December 18th

"What're you on?"

"Fifth."

Steve wiggled his fingers and Henry passed him the cigarette without a word. Now with both hands free, he buried them in the pockets of his coat, but that didn't do much to warm him up. It belonged to his dad, a stiff black one that he'd had to dig for in the back of the front closet, and it was certainly intended for solemn decorum rather than fashion or comfort.

It was cold, but thankfully the ground was dry, so no one had to worry about water sneaking into their shoes and soaking their socks. Henry was shifting from foot to foot, partially to stay warm, but mostly because the hard soles were starting to get old. If he was anywhere else, he'd plop right down on the ground right now, and as it was he was fighting the horribly disrespectful urge to sit on a gravestone.

"Are you going to talk to them?" Steve asked, interrupting Henry's thoughts and passing back the cigarette. Henry saw where his gaze was, but he took a pull before he followed it. Maybe to stall a little, or maybe because he wanted a tiny bit more nicotine in his lungs before he had to face what was in front of him.

Across the graveyard, far but not too far, the congregated group of people was finally beginning to thin out. When Henry had walked away (and Steve had followed), it had been quite the cluster. That had been the reason he'd left, in fact. He just didn't feel like being a part of the crowd, especially if they swept him along with them, and he landed right at the feet of—

"No," Henry answered honestly, his voice giving away nothing.

"Do you want me to go talk to them?" Steve asked, and the promptness of that offer made Henry think that maybe that one had already been loaded in the chamber.

"You can do whatever you want," Henry murmured, looking down at the cigarette between his fingers. But, he heard how Steve sighed, and he knew he'd exasperated him.

"You know that's not what I meant," he said, and Henry finally looked over and saw the expression that said everything without him having to utter a single word. After a moment, Henry shook his head, and he knew Steve accepted it, no matter how reluctantly.

It was quiet, and again Henry found his attention held by the group of people gathered around the plot. People offering their condolences in murmured words and clasped hands. People shaking their heads and wondering how something like this could've happened in their town. People lingering at the portrait of the beautiful girl whose body was nowhere near her grave.

"You deserve an apology."

Henry tore his eyes away from the scene in front of him and they found Steve once again, who'd been considering him long before he noticed. He was trying to get through to him, or at least get a read on him, and that made Henry smile a little. A small, sad smile, but one nonetheless.

"I know," he replied, glancing at the funeral before turning back to Steve and shrugging, "Lot of people deserve a lot of things."

It was quiet again, but as the two boys held each other's gazes, Henry knew that Steve understood. Even if he didn't want to.

Henry didn't blame him. If the roles were reversed, if they'd done this to Steve, he'd be fighting the urge to stomp right up to them and tear them apart in front of every single mourner. Make them feel exactly as guilty as they should for the cruel and utterly baseless accusations they'd flung. But, it'd happened to him, and he knew that wouldn't make a difference. Wouldn't be justice. Wouldn't even make him feel better.

"I think you deserve something more for breakfast than five cigarettes."

That made Henry crack, and a real smile found its way onto his lips. After a moment, he nodded, and allowed Steve to steer him out of the graveyard and to the parking lot. No use dwelling any longer, on pain or hate, and breakfast did sound pretty good.

-.

January 21st

-.

"Okay, I totally bombed that quiz, but if I do really good on the next test, I can get my grade up to a B. All I need is a, uh…"

For a moment, the only sound was boots crunching on the snow; the sidewalks had been clear this morning, but it'd started snowing again during third period, and now all anyone could do was power through and hope there were no hidden patches of ice.

"150%," Steve finished, sighing a little. That number was way off, he knew it, but the principle was right: a B was out of his reach for now.

His grades had never been good, not since tests were finger painting and tying your shoes. It used to be that he just didn't care how he did. He'd slack off and then shrug about nearly failing every class. But now? Now that he was trying? And still getting his work back marked up in red pen? It stung, he wouldn't lie. And with college acceptance season looming ever closer, his academic stress was only getting worse.

"Hey, do you think you could help me with my Comp—?"

Bam!

For a moment, Steve was frozen. Just stood there, his mouth still parted from his interrupted sentence and his cheeks red and stinging. All he could do was blink, and through his somewhat obscured vision caused by the snowflakes now clinging to his eyelashes, he could see the equally surprised but very, very amused expression of his best friend.

"I didn't think you'd turn around," Henry whispered, clearly trying to hold back laughter.

