Books slam shut as Vickie and Eddie lay back into the chairs in her kitchen. Having spent hours studying, it is as though weights were hooked to their eyelids. Devoid of energy, the two of them sit in silence, nearly falling asleep on the spot. Eddie's eye slips towards the clock. As if a bolt of electricity crossed his body, he sits up and gasps.

"Shit, it's almost ten already!"

A frown forms on Vickie's forehead, slower to process the information. When she realizes how late it is, she gathers her pens and highlighters, throwing them into her pencil case. Eddie helps tidying up, making a pile of his books and a pile for hers, before slipping everything into the plastic bag he took with him. At the same moment, Vickie's mother enters the room holding an empty mug, ready to prepare herself some more tea.

"Finally done? That took a long time!"

"I'm so sorry for staying this long," Eddie says while gathering his notes. "I was far behind on everything, but Vickie accepted to help me."

"I understand, Eddie, don't worry. Did you drive here?"

"No, my uncle's picking me up. I'm surprised he didn't come. May I use your phone?"

"Of course. It's there, in the corner."

"Thank you."

Once he's done cleaning his side of the table, he pats Vickie's shoulder and darts to the telephone, his steps heavy against the linoleum tiles. He picks up the receiver and sticks it between his ear and his shoulder while his finger dials the number of the shelter on the wheel.

A few beeps sound before someone picks up.

"Hawkins shelter, this is Linda."

"Hi Linda, it's Eddie. Is my uncle there? Wayne Munson?"

"Let me check, sweetheart."

He hears a crumpling sound on the other end and winces as it deafens him. Voices echo, until someone grabs the phone.

"Eddie?" Wayne's raspy voice calls out. "It's about fucking time."

"Sorry, Wayne, we lost track of time. Can you pick me up at Vickie's?"

"No, son. I just got called back to the plant. Something went wrong and they need me there. You have to find another ride."

"But I've got nobody else!"

"Well, you should've thought about that before staying so late at a girl's house. Don't even wanna imagine what sorts of shenanigans ya got yourself into again."

Eddie rolls his eyes and groans, leaning against the wall with his fist curled, worried that he might leave some ink on the bright wallpaper.

"I was studying. I'm trying to graduate."

"Well, find someone else anyway. I can't come to ya. Can't her folks bring ya back?"

"I'll ask."

"Sor—"

Before Wayne's done talking, Eddie hangs up with a sigh. He pivots on his ankles and blushes, scratching his curls as he faces Vickie's mother.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but my uncle was called back to work. He can't come. Is it possible to drive me back to Hawkins High? I'll pay for the gas!"

Dipping a tea bag in the hot water she poured herself, she pouts and shakes her head.

"I'm sorry, honey, my husband took the car. He won't be home before later tonight."

"Can he maybe stay, mom?" Vickie asks, holding her textbooks under one arm.

"No, don't worry about that, Vickie," Eddie replies. "I've already extended my stay. I'll walk."

"You can't walk back to Hawkins High! You won't be there until late! You have a test tomorrow, you can't screw it up. Is there really no one else you could call?"

A few miles from there, thunder clashes inside the Harringtons' house. Around the dinner table, Mrs. Harrington pinches the bridge of her nose with her carefully manicured fingers. Next to her, her husband is standing, pointing an accusatory finger towards their son, his mouth agape and his arms stretched out on either side of his torso.

"You will not move to Boston!" his father yells, his face turning bright red. "You're much too irresponsible for that!"

"How am I irresponsible?" Steve retorts. "I have a job, I volunteer at the shelter and do I need to mention that you two leave me here alone ninety percent of the time? As far as I remember, you've never come home to a messed up house in years! I keep everything clean and tidy!"

"But you're not even going to college, why would you want to move out? You are clueless about your future!"

Steve shrugs, trying his best to keep his cool while his heart is screaming at him to lash out on his father. He wishes he could. Under other circumstances, he might have. But in a conversation about whether he was adult enough to move out on his own, he needs to find the strength within him to avoid it.

"I don't understand why you're saying no," he speaks out slowly. "You wanted to teach me a lesson for not taking college seriously, fine. I got a job. Then, as soon as Starcourt burned down, I toured Hawkins for another job with Robin and we got one within days. I've never been late and I've never gotten complaints from Keith. I made all the calculations and I saved up enough money to rent a small apartment in Boston. Okay, I don't know what to do on the long run yet, but I know I wanna go there. Maybe that's where I'll figure it out."

"The answer's still no."

"What more do you want from me, dad?"

"I want you to grow up."

"I am grown up!"

Before Mr. Harrington breaks out into a fit of rage, his wife tugs at his sleeve, shaking her head. He drops on his chair with a sigh, readjusting his cuff as he glares at her.

"Steve, honey, please sit down," she pleads quietly.

