— CHAPTER 7 —
... MYSTERIOUS AND SPOOKY

WEDNESDAY 31st OCTOBER,
1984

DAPHNE has never felt instant regret as much as she does right now. Standing in front of Tina's house, she instantly bears witness to an overflowing mass of drunk and rowdy teenagers stemming from inside. Even Mötley Crue blasting through the stereos can't drown out the obsessive chants of those out in the front yard — when the crowd parts a little, Billy Hargrove appears to be the pinnacle of the attention. He spouts a torrent of beer up into the air like a whale, leeches like Tommy H. practically kissing the ground he walks on.

     Yep, Daphne thinks to herself. Definitely instant regret.

     She has a feeling Amy feels the same way, judging by how she feels her already backing away to the car. What were they thinking? What was she thinking? Even having been lucky to never be invited to one of these, Daphne always knew deep down these parties were nothing special. Repulsive, even. A cesspool of underage drinking, kissing in bathrooms and bad decisions.

     But before she can even think about aborting the idea, Felix has an arm around each of the girls and is ushering them towards Tina's house. "Aw come on, you're not backing out already are you?"

"This isn't the kind of party I was thinking of, Felix," says Daphne uncomfortably in response.

"You've been here, like, five seconds. Don't judge too quickly! They're fun once you get into them."

"You say that like you're a seasoned party-goer," Amy interjects sceptically.

Felix either doesn't hear her or ignores the statement. As they walk through the wide open front door, Daphne feels the music thumps through her chest so hard that it rattles her ribs and confuses her heartbeat. Costumed bodies are everywhere, writhing mindlessly to the music in a wide array of dance moves. Underneath suggestive devil costumes and leather jackets, she is able to recognise some of her classmates — a number of the faces shock her, as she witnesses them in a more primal state than she's ever seen at school.

... So this is what all those wildly fantasised High School parties entail? They really do look better in the movies.

Daphne suddenly senses that Felix has vanished, and panics until she sees his painted face swimming above the smaller party goers. She and Amy flock like lost sheep over to him, where a pair of girls seem to be cooing (correction, thinks Daphne, viciously flirting) over him. The pair hover awkwardly next to him, expecting at least some sort of introduction... which never comes. Watching Felix interact with the others the way he does feels so wrong — it's like he is a whole new person, and Daphne so far isn't convinced she likes it.

"I need a drink," announces Felix abruptly. "Come on, I think there's punch over here."

The trio meander past drunken teenagers over to the kitchen island, where a suspicious-looking bowl of misty pink liquid. Next to it, there is a smaller girl and one of the guys from the basketball team — something which Daphne definitely didn't notice through a love of sport — who is dressed in a Roman tunic and chugging the stuff from a red plastic cup.

"What's in this?" the girl asks him hesitantly. Daphne recognises the voice at once, knowing it belongs to Nancy Wheeler.

"PURE FUEL! PURE! FUEL! WOOO!" he warrior-cries in response, followed by a hollow belch.

While Nancy scoops some of the stuff (can they surely call it punch at this point?) into her cup, Daphne feels a figure brush past her shoulder, and from behind notices the hair belonging to Steve Harrington. Of course — because where Nancy goes, Steve isn't usually far behind.

They start bickering about something together, but Daphne isn't paying attention anymore. Felix has snuck out of her peripheral and dunked a red cup of his own into the drink. He tips his head back and starts chugging it rapidly, his Adam's apple bobbing like a buoy with each gulp. Daphne and Amy can only watch, dumbfounded and somewhat horrified, as he then slams down his empty cup to catch his breath.

"You good there?" Daphne asks sarcastically, with a scrutinising glare.

Felix nods quietly. "The guy wasn't lying, this is pure fuel..."

"Have you smelled that stuff?" Amy folds her arms across her chest. "At the rate you're going, you'll be going to school tomorrow with the world's worst hangover."

He simply shrugs. "That's what you do at parties, right? Dance, and drink, and forget... about everything..."