It was quiet for a second, the two of them staring at each other. Steve's expression remained blank, while Henry had the distinct look of someone waiting for the inevitable consequences of their very funny actions. Finally, Steve reached up with both hands and slowly brushed the snow off of his face.

"You are dead, Sinclair."

By the time Steve leaned down to scoop up a handful of snow, Henry was already sprinting across the school lawn, shouting apologies through his laughter, even though he knew nothing could save him now.

-.

February 16th

-.

"Just a dog."

Henry released the breath he'd been holding. He'd suspected as much, but having it confirmed was a relief. He knew Steve felt the same way, he could see it in his eyes as he strode out of the woods with his bat on his shoulder—thankfully of no use today.

"Are you sure?" Lucas asked, and it was clear he didn't believe it. Or maybe, couldn't.

"Yeah," Steve said, finally coming up on the two of them standing next to the Cutlass; opening the trunk and throwing the bat in with the unhesitant moves of familiarity, "One of the Patton dogs, you know they're always getting out of his yard."

"No," Lucas said, frowning harder than ever, "I didn't see one of Tim Patton's dogs. There's no way. I saw a Demodog. I know I did. It was right there and it was running after me and—"

Anyone could hear the panic seeping into Lucas's voice, and each second that it went unchecked it grew more and more pronounced. Henry knew that if he kept going—if he kept insisting on the thing that scared him—he'd work himself into a frenzy. He was like his big brother that way.

But, as Henry opened his mouth to cut off his downward spiral before it passed the point of no return, the words were stolen right out of his mouth.

"Hey, hey," Steve said, crouching down and putting both hands on Lucas's shoulders, "Take a breath."

Lucas listened. Probably knew what had been happening but couldn't stop it by himself. His first breath was strained and shaky, but the next one was a little bit easier. Within a few moments, his breathing was even again, but now that the panic was gone, reality was setting in. Even from the back, Henry could see Lucas's body language change—shoulders drooping, head hanging—as the silence continued to stretch on.

"I really thought…"

It was Henry's turn to take a deep breath. Even though he hadn't been able to finish that sentence, he recognized the emotions in his voice, and he hated to hear them coming from his little brother. Lucas had accepted that all he'd seen was a dog, but in a lot of ways that was the harder truth to face.

A monster in the woods they could handle, they'd done it before. But, one in your head? That was a lot different, Henry could attest.

"I thought I saw the Demogorgon behind my house once."

Lucas wasn't the only one that looked up sharply at Steve's words. His face was completely serious, Henry could see that much, and even though he'd never mentioned this to him before, he had no choice but to accept that what he was saying was the complete truth.

"I whacked the shit out of a tree with the bat," Steve continued, casual as ever, "Splinters, everywhere. My mom saw it later and I had to come up with some bullshit excuse about squirrels."

Lucas snorted, but it was pretty obvious that it wasn't because he thought that was funny. But, that's all they needed to hear. The worst was past, that much was clear, and Steve smiled in return before straightening out into his full height again.

"I want a milkshake, you want a milkshake?" He asked, slinging his arm over Lucas's shoulders and leading him around the car.

"Sure," Lucas replied, looking up with a shine in his eyes, "If you're paying."

Steve threw his head back and laughed, fully caught by surprise, and a little bit more of the tension in Lucas's form ebbed away.

"Little shit," he said with a smile, pulling the back door open and gently shoving Lucas inside, "Get in. Henry, you coming or what?"

Steve was too busy shutting the Cutlass's doors and walking to his own seat to glance back, and Lucas was already in the car so there was no way he could see, which meant the look on Henry's face went unnoticed. The look that had formed when he'd seen his brother treated with complete understanding and unrelenting kindness. The look that lingered as he watched Steve.

"Yeah," Henry replied, his eyes sparkling, "Right behind you."

-.

March 11th

-.

"This seems like a fun Saturday night."

Henry jerked up. He'd been slouched over his desk with his chin in his hand, caught in a daze, and hadn't realized that he wasn't alone in his room anymore until just now. For a brief moment, he made to throw his cigarette out the window out of habit, before he realized who it was that had caught him by surprise.

"Oh, wow," Steve said, his eyes widening when Henry turned and he got a good look at him, "You, uh, you look like shit."

