“If anything feels off…” Nancy paused, searching for the right words. “Call me. Okay?”
Lottie blinked, caught off guard. “Why would anything feel off?” Nancy’s mouth curved into a small, tired smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Just a hunch.” Then she pushed open the door.
The bell chimed bright, sharp, harmless. But the sound sliced right down Lottie’s spine anyway, making her pulse trip over itself. Nancy didn’t notice. She balanced the tray, walked to her car, and disappeared into the sunlight. Lottie exhaled, shaky, clutching her cold latte like it was the only thing tethering her to the ground. She watched the door swing shut, watched the light flicker across the glass, watched her own faint reflection staring back.

Chapter Text

She sat in her parked car outside the café for a few minutes after Nancy left, iced latte sweating in her hand, headache pulsing behind her eyes like something trying to get out. The quiet unnerved her. The stillness even more. She didn’t want to be alone. Not yet. So she drove. Starcourt loomed up in the bright morning sun, its colorful signs faded, its parking lot mostly empty except for a few early-shift employees. She parked close to the main entrance—habit—and headed inside, letting the mall’s cold air wash over her.
Morning at Starcourt felt wrong. Not bad or dangerous. Just… hollow. Like someone had turned the volume down on everything. Her footsteps echoed softly as she walked past dark storefronts and metal gates. Scoops Ahoy was one of the only places with the lights already on. She pushed the door open, Th bell signaling her entry.
“Lottie?”
Steve was behind the counter pulling lids off the ice cream tubs, He looked… soft. Rumpled and half-awake, hair slightly deflated under the stupid sailor hat he’d shoved on crooked. He had one hand braced against the counter, a slow smile spread across his face. “Hey,” he said, voice too loud at first, then quieter. “Didn’t expect to see you this early.”
“I was… in the neighborhood,” Lottie said, which wasn’t technically a lie. “Uh-huh,” he said, leaning his weight on the counter. “In the neighborhood.” Lottie’s cheeks heated. “I was.” Steve held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, no judgment. Just this is a very specific neighborhood.” He gestured around them at the empty mall. “Unless you had, I don’t know, urgent business at RadioShack.” Lottie snorted despite herself. “I didn’t.”
“Right,” he said, laughter in his breath. “So you came here. To see Robin.” His tone was casual, but the way he flicked the scoop from one hand to the other gave him away. His tone was casual, but the way he flicked the scoop from one hand to the other gave him away nerves, or maybe just the habit of someone who hates silence more than he’ll ever admit. Lottie opened her mouth to deflect, but he beat her to it. “She’s not here,” he said, slipping the scoop back into the tub. “Band camp. First week of it. She’s gone every morning and every afternoon. Pretty much the whole week, actually.”
“Oh,” Lottie said, trying not to let the disappointment feel obvious. There was a beat of quiet, not uncomfortable, but suspended, like the air inside Scoops wasn’t sure who was supposed to speak next.
“So it’s just you?” she asked finally. A slow grin spread across his face, lopsided and boyish. “Yep. Captain of the ship. King of the cones. Master of… none of it, actually.” His eyes flicked over her expression the tiredness, the faint pinch in her brow. “You can hang out if you want,” he added, more softly. “I mean—since you’re already in the neighborhood.” Lottie felt something loosen in her chest at the offer. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”
Steve’s face brightened not dramatically, just enough to soften the worry line between his brows. He nodded toward the counter stool. “Cool. Take a seat. The… uh… ship is your ship. Or whatever.” She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how ships work.”
He leaned against the counter, studying her face for a moment he definitely thought was subtle. “So…” he said, trying for casual, “how’re you feeling? After last night?” Lottie blinked. “Last night?”
“The party,” he clarified, “Uh,” Lottie said. “Fine. I think.” Steve gave her a look that translated roughly to I know when you’re lying, thanks. He drummed his fingers lightly on the counter, thinking for half a second before admitting, “Because I woke up with a migraine. Like—full-on skull-cracking level. I thought I was dying. Or dehydrated. Or cursed.”
Lottie let out a weak snort. “Maybe you just can’t handle two beers.”
“Okay, rude,” he said, pointing at her with the ice cream scoop. “I can handle like—three. Minimum.” She shook her head, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Steve noticed, of course he did. He always had this annoying, infuriating knack of noticing her too much and too easily. “Seriously though,” he said, softer. “You don’t look so hot.”
Lottie groaned. “Why is everyone telling me that today?”
“Because,” he said, shrugging, “it’s true? And also because I care? And because I’m used to people telling me I look like a disaster, so this is a nice reversal.” She rolled her eyes, but something in her chest fluttered annoyance, affection, or the adrenaline spike that kept sneaking up on her all morning. She couldn’t tell “I’m fine,” she said, brushing a loose strand of hair back. “Really.”