"No, I won't. Not until you tell me clearly what you two expect from me. I've done everything for you, so that you can go on your business trips and you can keep following him to make sure he doesn't screw someone else!"

"Steve, that's enough!"

"No, it's not!" he screams, losing his temper. "I can't remember the last time this was a normal household. Where everyone was under the same roof and acting normally. I've basically lived on my own for the past five years and yeah, at first I threw parties, I fucked up, but now I've finally got my shit together. And you still see me as a child, when really, I don't think you even know me anymore, so why does it even matter to you both? I didn't even ask you to help me financially, because I can take care of that on my own."

Mrs. Harrington squeezes her husband's arm again as he begins to squirm next to her. She reaches her other hand out, expecting her son to take it, but he stares at it, ignoring it completely.

"Listen, it's not that we don't want you to fly out of the nest," she starts. "It's just that it's too risky considering that you don't even have a degree! Send a letter to the community college and graduate. Then, we can talk about you renting your own place in Boston."

"So you expect me to be stuck here for another four years? Is that it?"

"You're not moving out until you have a stable plan. For now, you have nothing. You think we don't know about the Wheeler girl going to Emerson?"

"Leave Nancy out of this, mom. You're so out of touch with what's been going on in my life that you don't even know that we broke up two years ago?"

"But I know you well enough to see that you still like her! Why Boston, Steve, mmh?"

At a loss for words, Steve clutches the back of his chair until his knuckles turn white. He takes deep breaths, feeling his anger ease down, but not quite diminish.

"Listen, Steve," his father carries on, having calmed himself down, "a girl isn't a stable plan. So yes, you will stay here until you graduate. Hawkins isn't that bad, it's a decent place."

"A decent place?" Steve repeats in irritation. "Dad, have you even been in Hawkins since March? Have you seen what happened to the city?"

"A small earthquake like anywhere else. They get those in California."

"A small earthquake?" he scoffs again, shoving the chair away from him. "Dad, the earth fucking split, people have lost their homes, if not their lives! It's been nearly two months and most of them still live in the school gym! They lost everything! And the city isn't doing shit. The volunteers are exhausted because nobody else is giving a hand."

Tears begin to well up in his eyes as he remembers the moment he resurfaced from the Upside Down and saw the cracks in the ground as the gates opened, nearly destroying the world as they knew it. He recalls seeing the bodies scattered on the streets, some calcinated in a manner he's never seen before. The collapsed homes, the animals running away, the dust falling like snow upon the confused inhabitants, searching for survivors when not fleeing.

All of it was still fresh, yet old. Almost a nightmare if the traces weren't still visible. The howling of the sirens, the screams of the mothers finding the still bodies of their children, the disoriented elderly and the sheer anguish of the young, wondering what could be causing such distress in their lives. Many survived with a guilt they will never be able to shake off. Why did they make it but not their neighbor? Why was their home intact, but not their colleagues'?

Ignoring the truth of the situation is impossible when the marks of the incident remain on the very roads you take to go to your office job, or when your electricity supply becomes too unstable due to severed cables. You can't turn a blind eye when you bring your child to school and see an entire group leaving the gym before class starts because they have nowhere else to sleep. Most will be failing and the insensitive writers at the Hawkins Post will jubilate by writing about how incapable and uncultivated the new generation is, blatantly disregarding the trauma of losing their families and their damaged spines from sleeping on uncomfortable cots while constantly surrounded by strangers.

Heaving a sigh, Steve hides his quivering bottom lip, hoping that his parents didn't see.

"You've been away for so long that you don't realize how hard life's been here," he says. "I'm one of the lucky ones, I still have a roof over my head. But some of my friends don't. I do my best to help them but I can only do so much. I'm exhausted. It feels absurd to be back at Family Video when so many can't even get decent sleep, but I go anyway because I agreed to your conditions."

He runs a hand across his face and drops his arm against his thigh, looking his father in the eye.

"You were gone when it happened. I was there. I nearly lost my friends and my own life. But you don't give a shit about all that. You just want a housekeeper."

"Steve…"

"Be honest with me, that's all I ask. Why do you refuse?"

"Because you're not res—"

"Not responible enough," he completes with a scoff. "Well, whether you like it or not, I'm going. I can't spend my life staying here and obeying your every will while you're always on the move because you don't trust each other. Get a therapist or a divorce, I don't care, but it's not my responsibility to deal with that."

His father slams his fist upon the table, his face red again. At the same time, the phone rings behind his son, but they all ignore it, focusing on the argument instead.

"First of all, kid, you're going to change that tone right away," Mr. Harrington growls. "You have no right to speak to us like that. We're your parents and it's your duty to respect us."

"But you don't respect me."

"Second of all, young man, you are not going to Boston as long as you don't have a degree in hand and a stable plan and that's the end of it."