Henry didn't have the energy to be offended by that, and even if he did, he wouldn't be because he knew that was indisputably the truth. If he looked half as bad as he felt, then Steve had probably just walked in on something straight out of a Romero flick.

"What're you doing here?" Henry elected to say instead, and he would've winced at the sound of his voice if he had it in him. Steve had that covered for him though, and he grimaced at the jagged way those words pushed past his throat.

"You were supposed to come over, remember?" He said, and it was Henry's turn grimace; Steve had told him on Monday that his parents were going out of town today, and they'd agreed they'd use the empty house to smoke and watch the fourth Friday the 13th(the next one was coming out in a week and Steve was making him go through all of the movies in preparation, no matter his personal opinion on the series). He'd meant to cancel, or maybe go, or something. Henry couldn't quite recall what plan his addled brain had landed on before it completely forgot.

"I called and no one picked up so I figured I'd come by and make sure everything was okay," Steve continued, his frown deepening, "And it doesn't look like it is."

"I'm really sorry, man, I—" Henry started, but Steve waved that away.

"What's wrong? You sick? You look like you haven't slept in a week," Steve said, which almost made Henry laugh.

"I haven't slept since Wednesday," he said instead, and he watched as Steve's eyes widened in horror at the realization of just how close his hyperbole had been.

"What?" He exclaimed, glancing back into the hallway, "Where's your mom?"

"They all went to my Aunt Kat's birthday party," Henry said, his exhaustion keeping him casual even in the face of his best friend's panic, "She took one look at me and said it was okay to skip this one."

"Does she think you're spending this time sleeping?" Steve countered, and Henry's silence was answer enough to that, "Okay, you've gotta lay down."

Henry frowned, but didn't reply until he'd blown a puff of smoke out his window. He was only delaying the inevitable, but he knew he needed it before he made this conversation really fun.

"No."

For a moment, Steve said nothing. Just looked at him like he'd completely lost it. He probably had.

"Henry, you're going to hurt yourself," he finally managed.

"You think I don't fucking know that?" Henry snapped back, pushing himself out of the chair and wishing he felt bad about the way Steve recoiled, "I feel like garbage."

"Then why not sleep?" Steve asked, sounding genuinely confused, and Henry wished he could answer his question gently, like he usually did, but he just didn't have it in him to be anything but rough.

"Because my brain won't shut the fuck up!" he exclaimed, rushed and shaky, "It just keeps playing reruns of everything that makes me sick to my stomach and it won't stop. And it's bad enough when I'm conscious, when I lay down and shut my eyes it's like someone's got a speaker in my head blasting worse and worse shit until I can't fucking take it anymore!"

With that last, explosive word out, the room was dead silent.

The two teenagers were standing opposite of each other now, and Henry took one look at Steve's expression before he averted his gaze. Whatever burst of energy that had come with the release of those pent up frustrations was gone now, and all Henry wanted to do was collapse on his bed. But he knew better, and instead did his best to feel satiated with nicotine.

"Your hands are shaking," Steve said, his voice a hell of a lot quieter now, and Henry looked down at the one that had lifted the cigarette to his mouth and found that he was right.

"I had six cups of coffee today," he replied after exhaling the smoke—mindful to not blow it into his friend's face—and electing not to mention how many he'd had since Thursday.

"Have you eaten anything?" Steve asked, and Henry snorted.

"Nope."

It was quiet again, and Henry didn't know where they'd go from here. Even when his brain was running at full capacity, he sometimes had a hard time predicting how Steve would respond to new situations. He knew Steve wouldn't leave, he was far too loyal, but he had no idea what he could do right now. All Henry knew was that he didn't envy the position Steve was in, and if he ever felt better, he'd feel bad about putting him in it.

"Do you trust me?" Steve finally asked.

"Of course I do," Henry said, and despite everything, it was nice to see the way Steve's lip pulled upwards at the promptness of his reply.

Then, Steve reached forward and pulled the cigarette out from between Henry's fingers. Henry allowed him—worst case scenario, he had a full carton in his mattress—and watched with as much interest he was capable of right now as he stubbed it out on the window sill and flicked it out into the yard.

"Lay down," Steve said, and when Henry opened his mouth to argue, he gave him a look, reminding him of what he'd just said. Henry sighed a little before dragging his feet across the floor and flopping down onto his bed.

"Under the covers," Steve added, and Henry rolled his eyes before following his order, feeling like a petulant child as he pulled the comforter under his chin.