He didn’t argue. Not out loud. But his eyebrows definitely did. He leaned a little closer over the counter, voice dropping like he was worried about startling her. “You sure? You kept doing that thing with your shoulders. The little flinch.” He demonstrated a very inaccurate version of it a weird twisty shrug that looked like he was trying to remove his own spine. Lottie let out a soft groan and buried her face in her hands for half a second. “Please don’t reenact it.” He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Just… you look jumpy.”
“It’s nothing,” she insisted. She straightened, lifting her chin just enough to look convincing. “I’m just getting used to being back, that’s all.”
“Back… how?” he asked gently. Lottie exhaled, shoulders sagging. “Hawkins is quieter than I remember. At night, I mean. When I lived with my mom, there were cars and sirens and neighbors yelling at each other through the walls.” Steve’s expression softened into something warm and earnest, the loud edges of him smoothing out. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get that. First time I spent the night alone in my place after my parents left for, like, a month? I thought the house was haunted.”
“Was it?” she asked. He shrugged one shoulder. “Probably. Everything in Hawkins is haunted a little.” She snorted, and some of the tension loosened in her shoulders. “See?” he said, nudging the counter with his hip. “That’s better.” She shook her head, but she didn’t deny it.
He turned back toward the freezer. “Okay, stay right there. I’m making you uh—something. Something good. Something… ice cream.”
“That narrows it down,” she muttered. He shot her a toothy grin over his shoulder. “It’s early. My brain hasn’t clocked in yet.”
He started rummaging in the freezer with exaggerated flair, knocking a metal scoop against the edges of tubs like he was playing a xylophone. Lottie huffed a small laugh and settled into the stool, resting her elbows on the counter. The headache pulsed behind her eyes again—dull, thick, like a bruise forming under her skull.
Steve popped back up with a cup and shook a bottle of sprinkles triumphantly. “Okay. This is my masterpiece. My magnum opus. The reason people flock to Scoops Ahoy from far and wide.”
“People do not flock here,” she said dryly. “They could,” he argued, scooping something pale into the cup. “If they had taste.” She rolled her eyes, but the familiar banter steadied her, grounding her back into the fluorescent-lamplit normal of Scoops Ahoy. Then the overhead lights flickered again just once, but more sharply this time. Steve didn’t even pause but a chill scraped down the back of Lottie’s neck. But she forced herself to swallow it down, to breathe slow, to keep her eyes on Steve and not the dark corners of the mall outside the shop.
He slid the cup toward her with both hands. “Here. Don’t ask what’s in it. Just trust the process.” She took the spoon, hesitated a second longer than she meant to, then tasted it. Steve watched her with the eager expectation of a dog waiting for validation.
“…It’s good,” she admitted. He smacked the counter triumphantly. “See? That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
“The minimum wage bucks,” she corrected. She shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. Her shoulders finally lowered, sinking into something like comfort until that prickling returned. Like static crawling over her skin. Like eyes on her back.She tensed her shoulders reaching her ears.
Steve caught it immediately. “Lottie?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Sorry.” He opened his mouth, probably to ask more, but closed it again. Instead, he propped his chin in his hand and gave her that gentle, squinty-eyed look he only used when he was worried and trying not to scare her off. “You know you can tell me stuff, right?” he said, voice softer.
Lottie stabbed another spoonful just to keep her hands busy. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Okay,” he said, in that very not-okay voice. Steve hesitated for a second, drumming his fingers lightly on the counter. His eyes flicked over her face again not prying, just worried in that annoying, honest way he had. Then he straightened suddenly. Almost like a thought had hit him mid-sentence. “Oh. Uh- hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… remember when I said I’d give you that Hawkins tour? You know, drive around, see what changed, what didn’t, show you where not to step because tetanus is real and alive in this town?”
Lottie blinked at him. “Yeah,” she said quietly.
Steve nodded once, too fast. “Right. Well, I get off at noon today.” He paused, trying and failing to look casual. “If you… still want the tour. I mean, if you’re not busy. Or tired. Or sick. Or—”
“Steve,” she cut in, one eyebrow raised. He stopped talking immediately. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, eyes dropping to the cup he’d made her. “I’d like that. The tour.” Steve blinked in pure relief, the kind he didn’t even bother hiding. “Yeah? Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she said.
His grin spread slow and boyish across his face. It softened him the sailor hat, the dumb vest, the faint migraine behind his eyes all of it falling into place like it was meant to be there.
“Cool,” he said, nodding again, gentler this time. “Cool. Great. Noon works.I’ll… clock out and grab my keys and we’ll go.” Lottie felt something in her chest unwind at his enthusiasm. “That sounds nice,” she said honestly. He rocked back on his heels, suddenly buzzing with too much energy to stand still. “Awesome. You can hang out until then. Or tour the mall, but honestly it’s depressing before lunch.”
She rolled her eyes, but it came with a small smile. The tight coil in her chest started to loosen again. “I think I’ll stay here,” she said. “I don’t really feel like wandering around.” He nodded like he’d been hoping she’d say that. “Good. Because if a customer comes in, I’m gonna need moral support. You can be my first mate.”