"You're giving me the order, but no valid reason why I shouldn't go to Boston! I could sign up for community college there, I don't need to stay here."

"You can't do things on your own because you're childish," his father snaps. "If we're not breathing down your neck, you wouldn't be doing jackshit. No job, nothing. So if you're indeed a grownup as you claim, then you can thank us for your growth. Without us, you're nothing."

"Thank you? You don't even know what I've been up to since you cheated!"

Mr. Harrington kicks his chair back and bypasses the table, fuming, to grab Steve by the collar, lifting him up until his toes hardly graze the tiles. His mother gasps and shouts at her husband, begging him to stop.

"Now you're going to listen to me, Steve. You're in my house, so you will respect my authority! Speak to me like this again, son, and I swear you won't live to see the light of day."

"Honey, stop!" Mrs. Harrington cries out. "Let him go!"

His fingers loosen around Steve's shirt, freeing him from their grasp. Steve pants, rubbing the back of his neck as clouds blur his vision. Behind him, the telephone rings again, deafening the three of them. Before Steve can say anything, his mother stomps her foot, waving her hand next to her face.

"Steve, pick up the phone, for Christ's sake!"

With a scoff, he whips around and flounces to the telephone, ripping the receiver from its base and pressing it to his ear.

"WHAT?"

"Uh, Harrington?" Eddie's voice echoes on the other end, soothing his nerves in a heartbeat. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, hi Eddie. Sorry, I uh… Sorry."

"Listen, I'm sorry that I'm calling this late, but I was studying at Vickie's and Wayne stood me up. I have no way of going back to the shelter. Could you please drive me back?"

"Of course. I'll be right there."

He hangs up and grabs his car key from the counter, under his father's disgruntled eye.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm picking up a friend. I'm the designated driver, see? Another responsibility you can add to my list."

"Steve Harrington, you come back this instant!"

"Fuck you, dad."

In the hall, his hand reaches out for his jacket as he slips his feet inside his shoes without undoing the laces. He walks out, ignoring his father trotting up behind him with a tight fist, ready to stick it in his son's face. Hurrying his pace, he reaches the BMW and pulls out of the driveway, flipping his father off before speeding away from the house.

While on the way, he rewinds the tape inside his player and presses play as soon as it's ready. The slow melody of the flamenco guitars escapes from the speakers, until the distorted and furious electric guitar takes over. Drumming on the steering wheel, Steve bobs his head along, his breath growing heavier as the accumulated rage burns throughout his body. As James Hetfield sings the first words of Battery, Steve screams from the top of his lungs, hoping to evacuate all of it. He howls himself hoarse in the fashion taught by Eddie, feeling the anger slowly draining out of him.

As Vickie's street appears in front of him a few minutes later, he lowers the volume and opens the window, leaning out to spot the right house. Sitting on the curb, she and Eddie sip some apple juice, their legs outstretched on the warm concrete. He pulls up next to them with a grin, relieved to see him.

"Hi guys!" he croaks, his voice struggling to slip out of his throat from all the shouting. "Your taxi's arrived, sir."

"Hello Steve!" Vickie chirps back. "Good to see you! I'm sorry we called so late. Hope you weren't already sleeping."

"No, I'm actually happy you gave me a way out."

Without a word, Eddie chugs his apple juice, handing the glass back to Vickie with a sincere smile. He pecks her cheek and jumps onto his feet.

"Thank you for the tutoring, Vickie," he says with a hand on his heart. "There's no way I'm failing the test tomorrow."

"You're smarter than you think you are, Eddie," she smiles, handing him the bag full of textbooks and sheets of paper. "I believe in you."

"Thanks. See you tomorrow?"

"Of course!"

Eddie turns to Steve, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of the genuine smile welcoming him. Yet, the fear of wearing his heart on his sleeve overcomes him, preventing him from jumping with joy to reunite with him. He walks around the car and finds the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.

The two young men wave at Vickie as they drive away, not noticing her smiling from ear to ear at the idea of seeing them together in the same car. She hops back to her house as soon as the car disappears at the corner of the street, disposing of the glasses in the kitchen sink.

Inside the car, Steve struggles to hide his excitement to be with Eddie again, even for just a few minutes. He grins at him, pointing at the radio still playing at a low volume.

"I bought Master of Puppets. It reminds me of you. You're right, it's a good album. Usually not my thing, but it rocks. I still prefer your version, though."

Eddie remains silent, squeezing the bag against his racing heart, staring out the window. Not knowing what to say anymore, Steve sighs and focuses on the road.

"How was studying with Vickie? It's good to see that you're working hard for your graduation. I'm proud of you, man."

Still no words. Steve runs a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp as he stops at a red light, rocked by the humming of the engine.