He wouldn't deny that he was comfortable, his body was practically screaming thanks for finally allowing it to rest, but he knew it wouldn't be too long before his brain started again and flooded with so many awful thoughts that he'd have to get up to force it to quiet down just the tiniest bit.

Henry was so wrapped up in his impending doom, he didn't notice what was happening until he felt weight settle on the other side of the bed. He looked over to find that Steve was lounging next to him, and he pulled the covers just a little higher as blood rushed to his cheeks.

"Did I tell you what Laurie said to me yesterday?" Steve asked, his voice low, and Henry frowned a little, "I don't think I did, I was saving it for tonight. Anyway, she said that Vicki Carmichael saw Jeremy Cooley and Holly Sawyer making out under the bleachers. So they're back on again, big shock."

Henry hummed, mostly to reassure him was still listening as he readjusted to a more comfortable position; facing Steve with his cheek on the pillow.

"But I wonder if Richie knows, because he took Holly to the movies last Friday, and I heard him after practice gushing about her. I mean there's nothing wrong about really liking a girl, but, Christ, Holly Sawyer? You ever hear her laugh? Makes my hair stand on end."

That was true, Holly's laugh was prolifically awful, and Henry would feel bad about thinking that if she didn't have the personality to match. He would've laughed under normal circumstances, but right now he just breathed a little harder out of his nose. His eyelids were getting heavy, and it was hard for him to do much of anything other than lay here and listen to whatever Steve had to say next.

"So now I get to look forward to Richie writing something absolutely terrible in Comp. I told you about how when Sarah broke up with him, he wrote that weird story about a guy getting his heart literally torn out, right? Yeah, I did. Like, Jesus, man, have some self-respect and don't subject me to that."

Henry made no move to reply, and because his eyes were closed he didn't see how Steve looked down at him before he continued.

"You haven't shaved since Wednesday, have you? Probably a good idea, don't want to slice your face open on accident. It's so unfair that you can grow facial hair and I can't. I mean, makes sense, your dad's mustache is impressive, but still."

Steve's voice was far away now, and the exhaustion in Henry's body was slowly starting to claim his consciousness.

"You'd look good with a beard. I mean, you look good now, but if you ever want to switch it up, I think it'd suit you. Might get kind of hot, but we've still got like three months until it really warms up again."

"God, I can't wait until summer. Maybe we can go on a road trip, that'd be cool. I don't even care where we go. Maybe we could just go without any plan and see where we end up. Probably just some shitty towns just like Hawkins, but I think it would still be fun if it was the two of us."

"You're going to eat something in the morning, okay? I'll make pancakes. I'll make enough for your whole family. I'll put blueberries in them if you have them, I know that's your favorite."

Henry was gone now, had been for a while, but his last thought before he'd fully slipped into oblivion was that he hoped that Steve would still be in his bed when he woke up.

(He was).

-.

April 1st

-.

"I'll drive the rest of the way home."

Henry didn't verbally reply—his mouth was full of waffle—but he gave Steve a thumbs up around his fork. He wasn't exactly going to argue, especially when he was already feeling sleepy. He'd gotten an embarrassing amount of syrup in his beard with just that bite, so he probably shouldn't be operating heavy machinery.

"You wanna spend the night?" He asked once he'd swallowed, and it was Steve's turn to work around a full mouth (cheeseburger). He didn't need to, though; they both knew the answer was yes long before he nodded.

This Waffle and Steak was mostly empty, with the two teenagers sitting in the only occupied booth. Not shocking, it was after midnight on a Monday, but it was pretty soothing. After the past hours of overstimulation, a quiet diner was exactly what the doctor ordered.

"Thanks for bringing me along, man," Steve piped up, Henry giving him a tired smile.

"Thanks for putting up with me."

Steve laughed and that gave Henry's smile a little more energy.

"I gotta admit, after that concert? I think I get it now," Steve said, grinning, "Your whole thing with Prince."

Henry laughed. Because that was funny, what Steve was saying; Prince did put on quite a show, one that would make anyone on the fence about him instantly become a super fan (damn, maybe he should've brought Jonathan). But, also because he knew he didn't get it. He didn't have the slightest clue about his whole thing with Prince.

He could, a voice in his head offered, he could if you told him.

Suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore.