“I thought you were the captain.”
“I am. Obviously.” He planted a hand on his hip. “But every good captain needs someone to… I don’t know. Hold the map.”
“Steve, you don’t have a map.”
“Metaphorically, Lottie.”

Chapter Text

Steve clocked out with all the dramatic flair of someone escaping a collapsing building, then disappeared into the tiny back room of Scoops with a muttered, “Two seconds, don’t move.”
Lottie stayed perched on the counter stool, spoon lingering between her fingers, listening to the faint thud of him bumping into absolutely everything back there.
A moment later the door swung open and Steve reappeared hair free from the sailor hat, cheeks a little pink from rushing, and wearing a short-sleeved navy shirt with thin white stripes across the chest. It was soft-looking, vintage, slightly worn-in, the kind of shirt that made him look younger…in a boyish next-door way.
“That shirt’s vintage,” she said, because it was the first thing that came to her mind. “Vintage?” He scoffed. “It’s from, like, sophomore year. I found it in the bottom of my drawer. Smelled fine, so that’s a win.” He grabbed his keys off the hook by the sink, then pointed them at her.
“C’mon. Let’s get out of here before someone walks in and makes me scoop something.” They stepped out of Scoops, the mall still half-asleep around them. When they reached the parking lot, Steve automatically went to the passenger door first and unlocked it, swinging it open for her like it was muscle memory
“Hop in,” he said. “The AC works when it feels like it, so if we die of heat, that’s on the car, not me.” Lottie climbed in, settling into the sun-warm seat. Through the window she watched Steve jog around the front of the car, the navy shirt catching the light, sleeves slightly rolled without him realizing he’d done it. He slid into the driver’s seat, buckled up, and smacked the dashboard twice. The engine coughed to life like it needed encouragement to keep going. Steve patted the steering wheel like a horse he was trying to soothe.
“Good girl,” he muttered. “Don’t embarrass me.”
Lottie hid a smile behind her hand.
He pulled out of the Starcourt lot, one elbow hooked over the window, the other hand tapping on the wheel like he couldn’t decide on a rhythm. The morning sun was bright but soft, glinting off the hood of the car and turning the dust motes inside the cabin gold.
“So,” Steve announced, straightening a little, “welcome to the official Harrington Tour of Hawkins. First stop-”
“The gas station?” Lottie asked as he immediately turned right toward it. He huffed. “Okay, yes, because we need gas if we don’t want this car to explode on us. But THEN—first stop.” She shook her head, but the corners of her mouth twitched. As he pulled into the small station, Steve glanced sideways at her, trying to read her without being obvious about it.
So, uh…” he said, tapping the brakes too gently, “when we get lunch… what’re you in the mood for?” Lottie blinked. “Lunch?”
“Yeah,” he said quickly, like he hadn’t already mapped out seven options in his head. “You know. Food. Eating. Sustenance. Human stuff.” He winced immediately. “Wow. That… that came out weird.” She bit back a smile. “What are the options?” He drummed his fingers anxiously on the wheel, eyes narrowing at her like he was trying to decode her entire personality from her outfit alone. “Well,” he said, pretending to think even though he clearly already had a list prepared, “I figured maybe something… good?Or, like—not diner food. Unless you like diner food. Do you like diner food? You probably don’t. You look like someone with taste.”
“If you say burgers, it means you’re chill. If you say salad, it means you’re hiding something. If you say sushi, it means you want me to suffer because the closest place is forty-five minutes away.”
She laughed under her breath. “You put a lot of pressure on lunch.”
“I’m just trying to take you somewhere good.” The sentence slipped out before he could catch it unguarded, honest. His ears went faintly pink. Lottie looked out the window, trying to hide the way her chest tightened at the softness of it. “I’m not picky,” she said lightly. “So pick whatever you like.”
“Whatever I like?” He blinked, offended. “I can’t just pick for you. That’s like… a big responsibility.”
“It’s lunch, Steve.”
“Yeah, but it’s, like our lunch.” He groaned into the steering wheel. “Oh my god. Why am I talking. Okay, fine. Burgers?” he asked. “Because I’m thinking burgers. And fries. And maybe a milkshake if you wanna continue the theme of me giving you too much dairy today.”
“That sounds good,” she said. His shoulders dropped in visible relief, like she’d just passed a test he definitely made up. “Great,” he said, nearly beaming. “Perfect. Burgers it is. You are officially a chill person. Congratulations.” Lottie shook her head, smiling despite herself. Steve stepped out of the car to pump gas, muttering something to himself as he went mostly about how he needed to “get it together,” but the grin on his face made it clear he wasn’t upset.
