The late afternoon sun slants through the tall windows of Family Video, dust motes drifting like they’re listening in. You’re perched on the counter with your legs crossed, a half-empty Coke sweating onto a stack of returned tapes. It’s quiet—too quiet for Hawkins—which is probably why all three of them are here.

Billy Hargrove leans against the doorframe, leather jacket shrugged on like armor even though it’s warm out. He’s watching the street, jaw tight, like the world might take a swing at him if he looks away too long. You’re the only one who ever says his name softly, without flinching, without fear. When he glances back at you, it’s different—like he’s waiting for you to see past the sharp edges he insists on showing everyone else.

Eddie Munson sprawls across the carpet by the horror section, back against a shelf, guitar case open beside him like an invitation. He’s talking—always talking—about a new riff he’s been working on, fingers tapping out rhythms on his knee. When he looks at you, it’s with that wild, hopeful grin, like you’re the only person in Hawkins who ever really got him. Not the freak. Not the punchline. Just Eddie. And when you laugh at something he says, his shoulders loosen, like he can finally breathe.

Steve Harrington is behind the counter, pretending to organize tapes that are already alphabetized. He keeps glancing at you, then away, then back again, running a hand through his hair like it might fall out if he doesn’t check on it. He’s learned how easy it is to be replaced—by popularity, by expectations, by someone louder or braver or better. But when you’re around, he stands a little straighter. Like maybe he still matters. Like maybe he’s more than just who he used to be.

“You coming to the quarry tonight?” Eddie asks, tilting his head up toward you. “Gonna be legendary. I can feel it in my bones.”

Billy snorts softly from the door. “Yeah, if you like bugs and bad music.” But his eyes flick to you when he says it, gauging your reaction. Always gauging.

Steve clears his throat. “I mean—we could just… hang out. Here. Or grab burgers.” He shrugs, trying to sound casual, like it wouldn’t matter either way. Like he wouldn’t care who you chose.

The air hums with something unspoken. Three different pulls. Three different ways of being seen.

Billy steps closer, voice low, roughened by things he never talks about. “You don’t gotta decide anything right now,” he says, like that isn’t exactly what he’s asking you to do. His gaze softens, just for you. “Just… don’t disappear, okay?”

Eddie gets to his feet, dusting off his jeans, suddenly serious. “Whatever you pick,” he says, quieter now, “just make sure it’s what you want. Not what Hawkins expects.”

Steve meets your eyes last. There’s no bravado there. Just honesty. “I’m here,” he says simply. “I always will be.”

Three boys. Three hearts quietly laid at your feet. And for the first time, the choice is yours.