Henry dropped his eyes down to his plate. It wasn't the first time a voice like that had made an appearance, but it was the first one that'd felt genuine. Usually when that popped up in his brain, it was a dumb, intrusive thought that liked to come out of nowhere and give him anxiety. But, right now? In this quiet Waffle and Steak? After seeing the guy who'd made him realize who he was on stage? Wasn't it just… the right time?

"Hey," Steve said, and Henry looked up to see a hint of concern in his eyes, "You okay?"

For a moment, all Henry could do was look at Steve. One of the people he trusted most in the world. A man he knew he'd take a bullet for, and was pretty certain would return the favor. His best friend. His…

"Yeah," he finally offered, forcing a smile, "Just, really tired."

"God, I'm not looking forward to school tomorrow," Steve said, chuckling a little, and Henry joined in even though he didn't feel like laughing.

Maybe it was the right time, maybe he'd just let it pass him by, but…

He just couldn't be sure of what would come out of his mouth if he opened it.

-.

May 19th

-.

"I'd say congratulations, but I'm kind of getting a feeling you don't want to hear it."

Steve snorted at Henry's words, but he could hear the edge to it. Rather than saying anything else, Henry crossed the space and sat down next to him on the hood of the BMW. It was quiet between them, and Henry could hear the distant chatter he knew was coming from the celebration. Whereas most of the kids were taking pictures and hugging their family, Steve was sat here next to him, a dejected line to his shoulders, still in his gown.

"Where're your parents?" Henry finally asked, looking over in time to catch Steve's shrug.

"I dodged them after the ceremony," he said, and it was Henry's turn to snort. If it was someone else, he might've made a comment about how they were probably looking for them, but Henry knew Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, and he didn't mind the idea of them wandering around the other graduates, wondering where their son was.

Although, it wouldn't be out of character for them to just leave without a second thought.

Henry sighed and put a lid on his feelings about Steve's parents. Wouldn't do any good getting all worked up. At least, not right now. Not when Steve's expression was a precarious stony façade, poorly covering his unhappiness. Not when his voice was low, almost like he didn't actually want Henry to hear, but had to get it out.

"I didn't even get into Tech."

Henry sighed again. There it was. He'd suspected as much. When the letters first started rolling in, Steve had told him about each rejection. But, at some point he'd just stopped mentioning it, and it didn't take a genius to know it wasn't because he'd gotten acceptances.

And, god this made him sound like such an asshole, but he kind of knew this was coming after having to help him with basically every essay and test since January.

"Sorry, man," Henry offered after a moment. After letting Steve have a moment.

"My dad's been on my ass ever since he found out," Steve said, the bitterness in his voice when he talked about his father something Henry was used to hearing, "He's making me get a job so I'll 'learn some responsibility' and 'stop being a slacker.'"

"You're not a slacker," Henry said, absolutely meaning it, "You've been working really hard."

"Yeah, I know, that's the whole fucking problem," Steve said, hopping off the hood with the first burst of emotion other than dejection since Henry had found him, "I tried. This is me trying. And I still fucked it up. I fucked it up so bad my dad is convinced I didn't care. But, I did. I…"

The fire that had been fueling him burned out just as quickly as it had sparked, and Steve sighed, hanging his head.

"I'm totally useless," he murmured, and it was clear he wasn't saying that for pity. He meant it. It was the truth, his truth. A conclusion he'd been easily led to after countless rejections, ones that came long before he ever applied to any colleges. And in the aftermath, it was silent.

"Steve, you're just not smart at school."

Steve slowly looked up from the ground, leveling Henry with a blank stare, and for a long moment it was quiet.

"Thanks, Buddy," he finally said, biting sarcasm in each syllable.

"No, that's not—" Henry sighed and slid off the car to stand opposite of him, "Look, Steve, you're good with kids. Every kid you've ever known has loved you. And you're good with people in general. You can make anyone feel comfortable without them even realizing it. You're really good at hair—"

Steve scoffed, said hair bouncing as he shook his head.

"You are!" Henry insisted, "You're way better than anybody else I know. I swear to god my mom is a month away from getting your opinion on different hair treatments instead of her stylist's."

"You have a knack for finding gossip before anyone else," Henry continued, picking up steam now, never once struggling to find his next words, "You make the best pancakes I've ever had in my life. You can always get the waitress laugh. You roll incredible joints. You manage to find the funniest bad movies at Family Video. You somehow always know when someone's cold in your house so you can bring them a blanket. You…"

Henry's voice gave out. He hadn't run through everything he had to say, far from it, but what was going to come out his mouth next suddenly hit him. He hadn't realized until just then that that was what he was about to say and the realization was jarring. He looked down at his shoes and sighed—taking the moment he needed before he pushed on, less energy in his voice, but just as genuine.