Lottie watched him through the windshield, leaning against the sun-hot metal of the car as he fumbled with the old gas pump like it personally offended him. Every few seconds he glanced back at her quick, barely-there flicks of his eyes, like he didn’t mean to check but couldn’t help it. When he caught her looking once, he pretended the nozzle was suddenly very interesting. She bit back a smile. He finished pumping, shook the handle twice with unnecessary flair, and jogged back around to the driver’s side. The moment he slid in, the car filled with the faint smell of his cologne something warm, clean, familiar in a way she hadn’t expected.
Steve clicked his seatbelt and cleared his throat in that over-casual way that meant he was flustered. “Okay,” he said, tapping the steering wheel. “Fuel? Acquired. Burgers- pending.”
Steve nodded to himself like he was checking items off a secret list, then pulled out of the gas station with one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually near the radio, fingers tapping to a beat only he knew. Lottie sunk slightly into her seat, the warm air drifting through the half-open window as Hawkins rolled past in sun-faded colors. Old storefronts. Familiar telephone poles. The same crooked stop sign that had been there since middle school.
“So…” Steve said, glancing her way with exaggerated nonchalance, “next phase of the tour is the ‘scenic route,’ which is code for ‘the roads I know how to get to the burger place from.’” Lottie let out a soft laugh. “You could’ve just said you don’t know where you’re going.”
“I do know,” he insisted, lifting his chin proudly. “I just don’t know all the ways.” They drove in a comfortable stretch of quiet. Comfortable for him. For her, it was… something warmer. Softer. Something she wasn’t ready to name. Steve glanced over at her again, quicker this time, like he wasn’t giving himself enough time to think about it.
“You know,” he said, adjusting his grip on the wheel, “I’m really glad you came by today.” Lottie looked at him. “Because you wanted someone to hold the metaphorical map?”
“No,” he said immediately then winced, like he hadn’t meant to sound so sure. “I mean—yes. But also… you’re close with Robin, and Robin thinks you’re cool. And she’s rarely wrong about people. So I guess I just wanted you to… y’know…” His hand fluttered vaguely, like he was shooing away invisible bees. There was something underneath it, though. Something he didn’t name. She felt it like a second heartbeat in the car.
Lottie turned toward the window, trying not to let the corners of her mouth lift too much. “You didn’t have to do all this,” she said softly. “Well, I wanted to,” he answered too fast, then immediately realized what he’d said. He cleared his throat, straightened in his seat, and flicked on the blinker even though there wasn’t a single other car on the road.
“Oh look, uh, that’s Henderson’s street.” Lottie looked as they rolled past a row of modest houses with chain-link fences and overgrown hydrangeas. “He still lives there with his mom,” Steve went on. “You can tell which one’s his because he convinced her to put up these… wind chimes that sound like a robot dying.He says it’s ‘ambient.’ I say it’s a cry for help.”
They rolled farther down the quiet neighborhood road. Sunlight cut through the trees in broken strips, dappling across the hood. Steve tapped the wheel, glancing at her like he was trying not to stare. “So this,” he said, nodding up ahead, “is the edge of the woods. Big scary Hawkins forest. You know, Where Fun Goes to Die.” Lottie raised an eyebrow. “Since when?” “Since always,” he replied. “People keep hiking in like it’s a national park. But, uh word of advice?” He tossed her a quick, careful look. “Don’t go back there alone. Seriously.”
She blinked. “Why?” Steve shrugged one shoulder, but he wasn’t joking. “Well… they’ve had some weird animal stuff lately. Like… wolf attacks, supposedly.”
Her brow furrowed. “Wolves? Hawkins has wolves?”
“Hey,” he said, “I’m not trying to freak you out. Just Hawkins being Hawkins. But if you ever do need to go out there, you call me.”
Lottie snorted softly. “Why? So you can yell at the wolves?”
“No,” he said, affronted, sitting up straighter in his seat. “So I can bring my bat.” She gave him a look. “Steve.”
“What? I’ve got a mean swing.” He tapped the steering wheel twice, as if punctuating the claim. “Ask anyone. Henderson. Sinclair. Actual monsters. I’ve got range.” Her lips twitched. “You’re bragging.”
“I’m warning you,” he corrected, pointing at her like she was missing something obvious. “If something tried to chase you in those woods? I’d go full MLB. Like home run. Outta the park. Wolf never walks again.”
“Steve,” she said again, shaking her head. “They’re probably just stray dogs.”
“Anyway,” he said, flicking on the radio even though it barely worked, “there’s your PSA. Hawkins Forest: do not enter. Bring a friend. Or a very handsome guy with a bat.”
“A very humble guy with a bat,” she corrected. “I can be both,” he insisted. “You can’t.”
“I can absolutely—” He cut himself off as they turned into a gravel lot. A faded sign out front read Mick’s Burgers - Since ’62, half the bulbs dead, the remaining ones buzzing like lazy fireflies. Steve parked with a triumphant flourish, then looked at her with that crooked grin she was starting to recognize equal parts nervous and proud. “Behold,” he said, sweeping a hand toward the building. “The finest gourmet dining Hawkins has to offer. Don’t let the sign fool you. Or the smell. Or the sticky floors. It’s good, I promise.” Lottie opened her door, stepping out into the warm air. “And you’re sure this place is safe from wolves?” Steve locked the car and slung his keys around one finger.
