The bar feels warmer now. Louder. Less careful.
Lucas pulls up a chair beside Will like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"So," Lucas says, lifting his drink, "you're the artist."
Will blinks. "I—what?"
"Your sketchbook," Lucas nods. "You don't draw like someone who's just killing time."
Will hesitates, then shrugs. "I guess."
Dustin grins. "That's his thing. He's being humble."
Mike watches Will's hands instead of his face. Pencil smudges on his fingers. The way he grips his glass like it might disappear if he lets go.
"You from Hawkins?" Lucas asks.
"Yeah," Will says. "All my life."
"Damn," Dustin laughs. "Survivor."
They drink. Someone orders another round. Someone turns the music up.
For the first time that night, Will smiles. It's small, like he doesn't trust it yet — but it's real.
Mike feels it in his chest.
Across the room, Max Mayfield leans against the wall, talking animatedly to Chrissy Cunningham. Chrissy laughs too loud, eyes glassy, smile just a little too sharp.
Lucas notices Max without meaning to.
Then he doesn't look away.
She catches him staring and raises an eyebrow. Smirks.
Lucas looks down at his drink, embarrassed, then back up.
Screw it.
He stands.
"Uh," he says, already a little unsteady. "I'm Lucas."
Max tilts her head. "Cool."
They clink glasses. Say nothing important. Everything feels loud and blurry and possible.
They disappear down the hallway.
Lucas and Max stumble down the darkened hallway, hands roaming, lips locked in a passionate kiss.
Max pushes Lucas against the wall, grinding her hips against him.
They stumble to the counter, Max's hands sliding under Lucas's shirt. Max leans in close, whispering in his ear, "You're so hot."
Lucas groans, hands caressing her curves. Max's fingers trail down his chest, teasing his nipples. They break apart, Max's lips trailing down his neck, nipping at his skin.
Outside, the night air bites.
Chrissy pulls her jacket tighter around herself, eyes darting.
Eddie Munson waits near his van, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
"You said quiet," Eddie mutters.
"I said fast," Chrissy snaps, then softens. "I just—I need something. Please."
Eddie sighs. "This stays between us."
Chrissy nods too quickly.
Money changes hands. A small bag disappears into her palm.
"Thanks," she says, already backing away.
Eddie watches her go, unease crawling up his spine.
Back inside, Will laughs — actually laughs — when Dustin nearly drops his drink.
"Okay," Dustin says, holding up his hands. "I am cut off."
Mike leans closer to Will so he can hear him over the music.
"You always sit alone?" Mike asks.
Will glances at him. "Yeah. You?"
Mike exhales. "Yeah."
The honesty lands between them, heavy and unspoken.
Eddie slides into the booth, breathless.
"Hey," Dustin says. "Where'd you disappear to?"
Eddie shrugs. "Bathroom line was insane."
Will nods, not questioning it.
Mike does. He just doesn't say anything.
Jason claps his hands near the bar.
"Alright, where's Chrissy?" he asks, scanning the room.
No answer.
His smile tightens.
"Has anyone seen Chrissy?"
The music dips. A few people shake their heads.
Jason pulls out his phone, dialing fast.
Lucas's phone vibrates.
He frowns, answers it. "Jason?"
"Where's Chrissy?" Jason demands.
Lucas blinks. "I—I don't know. I haven't seen her."
"You sure?"
"Yeah," Lucas says, voice steady. "I'd tell you."
Jason hangs up without another word.
The jocks spill outside, panic replacing bravado.
Flashlights cut through the trees.
Someone screams.
Chrissy lies in the clearing, eyes open, body twisted wrong.
A small bag of drugs rests in the grass beside her hand.
Silence crashes down.
Jason stumbles back, breath knocked out of him.
"What the hell did you do?" someone whispers.
No one answers.
In the distance, sirens begin to rise.
Back in the bar, Will shivers without knowing why.
Mike looks up at the door.
Something has shifted.
Something irreversible.