"Eddie, I'm sorry."

"What for?" his friend finally replies with an eyebrow raised.

"Did I make it weird on Friday? I feel like I made it weird. I'm sorry. It's just that you were sad and I wanted you to know that I was there for you, but it wasn't the right way to do it."

"That's okay."

"Still. I don't know why I hugged you like that, that was pretty weird. I don't like you this way, you know?" he chuckles.

The remark stabs at Eddie's heart, its blade digging and digging. He gulps, looking back at the passing trees, holding his breath.

Of course Steve doesn't like him this way. He's never expected otherwise. But the fact that he insisted on it pains him deeply. He doesn't need a reminder of this unrequited crush. Since reading the book, he's been considering breaking off their relationship to spare his feelings, but he knows that he's incapable of doing it. He's already in too deep.

"Yeah, I know. Loud and clear."

"What's wrong, Eddie?" Steve's voice reaches him, bearing his concern. "Are you sure Friday was okay?"

"Yes, it was, now let's forget it, okay?" Eddie snaps. "I don't wanna be thinking about it anymore."

"Okay."

Within a few minutes, the BMW enters the parking lot of Hawkins High, riding along the gym. Steve stops the car in front of the entrance, reducing the radio and the engine to silence. He leans on the wheel and stares at Eddie, desperate to know what's on his mind.

"I'll come inside with you," he declares.

"No need to mother me, Harrington," Eddie grunts, pulling on the handle to unlock the door. "Thanks for the ride. Sorry I even called."

"Hey, Eddie!"

When his friend steps out of the car without turning around, Steve sighs and gets out of the car himself, following him to the door.

"Will you tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on. I'm tired. Stressed. That's all."

"You've got a test tomorrow, right? Is that why you're nervous?"

"Yes."

Steve smiles and enters the gym after him, whispering to avoid waking others up.

"You're gonna nail it, I just know it. You've worked hard with Vickie and I bet she's a great teacher! Everything'll be fine."

"Cool."

Eddie drops the textbooks on his cot, pulling off his denim vest, which he tosses on top of it. Avoiding Steve's gaze, he unbuttons his jeans and starts to walk away.

"I'm gonna take a shit. Wanna follow me there, too?"

Stopping in his tracks, Steve watches him leave, skilfully avoiding the other cots in the dark. He groans and falls onto his cot, wincing at the pain it causes to his backside. How can he even sleep on there?

While his fingers caress Eddie's jacket, his eyes spot something familiar under the pillow. Ensuring that his friend is far enough, he lifts the cushion to find the shirt he lended him at his house, neatly folded and already washed. He grins, feeling his cheeks warm up at the thought of his friend keeping it under his pillow, out of all places.

As he tugs on it, something heavy keeps it in place, startling him. Steve slips his fingers through the fold and opens the shirt, finding a book inside the fabric. Squinting, he reads the title with unshakeable curiosity, wondering what he was reading for school.

But he quickly understands that it's not for a reading assignment.

Flit as a Fiddle.

His fingertips trace the letters on the cover as he processes the theme of the book. He flips it open to a random page, catching glimpse of a chapter about questioning your sexuality. One page is marked with a green scrap of paper, pointing at the story of a young married man and his war buddy.

Before he can read any further, a noise on the other side of the hall startles him. In a hurry, he folds the shirt back on top of it, his face flushing red, and places the pillow back on top. Eddie appears at the exit of the changing rooms, only wearing his t-shirt and underwear, with his jeans across his forearm, the chain dangling from the belt loops.

Steve gulps and stands up, petrified at the idea that he got caught. Once at his level, Eddie shoves his jeans under the cot with the tip of his foot.

"What are you still doing here?" he scolds Steve. "I wanna sleep."

"Okay, I'm going."

His eyes slip back towards the pillow as his heart races.

"I was wondering, do you still have my shirt?"

"It hasn't gone to the cleaner yet."

Liar, Steve thinks. He sniffs and nods, refusing to confront him about it.

"Okay. Good night, Munson."

"Good night, Harrington. Tell me how much I owe you for the gas."

"You never owe me anything."

Without waiting for his answer, Steve dashes out of the shelter and goes straight to his car. He sits there for a minute, staring into the void without turning the ignition. The words he read play on repeat in his brain, spinning and howling until his head is nothing but a cacophony.

He tries to understand what he saw. Is Eddie questioning his sexuality? Since when? Steve thought he had a crush on Chrissy, even after her tragic death. Could that be why he's been so distant?

Then it occurs to him. The cuddling on Friday night.

"Fuck," he whispers, burying his face in his hands. "I made it worse for him."

He groans into his palms before turning the ignition on. He doesn't want to go home. Not yet. Instead, he leaves the parking lot, heading straight to the 7-Eleven, looking for some refreshment.