“If any wolf shows up,” he said smugly, “I’ll introduce it to my swing.” She shook her head but followed him toward the door anyway. “Milady,” he said, like he was some kind of medieval knight leading her into a burger joint that smelled faintly like fryer oil and lost dreams.
Lottie rolled her eyes, stepping inside. The air was cool, humming with an old ceiling fan that wobbled with every rotation. The place was exactly the kind of retro-dingy that felt timeless: red vinyl booths patched with duct tape, a jukebox in the corner that probably hadn’t worked since ’78, and a counter lined with napkin dispensers that had definitely seen things. “Wow,” she said, glancing around. “A true Hawkins classic.”
“Hey,” Steve protested, coming up behind her, “this is sacred ground. I have had life-changing fries in here.” She raised an eyebrow. “Life-changing?”
“Okay, fine, they’re greasy.” A waitress with a name tag that said LINDA waved them toward an open booth. Steve let Lottie slide in first, then sat across from her, stretching out his long legs under the table and immediately bumping her foot.
He froze.
She froze.
He pretended he didn’t freeze, clearing his throat and pulling the paper menu toward himself like it might shield him from embarrassment. “So, uh,” he said, flipping it over even though it had like eight items max, “they’ve got… burgers. And, get this—burgers.”
“Shocking.”
“I know, right? Really pushing the boundaries of cuisine.” Lottie looked at him over the top of her menu, soft amusement tugging at her mouth. Steve, for once, didn’t try to fill the silence. He just stared back, his expression loose and fond in a way he didn’t seem aware of. Linda appeared with two waters. “What can I get you kids?”
Steve immediately straightened like he was being evaluated for a scholarship. “Uh—ladies first.” She hid a smile and handed her menu back. “I’ll do the double cheeseburger platter. Fries. And… strawberry milkshake.”
Linda scribbled, then looked to Steve.
He let out a breath he probably didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I’ll do the same. But chocolate.” He paused. “And, uh, if the fries are burned I’m sending them back. I’m a man of principle.” Linda snorted and walked off.
Steve leaned back against the vinyl, exhaling through a crooked smile. “Okay,” he said, tapping the salt shaker once with his fingertip, “not to brag, but I think I’m doing pretty good at this whole ‘tour of Hawkins’ thing.” Lottie raised an eyebrow. “We’ve driven around and ordered burgers.”
“Yeah,” he said confidently, “and I’ve nailed both.” She shook her head, tracing her finger along the condensation on her glass. The ceiling fan above them wobbled lazily, its soft clicking sound filling the space between their breaths. Steve stretched his legs under the table long, careless movement and his foot brushed hers again. This time he didn’t yank back. He froze, just for a second, then shifted barely an inch to try and play it off. Linda returned with two milkshakes, setting them down in front of each of them without much ceremony. “Food will be up in a few,” she said.
The second she walked off, Steve pointed at Lottie’s glass. “Taste test. Very important. Make or break moment of the Harrington Tour.” She narrowed her eyes at him but took a slow sip. Cool, sweet, thick.
“Well?” he pressed. “It’s good.” He breathed out a little too obviously, leaning back like that answer had been holding his whole spine hostage. “Perfect. Okay. Great. Mick’s is still undefeated.” She couldn’t help it she smiled at him, soft and a little wide. His eyes flicked to her mouth, just for a second, before he jolted his attention back to his shake like it had personally offended him.
Their burgers arrived a moment later hot, stacked, dripping just enough to look promising. Lottie picked hers up, fingers brushing the warm bun. Steve watched her, not in a weird way, but in a way that made it obvious he cared about her reaction more than the food. She took a bite.
Steve’s breath hitched. “Well?”
“It’s good,” she said, and her smile widened. His relief came out as a tiny exhale he definitely tried to hide. “Yeah,” he said, biting into his own, “they still got it.”

Chapter Text

The ceiling fan hummed above them, stirring the faint smell of fry oil and summer sweat drifting in through the propped-open door. For a while, they ate in an easy kind of quiet—the kind that doesn’t need filling. Every so often, Steve glanced up mid-bite like he was checking that she was still there, still real, still sitting across from him with strawberry milkshake foam on her straw. Halfway through her burger, Lottie set it down and dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “You’re staring,” she said without looking at him. Steve choked.
“Me? I- I’m not staring.”
“You’re absolutely staring.”
“I’m doing… observational driving prep.”
“We’re not even in the car.” He fumbled, turning red in a way that traveled from the collar of his shirt to his ears. “Okay, wow, so I’m just being attacked in Mick’s today. Cool.” Lottie hid her smile behind her milkshake. “Just observing.” He squinted across the table at her, then shoved another fry into his mouth like he needed the physical act to keep himself from saying something reckless. When he spoke again, his voice had softened by accident.