Something in his tone wobbles on those last words. Felix suddenly seems absorbed in thought, something so unpleasant that it makes him flinch — so he reaches for another drink and starts sipping, disappearing into the crowd of teenagers. Daphne blinks at him, unable to believe what she is seeing. Felix has always been so careful with himself — above all because of his ballet, and the constant need to maintain his strength and stamina for the extremely demanding sport. He had always done that because that was his life. But now? Seeming a little too experienced with parties, drinking to forget and thus trashing his body; now she thinks about it, Daphne remembers that his grades have started slipping the last couple of months.

Was she too busy to notice all of this happening?

Oh God... I'm a horrible friend, Daphne thinks, her heart sinking.

"Let's go find somewhere quieter," Amy tries yelling over the music, bringing Daphne back around. "This place is giving me a headache."

     The pair start roaming the nooks and crannies of Tina's house, albeit at a snail pace due to all the squeezing past people on the dance floor. First they try the downstairs bathroom; locked. Upstairs seems like the next best bet, so they go up, already relieved by how the music feels a little more muffled up here. One of the doors is closed but unlocked, so Amy swings it open — lying on the bed are a guy and a girl in a tangled mess of limbs, her shirt straps halfway down her bare shoulders as he kisses the skin there. The mood is immediately soured by the rude interruption though, and even though Amy shuts the door as quickly as she opened it, the image lingers in Daphne's brain.

     "Not that one, then..." she mumbles.

     "Bathroom maybe?" Daphne suggests.

     She decides it's her turn to open the door this time, wondering what jack-in-the-box surprise will greet them this time — Daphne means it sarcastically, but somehow still doesn't expect to see the guy crouched over a line of white powder on the bathroom sink, while his equally wasted friend eggs him on ("Dude, that's gnarly!" he chortles). Maybe too far gone to notice her, she simply slams the door shut again, in the hope it will also force the memory out of her cranium.

     With seemingly nowhere else to go, Daphne and Amy begrudgingly make their way back downstairs as Kim Wilde starts thumping through the speakers. They do their best to find the quietest spot possible, eventually finding a dimly lit corner next to the TV. The pair open their cans of Pepsi that they grabbed on their way over.

"You sure this isn't spiked with alcohol or something?" Amy queries, warily sniffing the drink.

"Only one way to find out I guess..." Daphne sighs.

"Well then. Here's to you. Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

They both take a sip of their Pepsi, and look out into the ever changing crowds.

"How do they not get tired?" Daphne ponders aloud. "We've only been here for what, a quarter of an hour? I'm already exhausted."

"That is not a question you should be asking someone with chronic headaches," Amy replies with bitter sarcasm.

"I just don't get how they all have this... constant desire to do this, you know? Like, once I'm done here tonight, that's it. But people talk about these kinds of parties every week. And I've got to admit, for a Halloween party, there isn't much... you know, Halloween going on."

"Well what were you expecting? Pumpkin piñatas and Twister?"

"No, I just— never mind..." Daphne trails off, not entirely sure where she was going with that. Maybe as always, she just struggles to relate to her age group and understand how this appealing to people like them; to people like Felix. "Did you know he partied that much?"

"There's lots I don't know about him these days," Amy admits. "Whenever we hang out, he never really wants to talk about it much. At least not to me. I don't know, he just seems... like one minute, he's fully-charged and throwing himself into something new, and the next he just crashes and goes all quiet on me."

The words Felix spat out before echo in Daphne's memory again — dance, drink and forget — and she suddenly feels a tug of guilt in her gut. Tonya. Daphne knew he was struggling since she vanished and assumed it was bad, but this... this is really bad. Has Felix been destroying himself over this all the while and she didn't even notice?

Not that you could do much about it, Daphne taunts herself.

Before she can let it eat her up immediately, a familiar face has wandered over to the pair. Her head of permed chestnut hair sits comfortably on her shoulders, her cloudy green eyes popping under a sheen of metallic blue eye shadow. The frilly white dress she is wearing swishes delicately at her kneecaps with each step she takes closer to them. Undoubtedly the much-prophesied Elaine, she taps Amy on the shoulder before Daphne can give her the signal that she's arrived.

