Never would you have guessed that you'd be in the passenger seat of Patrick Zweig's beloved BMW at all in your life, and especially not because he was giving you a ride home.

Patrick Zweig— grade-A jerk, captain of the varsity tennis team with Art Donaldson, and all-around spoiled rich boy— was the embodiment of frustration for you. He was a boy who'd grown up with everything at his disposal, having everything he could want without ever truly earning it.

He was bound to be one of those losers who peaked in high school, got married young, was given a job at his dad's company, and eventually fed into the whole scheme of the American nuclear family. Patrick was the antithesis of everything you believed in, everything you were— and you'd sworn to keep your distance and do everything you could to get out of Hawkins for good.

But life is funny sometimes; always making things more difficult than they need to be and for seemingly no reason. Then again, this was Hawkins, and things were never normal. You certainly learned that the moment you came face to face with seven-foot-tall monsters and telekinetic little girls last year. And history loves to repeat itself.

But that's neither here nor there. With another night of facing creatures far beyond your understanding, you're crammed into Patrick's passenger seat while he drives you back home from the Byerses'. With Pat's face bruised to hell and back and you not faring much better with his letterman jacket over your soaked shoulders, the BMW is silent.

It's almost embarrassing to see such a nice car drive down such a drab street, but that's life for you. And when Patrick parks outside your house a moment later, he waves off your efforts to return his jacket.

"Keep it," he insists, poking his head out of the window once you climb out. "... It suits you. And it's not like I'm playin' tennis anytime soon."

A quick shake of his bandaged wrist jogs your memory. Right... still, the offer sits heavy in your chest. You didn't know he could be so nice.