“It’s just… you look happy,” he said. “Like, actually happy. I wasn’t sure if today was gonna be…” He waved his hand like he was shooing bees again. “…awkward. Or weird. Or if you even wanted to hang out.”
“I wanted to,” she said simply.
His eyes flicked to hers and stayed there for a beat too long. Something warm and startled flickered behind them—like that one sentence hit him harder than it should’ve.
Before he could ruin it with a joke, Linda arrived with two tiny paper baskets of extra fries. “We made too many,” she said flatly, which was obviously a lie. It was a sympathy gift, the diner version of a wink. “Eat up.”
Steve lit up like a Christmas tree. “Linda, you’re gonna get a incredible tip.” Linda didn’t even pause as she slapped two ketchup packets onto the table. “Kid, you’ve been tipping me well since ’84. Don’t make it weird.” Steve’s mouth fell open like she’d personally exposed a state secret. “Linda! C’mon, you can’t just.” But she was already halfway across the diner again, leaving Steve sputtering in her wake. Lottie bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
“She’s right,” she said.
Steve turned back to her, affronted. “About what?”
“You make everything weird.” He pointed a fry at her like it was a weapon. “Okay, no. I don’t make things weird. Things around me become weird. I’m like—like a weirdness magnet.”
“That’s not a defense,” Lottie said, picking up another fry.
“It is if you’ve lived in Hawkins long enough.” He leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to expose classified intel. “Speaking of which, do you want the gossip? Because oh boy, there is gossip.”
Lottie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Always.”
Steve grinned, settling back in the booth with the smug energy of someone about to deliver a TED Talk titled The Feral Lore of Hawkins, Indiana. “You don’t believe me?” Steve leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to expose classified documents. “Fine. Let me remind you of the absolute circus that was Hawkins High last year.”
Lottie set her milkshake down, amused. “Go on.”
“Oh, I’ll go on,” Steve said, counting on his fingers. “Starting with the biggest one remember Tyler Maines? Prom King Tyler? He got caught trying to bribe the voting committee with coupons to the video store.
“It is extremely true. I know because I had to explain to Keith that accepting bribes is, like, morally questionable.”
She laughed, shaking her head.
“And then,” Steve continued, warming up, “Cheer captain auditions? Absolute bloodbath. Chrissy Cunningham did three back handsprings in a row, nailed them, and then Nikki Hayes tried to one-up her and knocked over the stereo.”And don’t even get me started on Homecoming. Amanda Price’s heel snapped on the bleachers and she took out four people on the way down. Like bowling pins. They had to pause the music.”
Lottie wiped at her eyes, laughing.
“See?” Steve said, triumphant. “You think I’M weird? No. I’m a victim of the Hawkins High ecosystem.”
She shook her head, smiling so wide he stared again before remembering he was supposed to play it cool.” Linda appeared again, dropped the check on the table like it offended her, and muttered, “Don’t spill anything on the way out.” Steve saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
Once she was gone, he immediately grabbed the check before Lottie could reach for it. “Nope. I got it.”
“Steve—”
“What? You let me take you on the Official Harrington Tour. This is part of the experience.” He slipped a couple bills inside, patting it with the confidence of a man who absolutely did not check the total.
Lottie slid out of the booth, and waited by the table while he scooted out behind her. They stepped into the heat outside, the door jingling shut behind them. The warm air hit immediately, thick and bright, buzzing with cicadas from somewhere behind the building.
Steve fished his keys from his pocket, tossing them up and catching them with a small flourish that surprised even him. “Okay,” he said, popping the car doors open, “you ready for the next stop?”
Lottie leaned one shoulder against the car, raising an eyebrow. “You still haven’t told me what it is.”
“That’s because it’s a surprise.” He lifted his chin, smug. “A classy surprise.”
“Is it another burger place?”
“No,” he gasped, offended. “I have range.” She laughed softly as she slid into the passenger seat, the fabric warm from the sun. Steve jogged around to his side, still buzzing with that jittery energy he got when he felt proud of something and tried not to show it. He started the engine it coughed in protest, as always and he gave the dashboard two comforting pats. “C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t embarrass me in front of the girl.” Lottie glanced over at him, amusement tugging at her mouth. “You talk to your car more nicely than you talk to people.”
“Yeah, well, my car actually listens.” He backed out of the gravel lot, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near the radio with a casualness that looked unplanned but very much wasn’t. “So,” Lottie said, tapping the window gently as the wind rushed in, “are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”
“Nope,” Steve said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “But it’s not far. And it’s not wolves. And it’s… kind of special.” He looked at her briefly, eyes warm. “You’ll like it.” Hawkins blurred past in sun-washed colors brown fields, quiet side streets, telephone poles standing crooked like they’d given up years ago.