"You're the only one who can make me feel safe when my brain gets to be too much."

Henry took a deep breath—he could freely now that he'd forced those words past his lips and the weight was off of his shoulders—but he didn't look at Steve. He suspected that if he did, if he saw his reaction, his throat would clog and he wouldn't be able to manage even one more syllable.

"So, I don't think it would be fair if you were good at school, because you're smart every other way," he continued, shrugging a little even though he meant every word, "And the only reason you feel useless is because your dad's mad that the things you're good at aren't things that he can use to his advantage."

And with that, the distant celebration of graduates and their families was once again the only sound between them.

Henry looked at Steve—it was easier once he'd finished speaking—and found that his eyes were out on the distance. He knew that meant he was thinking, and now the only thing he could do was wait and see if he accepted what he said. Henry hoped he would, not only because it would make him feel better, but because it was the truth as he knew it. Steve might not be academically inclined, but there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he was the brightest person he knew.

"So," Steve said, turning his attention back to Henry, "You hate my dad too."

That was more than enough to make Henry smile. Hell, if all he'd done was look at him with that shine in his eyes, Henry's face would've broken out into a grin, and he felt his chest warm as a smile found a way to Steve's face, even if there was something bittersweet about it.

"Jesus, Steve, who likes him?" He replied, coaxing a laugh out of Steve, who nodded.

"Certainly not my mom."

It was Henry's turn to laugh, and for a moment they were just two weirdos standing in a parking lot giggling.

"You wanna get high?" Henry asked, and Steve sighed in relief.

"God, yes."

-.

June 3rd

-.

"Alright, do I look professional enough?"

"For the nautical themed ice cream parlor?"

Henry chose not to see the withering look Steve sent him as they walked past the automatic doors and into the wonderful gust of air conditioning. Instead, he allowed himself to be pulled in by the siren song of neon lights and consumerism; Starcourt Mall had only been around a month or so, and he still appreciated it for its novelty.

"You know, I asked you to drive me here so you could help me," Steve said waspishly.

"I thought you asked me to drive because you don't have any gas money," Henry countered, avoiding a mom with a stroller and two tween boys rushing off to god knows where. The downside of your tiny town getting a mall, besides the catastrophic economic impact on small businesses that was really starting to present itself, was how goddamn busy it could get.

"Can you be supportive? Please?" Steve said, and there was a hint of desperation to his voice that made Henry pump the brakes on being a dick. He sighed a little; he didn't mean to be annoying, there was just a small, embarrassing part of him that wasn't happy about this. About Steve getting a job and spending all summer in this mall instead of with…

"You're going to nail this interview," Henry said, encouraging and believable, if not 100% genuine, "They're going to hire you right on spot, and you're going to stick it to your dad and his stupid responsibility."

"By working at the nautical themed ice cream parlor?" Steve asked apprehensively.

"By working at the nautical themed ice cream parlor," Henry assured him.

They were in the food court now, the garish front of Scoops Ahoy in sight, and Henry felt a pang of guilt when he saw his best friend's jittery body language. He was already struggling, and he hadn't been making this any easier.

"You got this, man," Henry said, drawing Steve's attention to him, "You totally got this."

Steve smiled, still nervous but clearly appreciating the vote of confidence, before he straightened up and kicked into gear.

"See you in twenty?" He asked, and Henry nodded, smiling like he did whenever he sent Lucas off on one of his little dates with Max.

"See you then."

Steve took one more moment before he turned and walked away, Henry watching him until he disappeared into the parlor. He actually wasn't too sure how Steve was about to perform—Henry knew that he just didn't come across very competent to people who didn't know him, and it wasn't until he was thrust into a life or death situation did Steve's capabilities shine, which almost certainly wouldn't happen while scooping ice cream—but he found it in himself to truly hope for the best, if only to help his best friend's self-esteem.

Once he was gone, Henry checked his watch and then turned his eyes out towards the mall. Definitely one of the better places to have to kill time, but he had so many options it was almost overwhelming. He really didn't have that much of a wait.

Well, he might as well start nearby, Henry thought, strolling past a woman's underwear store and into Sam Goody.