"Amy! I wasn't sure you'd come," says Elaine. "Do you like the costume? I'm channeling 'Phantom of the Opera' tonight."

"Yeah, you look great," Amy smiles, standing back to get a better look at her costume.

"Thanks. I love yours too. It's that lady from 'The Shining' isn't it?"

"You remembered?"

"I did, specifically because you told me how you wanted no one to notice."

The two laugh together, while Daphne stands to the side slightly, drumming her fingertips on the side of her can. It is almost as if she has forgotten Daphne exists. In fact, she swears Amy has smiled more in the past thirty seconds than she has all month...

Elaine finally notices Daphne's presence and waves: "Oh, hi Daphne," she says. Before she can wave back sheepishly, Elaine has already moved on. "Have you been upstairs yet?" she asks Amy.

"We did earlier. Didn't exactly go very well. Saw some... stuff."

"Oh, yikes. Well I'm sure second time's the charm. Come on, follow me!"

Without any goodbye, Amy vanishes absentmindedly in tow with Elaine, meandering over to the stairs — and just like that Daphne is all alone. Well, maybe not alone, seeing as she is sandwiched in a room full of drunk teens. But somehow this way feels much lonelier than sitting by herself in her room at home.

     Looking for something to do, Daphne picks up littered trash from the floor, careful to not be trampled on by people. Then she pushes past people with handfuls of flattened Coca Cola cans, searching aimlessly for somewhere to dispose of them — as much as she might get ridiculed for it, Daphne isn't putting these in just any trash can. Giving up, she gathers the trash in a little pile on a coffee table. Maybe it will save Tina a cleaning job tomorrow morning.

     As she does this, she becomes acutely aware of a voice yelling her way. Daphne looks around blindly to find the source, until she thinks she traces it to a giant, talking shower curtain. Someone had obviously watched 'The Karate Kid' earlier this year... she still has no idea what he is saying though.

     "What?" Daphne tries to yell above the music, which only seems to be getting louder.

     The shower curtain rips open, revealing a small pubescent boy inside — he can't be more than in his sophomore year. She has to admit, it's a clever disguise for a young kid to get into a high school party.

     "I said I like your Ghostbusters costume! It's cool, very modern."

     Mildly irritates, Daphne objects, "This is a Ripley costume!"

     "What?!"

     "RIPLEY? FROM 'ALIEN'?"

     His patience worn thin, the boy shuts his curtains again, the walking shower hobbling down the corridor and bumping into people. A little self-consciously, Daphne starts to examine her costume and really wonders if it looks too much like a Ghostbuster...

     The air seems to be growing tight in this room. Crammed into a corner next to a group of rowdy girls, Daphne suddenly feels a bout of dizziness creeping in. The closeness of the dancing people she has to squeeze by now feels suffocating, the close contact too much. Where is Felix? Where is Amy? Desperate to escape the sensory overload, Daphne starts pushing past people — suddenly she collides with a brunette girl, who she again recognises to be Nancy.

     "Hey, Nancy, have you—"

     "Heyyyy..." Nancy drunkenly giggles, patting Daphne's shoulder. "Don't worry, you– you look worried. You're supposed to be having fun! Like stupid teenagers... remember?"

     Swaying as though the floor shifts beneath her feet, Nancy staggers away to get more punch, and Daphne returns to feeling like she can't breathe. She clambers past the last group of people and lunges for the bathroom — but swinging the door open reveals someone with their head buried in the toilet, and an even worse stench wafting her way. Daphne gags and promptly shuts the door. She needs fresh air, right now. As vigorously as she can, she pushes past everyone once again and bursts open the glass garden door...

     Her first inhale of the fresh evening air is instantly healing. Exhausted, she sinks to the ground and sits, leaning her head against the doorframe while watching toilet rolls fly through the air on the lawn. This is certainly not the birthday she had envisioned. Sitting alone, feeling dizzy and nauseous at Tina's house, of all places.

     Daphne sits like this for a while; her head empty of thoughts, her eyes closed (with a strange sense of trust that no one will do anything to her). She feels the night breeze caress her skin in silence...

