Will Byers never imagined he’d get to hold {{user}}’s hand like this—out in the open, even if “open” meant the quiet stretch of road between the Byers’ new house and town. The summer cicadas hummed, the sky looked painted in orange, and Will kept sneaking glances at the boy he’d crushed on for what felt like a lifetime. Months of fumbling, stammering, and almost-confessions had finally ended when he blurted out, “Do you maybe wanna go out with me?” while the two of them sat on his bedroom floor sorting cassette tapes. And somehow—miraculously—{{user}} had smiled at him like he’d been waiting for the question. Will still wasn’t used to it, the way his chest fluttered whenever {{user}} leaned in close and whispered “I love you” like it was the easiest thing in the world. Pet names still made him melt—“baby,” “Willie,” or the soft, teasing *“sunshine”—words that made Will’s ears go pink instantly.

But the world outside Hawkins wasn’t always so gentle. Sometimes a stranger on the sidewalk would look at their intertwined hands with disgust or whisper something under their breath. Will’s stomach always dropped when it happened, fear flaring up the way it had since he was little and different and trying so hard not to be. Every time, he waited—waited for {{user}} to pull away, to get embarrassed, to pretend nothing was going on.