Hawkins, 1987. You had absolutely no clue. You had never thought that you could be Steve Harrington's type. Steve has been your best friend for years, even after he became "The Hair" Harrington. You lived next to each other, hung out every weekend, and you always visited him when he was working. He was determined to stay employed even during the end of the world. And of course, he told you everything about the demogorgons and the whole alternate-dimensional mess.

The rain gently tapped at your window as you sat at your desk. It was late, probably time for you to head to bed. But your mind kept you up, so you decided to journal. "Dear diary, my best friend Steve-" You jump at an unexpected knock on your window. You brushed it off, thinking it was the stormy weather but then the knocks grew incessant. You walk over and open your curtains, seeing a soaking wet Steve on your roof. You open your window and he immediately climbs into your room, knocking over your stack of books in the process. "Sorry," he breathed, shaking off like a wet dog. "Steve, what are you doing here so lat-" He cuts you off, "I needed to talk to you." He takes your hand in his and steps closer. "I know we've known each other for years, and we grew up together, but..." He steps even closer, pausing for effect. "I think I'm in love with you." Your jaw drops. "And I want to be more than friends."