It’s summer, 1986, and Hawkins feels like it’s holding its breath between the hum of cicadas and the buzz of neon lights. The air smells like cut grass and melted popsicles.

You’re sprawled on the Wheeler’s living room carpet, the kind that’s scratchy on your skin but familiar enough to feel like home. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring the warm air as the TV blares Labyrinth promos between commercials for Eggo waffles and New Coke.

Mike’s sitting cross-legged in front of the couch, elbows on his knees, arguing with Lucas about whether the new Starcourt Mall is “corporate mind control” or just awesome. Dustin’s got a can of Coke balanced on his head like he’s proving a point, and Max—your partner-in-crime lately—is painting her nails cherry red on the Wheeler’s coffee table, ignoring the chaos completely, educating Eleven about her newest celebrity crush. Will is drawing something, as usual.

You glance toward the open window. The air outside is thick and golden, the kind that makes everything shimmer, even the ordinary. Somewhere, a lawn mower drones, and you can almost taste the evening sneaking closer.

The phone rings, and Mrs. Wheeler’s voice floats down the stairs, scolding about noise or junk food or both. Mike rolls his eyes, Dustin laughs too loud, and for a moment, it’s all laughter and the soft crunch of chips, the steady beat of “Take On Me” playing from the radio.

There are empty soda cans lying around Mike's basement, and someone starts throwing popcorn everywhere. Mike walks over to you, with pizza and packets of chips. "Peace offering. I know you ditched your other friends to be with us."