     And then, from inside, the first notes of 'Edge of Seventeen' reach her ears.

     It is like someone strikes a match inside her. A warmth spreads through her, like a sudden release of tension. Daphne is transported to how she felt in the car just hours earlier, like she was untouchable even after everything. She was small but the world was wide. That belief instills itself within her again — except this time, it is tinged with an angst of some sort. Like a bittersweet acceptance of this maybe-fitting start of her next chapter.

     Maybe it isn't what you expected. But you go out there, and you own it.

     With renewed determination, Daphne follows the voice of Stevie Nicks back into the living room. She wades past people with ease, almost feeling as if the crowd parts just for her. She walks until she has made it to the centre of the room, hidden enough within the crowd so she can feel alone, like she might as well be by herself in her bedroom. As the song builds to the first chorus, Daphne feels the music, rolling her shoulders with the rhythm and bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her arms twist with flourishes above her head, and she lets herself go.

In a room full of people making appearances or trying to impress others, Daphne dances only for herself.

And she is having a ball.

"So with the slow, graceful flow of age," Stevie belts from the stereos "I went forth with an age old desire to please on the edge of seventeen..."

The abrupt transition to Duran Duran's 'Girls On Film' fills Daphne with a small disappointment that the song ended, but her feet still bounce subconsciously along with the catchy tune. Having landed back in reality again, she scans her surroundings once more — and finds maybe the most unlikely of party goers only a few metres away. Jonathan Byers, head down and hands in his pockets, makes his way over to her through the crowd.

"Jonathan!" Daphne greets him. "I didn't take you as the party type."

"Neither did I, but I could say the same for you," Jonathan replies. "Hey, happy birthday by the way."

"Thank you," she says sincerely. After the night she is having so far, hearing it at all is an endearing reminder.

The two of them try to remove themselves from the crowd, standing next to the staircase so they can hear one another better. She has to admit, she is actually relieved he came, for whatever reason — even if she and Jonathan don't talk a whole lot, they have rekindled their old friendship since the events of last year. It was easier to reconnect with him than with Nancy, as much as Daphne tried to maintain their bond.

"Aren't you usually with Will for Halloween?" Daphne asks first.

"Yeah. I guess I thought I would maybe... shoot my shot at something different. Besides, I don't have to worry. Nothing would ever happen to him under Cath's watch." Daphne grins at this, because he's absolutely right. Her sister's instinct to mother everyone is hard to compete with. "But what made you come here? You didn't stay home for Halloween?" Jonathan asks, aware of her preferred birthday traditions.

"Felix got invited, so he brought me and Amy along. Said it would be fun."

"Where are they now?"

"Felix, no idea. He started drinking the moment we got here and just vanished. Then Amy ran off with one of her new friends, and... yeah. Here we are." Daphne sighs then, running a hand through her hair. "I feel awful, Jonathan. It's like I'm just realising they have both had their own shit going on, and I was too busy just... you know."

"Yeah, I do," Jonathan sighs too. "But don't feel guilty. Really. Have you thought about just going home?"

"I don't have a lift. Besides, I don't think I can just leave Felix and Amy here, but who knows how long they'll be?"

Right on cue, the thumping of footsteps against stairs catches their attention, a flustered Amy bursting into her peripheral.

     "Hey Amy, we were just talking about y—"

     "I'm going home," Amy blurts out, avoiding all eye contact with either Daphne or Jonathan. Her keys fall out of her coat pocket as she runs and she stops, bending down to pick them up with frantic hands.

     "Wait, what?" Daphne retorts, perplexed. "You don't need a lift—"

     "I'll see you tomorrow!"

     And with that, Amy vanishes. Shaking her head, Daphne throws her hands up in their air and exchanges a glance with Jonathan in shared confusion. She soon becomes distracted again, however, because over his shoulder another scene is unfolding — a completely hammered Nancy trying to scoop more punch into her plastic cup, while Steve tries to pry it away from her in an attempt at responsibility. The sluggish tug-of-war with the cup backfires, as Nancy staggers back and a splash of pinkish-red punch soaks her white blouse. It even catches the attention of everyone looking, finally stopping their dancing and staring with open mouths while Duran Duran thumps in the background. With a jaded look, Nancy stumbles towards one of the bathrooms and Steve follows, trying to avoid the overtly curious stares they are getting.

     Everyone seems to try and rescue a sense of normalcy after that dramatic moment, which Daphne has a go at too. Sheepishly, she asks Jonathan, "About this costume... does it really look like a Ghostbuster? And be honest too. I won't be offended."

     "Yes, you will," he deadpans back.

     Daphne can't help but smile. He knows her well.

     Jonathan then honestly answers, "No, I don't think so. But maybe I can see why it looks... Ghostbuster-ish? I think it's the colour."

     "I knew it," Daphne despairs, staring in dismay down at her jumpsuit. "They didn't have one in the colour closer to Ripley."

Before the conversation can go further, this time an emotional Steve is storming past them — his eyes burn straight into the ground so there is no way to tell what just happened. But he pushes the door open and walks straight out, with the kind of intent that suggests he won't be coming back... so where does that leave Nancy?

"Did you see where she went before?" Jonathan asks, his protective side suddenly appearing. "I don't know Tina's place at all."

Daphne nods, and gestures for him to follow her. Pushing past people this evening has become normal at this point, the pair managing to break through and open the door to the downstairs bathroom. Inside they find a pitiful sight — a completely drunk Nancy, swaying on the spot while slowly running a wet cloth against her stained shirt. It doesn't do anything to the stain, just makes her shirt all damp.

"S'coming off..." Nancy murmurs, in a drunken slur.

There is no way they can just leave her. Jonathan already seems prepared to spring into action, gently taking the cloth from her and hooking one of her arms around his neck. Daphne does the same with Nancy's other arm, and again they try supporting her limp weight — the stares from other people in the room, along with some laughter, they try to ignore as best as they can. Once they get out of Tina's house, it gets much easier. Jonathan isn't parked that far away, so Nancy's feet dragging across the pavement is only a temporary problem.

"I'm gonna take her home," says Jonathan. He awkwardly tries pushing Nancy's floppy drunk limbs into the passenger seat, her head lulling from side to side — it's sweet. He really cares, and he always has.

Once he shuts Nancy's passenger door, he sighs. "Do you want a lift home?"

"Oh no, thanks," Daphne shakes her head. "I could use a walk. To clear my head."

Jonathan nods knowingly. She stays to watch him get into the driver's seat, observing his car until it disappears down the road with Nancy in the front. Alone with her thoughts, yet again, Daphne starts walking down the sidewalk — she hopes it is in the general direction of her way home.

The luminous face of the moon has been chopped up by the silhouettes of bare tree branches; it shines down on the dwindling number of trick-or-treaters left, mostly kids who are lost or daring to push past curfew. The further Daphne walks, the quieter the ruckus from Tina's house gets, much to her relief. She can finally hear herself think.

As a kid, she always romanticised the idea of turning eighteen. Part of her was always a little afraid, of course, but the overwhelming hope that it meant she was almost out of Hawkins was superior. When she was eighteen, little Daphne had thought, she wouldn't have to answer to those people anymore. The ones who felt like they owned her. But most of all, she thought she would have everything figured out — like some magical prophecy would be fulfilled, perhaps an adult wisdom, and she would magically know what direction to go...

But tonight, walking home alone and trying not to fear the dark, Daphne feels none of that certainty. In fact, she feels more unsure of her path than ever.

As for her actual birthday, she doesn't necessarily care that much about the day itself. Wrapped gifts and parties mean little to her in the big scheme of things. Nevertheless, Daphne cannot deny that it's been one hell of a weird day. If she had a bingo card for what she could have expected for today, the fact she even went to Tina's party at all excluded all her predictions.

In hindsight though, Daphne doesn't care. Not really. It almost feels fitting, after the year she's had, to have her birthday pan out like this. From going to a house party to lumping a hammered Nancy Wheeler into Jonathan's car, she is almost convinced that tonight could not get any weirder...

... