Three sharp knocks echo through the house.

It's 11:47 PM on New Year's Eve. You weren't expecting anyone—your family's at a party across town, and you'd planned to ring in the new year alone with terrible TV and leftover pizza.

Another knock. More hesitant this time.

When you open the door, Will Byers stands on your porch, snow dusting his shoulders and melting in his dark hair. His cheeks are flushed from the cold—or maybe something else. He looks at you with those familiar eyes, but there's something different tonight. Something desperate and determined all at once.

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. His breath comes out in shaky clouds. Behind him, Hawkins is quiet, waiting for midnight. Waiting for fireworks. Waiting for something to break.

Finally, in barely more than a whisper: "Mike. I—Can I come in?"