Thankfully, it wasn't too busy right now, and Henry drifted over to the pop music. He already had more than enough, and there weren't any new releases that had caught his attention, but he still liked looking, even if it was just to admire the cover art. After a minute or two of flipping through the section though, whatever peace he'd found in his browsing was killed.

"I mean, Jesus Christ, Andy, I feel like I'm not asking for much here!"

Henry glanced just once towards the outburst—two employees behind the counter—before he looked back down. He wasn't really seeing the records in front of him anymore, though; entertainment came in all forms, and he knew some gossip would be good for Steve after the interview, no matter how it went.

The other guy—Andy, presumably—muttered something that Henry couldn't hear, but the first one clearly didn't care for it, whatever it was.

"Okay, you know what, you're fired. Out."

Henry looked up in time to watch Andy storm out while the remaining one—the manager, he realized now—heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. He felt a stab of sympathy for the guy, clearly this stuff was stressing him, but when he dropped his hand and made to come out from behind the counter, Henry averted his gaze again.

"Can I help you find anything?"

Henry felt a surge of embarrassment as he realized that the guy he'd been spying on was speaking to him, and as he turned, he silently prayed that he hadn't noticed and that this wasn't a passive aggressive power play. But, when he finally got a good look at him, all of those thoughts left his mind.

"Charlie Mooney," Henry said, smiling a little, mostly out of surprise.

"Henry Sinclair?" Charlie replied, raising his eyebrows as clarity dawned on him, "Wow, man, I didn't even recognize you."

Henry smiled, a tad awkward; he was never quite sure what to say when people pointed out that he'd changed his appearance. Maybe if all he'd done was let his hair grow some they wouldn't mention it, but the beard was too obvious to be ignored.

"You look great," Charlie offered, and this time Henry knew what to do; murmuring a thanks, "How are you? I haven't seen you since I graduated."

"Pretty good," Henry answered, mostly honest, "How about you? How's Caroline? Heard she got into Notre Dame."

"Thanks to you," Charlie replied with a grin, "Seriously, man, you're literally the only reason she passed that class. Our parents thank god every day that you got assigned to be her partner."

Henry laughed. Charlie was exaggerating, but he was probably right about him being the reason his younger sister passed English a year and a half ago. Caroline was a genius when it came to numbers, but prose? Not so much. He'd carried them through their final project, but he hadn't minded; Caroline was nice and really did try her best, plus her parents always had good snacks when he'd come over.

"You're the manager here?" Henry asked, and Charlie's smile dimmed a little at the reminder.

"Yeah," he said, sighing a little, "Don't get me wrong, the job's great, it's everyone else that's the problem. Show up to work high, what do I care, but maybe not stumbling drunk, you know?"

"Jesus, don't blame you," Henry muttered, filing that one away for Steve later, before he suddenly became aware of the strange way Charlie was looking at him. Intense and probing in a way that did not suit a casual catch-up between two acquaintances.

But, before he could ask what that was all about, or maybe awkwardly say goodbye to get away from his oddly piercing gaze, Charlie broke the silence; not a hint of hesitation in his voice, even though what he was saying was completely out of leftfield.

"You want a job?"

"What?" Henry said, absolutely certain that he hadn't heard that right.

"Yeah, I mean, I know you're smart and reliable and friendly," Charlie said, shrugging a little, "It's not like it's hard or anything, just show up mostly sober. Three-fifty an hour, and we get discounts."

"Um," Henry said, blinking a few times as processed what Charlie was saying.

It was a good offer, really. Sure, he'd be sacrificing some of his summer, but what was he going to do anyway? Sit around being bored, probably. At least this would give him something to do. It would be nice to be in Starcourt too, even if he was working, and he could always use the extra money, especially since he was graduating next year. Plus he bought enough music that he'd probably save a lot in the long run.

But, it wasn't any of those perks that inspired what he said next. Not the money, the discounts, or the entertainment to fill the long summer days.

It was the nautical themed ice cream parlor just two stores over.

-.

June 28th

-.

Friday nights at Starcourt were special. There was a festive feeling to the mall, with everyone looking for a way to blow off steam after the work week, and right now it was as bustling as it ever was. Some people were rushing to the movies, others were searching racks for just the right outfit, and the rest were just browsing, happy to be out of the house and surrounded by liveliness.