After a minute, Steve cleared his throat and flicked on the turn signal, even though they were the only car for miles. “Okay,” he announced dramatically, “I know you’re dying to guess.”
“I’m really not,” Lottie said, watching a row of mailboxes blur past.
“Yes you are.”
“No, I’m”
“You’re absolutely dying to guess,” he insisted, eyes forward, grin already forming. “I’m really not,” she repeated, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
Steve pointed at it immediately. “There. There. That’s your curious face.”
“I don’t have a curious face.”
“You absolutely do. It’s the same face you made in tenth grade when Robin brought that mystery Tupperware to lunch and nobody knew if it was soup or science.”
Lottie laughed. “It was science.”
“Exactly. And this.” he gestured vaguely at her expression without taking his hand off the wheel “—is the same face. You’re dying to know.”
She shook her head, looking out at the passing tree line. “Or maybe I’m enjoying the suspense.” Steve’s mouth dropped open. “Oh. Oh, so we’re playing mind games now?”
“If you say so.” The car dipped off the pavement, tires crunching over gravel. Trees grew taller and closer, branches stretching overhead like fingers weaving together. The shadows cooled the car, sunlight breaking through in slow, drifting patches. Steve slowed, one hand loose on the wheel. Somehow the quiet felt different out here lighter, but also deeper. He cleared his throat, a little softer this time. “We’re… almost there.”
They rolled down a narrow dirt path lined with tall summer grass, golden and swaying. The air changed cooler, damp with the faint hint of lake water. A second later, a shimmer of blue peeked between the trees. Lottie sat up a little, hand resting against window. Not saying anything, but watching.
Steve slowed the car even more, letting the clearing unfold. The lake opened up in front of them quiet, still, a soft reflection of sky and trees. The old dock stretched out toward the center, sun-worn and slightly crooked. He pulled the car into a patch of flattened grass and killed the engine. Silence washed in a quiet hum of cicadas, the soft ripple of water.
Steve sat back, exhaling. Then, tentatively, looking sideways at her: “Okay,” he said lightly, “now you can be curious.”
Lottie blinked, the faintest smile tugging at her mouth. “Lovers Lake?” Steve’s lips curved. “Bingo.” He hopped out before she could say anything else, jogging around the front to open her door not in a dramatic way, just… because he wanted to. The heat pressed warmly around them when she stepped out, sunlight painting everything gold. Grass brushed her ankles, the lake stretching wide and calm ahead of them. Steve shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking once on his heels.
Lottie glanced out over the water, quiet for a moment. The lake glittered under the sun, still and glassy, broken only by the occasional lazy ripple. The worn boards of the dock creaked in the wind, swaying just a little. It felt tucked away from everything , private, but soft around the edges. “It’s pretty,” she said finally.
“There’s a spot at the end,” he said, pointing. “Boards aren’t totally rotten. So, y’know—watch your step but don’t fear for your life.”
She snorted. “Comforting.”
“I try,” he said lightly.
They walked side by side, the grass whispering against their legs. When they reached the dock, Steve stepped onto it first, testing a plank with the ball of his foot. It protested with a long groan.
He froze.
“Okay… that one’s dramatic, but stable.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“It is! You’re safe with me,” he said, immediately cringing at himself. “I mean. with the dock. Safe with the dock. Just walk carefully.” Lottie laughed softly, stepping behind him. The wood bowed slightly under her weight, but Steve hovered close enough that she’d swear he was ready to catch her if anything so much as wobbled.
They reached the end of the dock, where the boards were warmer, sun-bleached to a pale silver. Steve sat first knees bent, arms draped over them like he’d done this a hundred times. Because he had. He gestured beside him. “Best seat in Hawkins.” Lottie lowered herself onto the sun-warmed boards beside him, tucking her legs to the side. The wood radiated heat through her skirt, the lake breeze brushing cool across her cheeks. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Steve leaned forward slightly, forearms resting loosely on his knees, eyes on the glittering water. When he spoke, his voice was a little lower, softened by the stillness around them. “People say this place is haunted,” he said casually.
Lottie glanced at him. “Haunted?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, squinting out over the lake. “By, like romance. Or whatever.” He made a vague gesture. “Couples would come out here, leave their initials carved in the trees, kiss at the end of the dock. Robin says it’s peak teenage cliché.”
“And you brought me to the cliché spot?” she teased. Steve blinked, suddenly flustered. “No. I mean, yes—but not like that. Not like… that.” He waved his hands, mortified. “It’s just it’s nice out here. Quiet. Nobody bothers you. And it’s, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s part of the tour. Obviously.” Lottie hid her smile in her shoulder. “Obviously.”
Steve cleared his throat, desperate to redirect. He reached down beside him, slipping a pebble between his fingers. He tossed it lightly into the lake. It hit with a soft plip, sending gentle rings across the water.
