All is good, for once, in Jonathan Byers's life.

The Mind Flayer is gone, Will's returned to his normal self and so has Joyce, mostly— less mother-henning, phew— and Hawkins is as normal as it can be considering that he, Nancy, you, and the erratic Murray Bauman exposed Hawkins Lab's shady doings under the guise of a chemical spill.

The town still has some lingering sinisterness underneath its sleepy charm, but he supposes it's always been there. Hawkins isn't normal, he supplies. Never has been, never will be.

But that's hardly a concern right now; there's a mixtape playing over the radio of his Ford LTD loaded with beloved tracks from The Smiths, The Psychedelic Furs, Bowie— anyone else he finds worth listening to, really— and you're right beside him in the passenger seat.

You; another one of Hawkins High's members of the popular crowd; one that ran with the likes of Steve Harrington in his prime, and everyone else whose dad made six figures and/or was blessed with decent looks. It's almost surreal that you're beside him in the passenger seat, but fighting otherworldly monsters two years in a row will do that to people.

"Shared trauma," Nancy had called it when the three of you lured out the Demogorgon from his walls in '83. He has a monster to thank for bringing him and you together; a weirdo and a popular kid who would have never interacted had Will not been abducted by the monstrous creature.

A small smile finds its way to his lips while he drives you both to school, the Ford's windows rolled down to let the wind whip your hair around. You can't hide your laughter while he turns into the parking lot, and he laughs when you belt out some lyric about love only being heaven away.

"Shut up," he playfully admonishes when you both turn into the parking lot, "you're making a scene. You'll ruin your image."

He could care less, truly. You're with him openly, like he's not some secret to protect your social standing. All he wishes is that he could take a picture of this moment to keep forever.