Sam Goody was busy, but in an easy way; full of people, but only a few were actually looking to buy something. Most were just admiring what the store had to offer before they moved on to the next one. So, spending time setting up displays wasn't a problem at all.

"Can you drive me home after the movie?"

Henry turned his attention away from the cardboard Madonna he was situating in front of the store window and gave the kid one look before he got back to what he was doing.

"Hi, Will. I'm doing good, thanks for asking. How are you?" He said, and he didn't even have to look to know Will was rolling his eyes, but smiling all the while.

"A little annoyed, but alright," Will replied before getting back on topic, "I don't think it'll be much longer than your shift."

"Yeah, sure," Henry finally answered, glancing down at his watch, "I think you're running late."

"Waiting on Mike," Will said, and just his tone of voice was enough to clue Henry in to what he meant. Now, it was Henry's turn to roll his eyes, and he gave him a sympathetic look.

"I'll be in Scoops when you get out," was what he said though; they'd talk about all that later, once they were in the car and away from anyone who might overhear.

"Of course you will," Will said, and Henry gave him a dirty look. But, before he could come up with some kind of counter, his eyes were caught by a familiar group of young teenagers, and he pointed without saying a word. Will swore under his breath and then shouted as he jogged to catch up with his friends.

"Thanks, Henry!"

Henry smiled as he watched four of the kids he cared about most in the world head into Scoops Ahoy, and he knew no matter how he griped, Steve would let them through the back. For a moment, his eyes searched for another kid, but he was quick to remind himself that Dustin would get back from camp tomorrow, and when that didn't reassure him of where the missing piece was, he thought of El in her cabin, and gave a little prayer that she'd be running around with them soon enough. And even though that didn't exactly settle him, he got back to what he was doing, and began to lose himself in work again.

"Hey, Henry?"

Henry looked up from what he was doing and gave his boss a smile, even though he saw how Charlie had a crease in his brow. He doubted he was in trouble, though; Charlie had been right about this being an easy job, and after less than a month here, he'd made it known that he was his favorite employee.

"This came for you," he said, holding an envelope out. Now it was Henry's turn to frown, and he read his own name on it before looking up and exchanging a confused look with Charlie.

"Do you know—?" Charlie's question was cut off by someone walking up to the counter, and they shared a look of commiseration before he headed to ring her up; leaving Henry alone with this strange envelope.

Now that he was taking a good look at this thing, he noticed that there wasn't any return address. Just his name and the address of the Sam Goody in Starcourt Mall scribbled on the front in a scrawl far too messy to have come from any business. For a moment, he racked his brain trying to think of someone who might mail something to him at his place of work. All he could come up with was his own parents, trying to give him some sort of reward for getting off his ass and landing a job (they'd been pretty pleased when he'd come home and told them about the very random offer he'd accepted), but this didn't look like any handwriting he knew.

Finally, he came to the conclusion that there wasn't anything more he could glean from the outside, and that he might as well open it. Maybe the answer was simple, and one look at whatever was inside would shine a clear light on everything.

He still didn't open it.

He just kept staring down at that scratchy handwriting, the strangest feeling in his gut.

Usually, when he got a feeling, he understood it. Even if it was one of those feelings. But, this one... This one he couldn't quite comprehend. There was weight to it though, he knew that much. A heavy feeling of importance.

Henry turned away from the display he'd been arranging, and paced ever so slightly as what he knew he ought to do and how he felt about it battled inside of him. Finally, standing in the doorway of the store, he took a deep breath and, with the quick movements of a person forcing themselves to do something, he flipped the envelope and tore it open; pulling out a small piece of paper.

And then everything went black.

Henry jumped halfway out of his skin, and he looked up to see that the whole mall had been plunged into darkness. Gone were the shining neon lights of the store signs or the familiar sound of running water from the fountain, and with it went the feelings of festivity that had been so intense moments before. Starcourt didn't feel like a fun place to be on a summer night any more. It was dark, and lonely, and cold.

But, maybe that was just Henry.

Maybe to everyone else in the mall this was just a regular power failure. Maybe the shoppers, moviegoers, and browsers were all just shrugging their shoulders and hoping that the lights would come back on soon and they wouldn't have to leave their consumerist paradise and head back to their boring old homes. Maybe to the average person this was just a small road bump in their otherwise ordinary lives.

But, Henry's life was far from ordinary, and he would never, ever be average.

The note he was clutching was proof enough of that.

It's not just a blackout.