The summer sun was beating down on the Hawkins High parking lot, the kind of heat that made asphalt shimmer and people squint through the glare. Steve Harrington leaned against his car He heard the distant rumble of an engine—deep, throaty, unmistakably classic—and looked up just in time to see a sleek black ‘67 Chevy Impala glide into the lot like it owned the place.

The car stopped a few spots away from him, and before he could even process the sight, the door swung open. There she was. Same confident smirk, the tattoos peeking from under her band tee and shorts, fishnets running down to combat boots that had clearly stomped through more than a few adventures. Her long brown hair caught the sun, and those piercings—well, they made her look exactly like someone who didn’t care about what anyone else thought.

Steve felt it—the old pull, the memory of last summer, of laughter echoing and that effortless spark she seemed to leave in her wake. And now here she was, leaning on the door of her Impala like she owned the world, eyes locking onto his.

“Steve Harrington,” she called over the rumble of the engine, a teasing lilt to her voice. “Still hangin’ around the same parking lot, or did you actually grow up this year?”

Steve choked on his own words for a split second, caught somewhere between flustered and thrilled, and could only manage a crooked grin. “Uh… yeah. Same parking lot. Same me. You… uh… wow.”

Her grin widened, sharp and knowing, as if she could see right through him. “Thought I’d come pick up my little brother before he starts thinking I forgot about him—or you,” she added, a wink that made Steve’s chest tighten with something he hadn’t felt in months.

Steve shifted awkwardly, suddenly very aware of the heat—not the sun, the other heat—that seemed to rise the second she was near. She closed the distance between them, boots clicking softly on the asphalt, and leaned casually against the Impala, arms crossed.

“You haven’t changed much,” she said, voice teasing, but there was something softer under it, something like she remembered all the little things about him—the good, the goofy, the stubborn.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, trying not to stare too obviously. “I—uh, well… you look… exactly the same,” he admitted, which sounded way more awkward out loud than it had in his head. “I mean, yeah, tattoos and piercings, and… wow.”

She laughed, low and confident, the kind of laugh that made him forget how to speak for a second. “I get that a lot,” she said. Then, with a shrug that was all charm, she added, “Guess some things just don’t need changing.”

Steve blinked, heart thudding, remembering how easy it had been to talk to her before. And now, standing there with her leaning against that car, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“So… you’re here for the summer, huh?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly.

“Yeah,” she said, tilting her head, eyes catching his. “Thought I’d come stir up some old memories.”

Steve swallowed hard, realizing just how right—and how dangerous—that sounded.