“So,” Steve said eventually, rolling another pebble between his fingers, “this is the part where you give the tour a rating.” She turned her head. “A rating.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, like this was a legally established rule. “Like at the end of a ride at Disney. ‘Did the employee smile at you? Did the air conditioning work? That kind of thing.”
“The AC did not work,” she pointed out.
Lottie pretended to consider it, gaze drifting back over the water. “Mm. Scoops, burgers, near-death experience with your car, possible haunting by teenage romance… I’d say… three stars.”
“Three?” His head snapped toward her. “Out of what, four?”
“Ten.” He made a wounded sound. “Wow. Harsh critic.”
“I’m factoring in the risk of tetanus from this dock,” she said lightly. Steve looked down at the boards under them like they’d personally betrayed him. “This dock is a Hawkins landmark.”
“This dock is one strong wind away from retirement.” He huffed, but his mouth was twitching. “Okay, okay. What bumps it up, then? What’s your five-star criteria?” She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen the rest of the tour yet.” He stared at her for a beat like he was trying not to look too pleased with that answer, then tossed the pebble again, farther this time. It skipped once before sinking. “Not bad,” she said.
Steve straightened up a little, like the compliment had physically lengthened his spine. “Thank you. See, this is the kind of positive feedback I was hoping for. Stone-skipping: five stars.”
“Very specific skill set.”
“Hey, if this whole Scoops Ahoy thing goes under, I need a backup plan.” He picked up another pebble, weighing it in his palm. “Think I could make a living as, like… a professional lake guy?”
Lottie huffed quietly. “What does a professional lake guy do, exactly?”
He squinted at the horizon, like he was really thinking about it. “Dunno. Supervise the ripples. Judge people’s cannonballs. Yell at kids for feeding bread to ducks. Very demanding position.”
“Sounds like you just want an excuse to sit around all day.”
“Exactly,” he said, unbothered. “I’m crafting my dream job.”
She shook her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. A breeze swept across the water, cool against the heat, fluttering the hair at her temples. For a second, the only sounds were the creak of the dock and the distant, lazy buzz of insects in the trees.
Then Steve leaned a little closer, bumping her shoulder with his. “You wanna try?”
She looked down at his hand, at the smooth flat stone resting there. “At what? Becoming a professional lake guy?”
He huffed a laugh. “Skipping one. I can’t, in good conscience, end this tour without offering you the full hands-on experience.”
“Wow,” she said, deadpan. “What an honor.”
“Yeah, yeah, come on.” He held the pebble out to her, palm up. “Tour rules.”
She took it, letting her fingers brush his for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The stone was cool and faintly damp against her skin.
“So?” she asked. “What now, sensei?”
He made a face. “Okay, never call me that again. But.” He shifted, angling his body toward hers, one knee bent between them as he tried to demonstrate without knocking her off the dock. “You gotta throw it sideways. Like this. Low to the water. Little flick of the wrist.”
He pantomimed the motion, arm swooping forward in a practiced arc.
Lottie watched, unimpressed. “I have thrown things before, you know.”
“Yeah, but this is different. This is an art.” He tapped the underside of her wrist with his knuckles, gentle. “Here. You wanna—?”
He didn’t finish the sentence, just hesitated, giving her a very clear out.
She didn’t take it.
“Show me,” she said.
Something flickered across his face—quick and pleased. He shifted closer, half behind her now, one hand hovering near her elbow without quite closing the distance.
“Okay,” he said, voice unconsciously quieter. “So, you’re gonna angle it like this.”
His fingers brushed the back of her hand, nudging it downward. Warm. Careful. The air between them tightened, just a little.
“And then,” he went on, pretending very hard that this was just a stone-skipping lesson and not the most focused he’d been all day, “you twist from here.” His hand ghosted over her shoulder, indicating the movement. “Not all arm. Kinda… all together. Like you’re about to sass someone and throw evidence at their feet.”
She snorted. “That’s a specific example.”
“Very real-world application,” he said solemnly. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, eyes tracking the water ahead as she mimicked the motion he’d shown her. His hand dropped away, leaving behind the ghost of warmth on her skin. “Alright, Harrington,” she murmured. “If this sinks immediately, you’re losing another star.”
“Wow. High stakes.” She drew her arm back, twisted like he’d shown her, and let the stone fly. It struck the surface skippjng once, twice, then disappeared with a neat little splash.
Lottie blinked, surprised. “Oh.” Steve let out a triumphant shout, immediately cutting it off like he remembered the lake had ears. “See? See? Natural talent. I am an incredible instructor.”
She tried very hard not to look too proud of herself. “Beginner’s luck.” He settled back beside her again, shoulders nearly touching, feet dangling over the dark water. “Just so you know,” he said after a moment, “if you’d totally whiffed it and dropped it straight in, I would’ve lied and told you it skipped.”
Lottie turned her head. “You would’ve?”
“Obviously,” he said. “Tour guide code. Also, I’m not trying to get downgraded to two stars because of basic physics.” Her smile turned softer, something almost shy in it. “Good to know.”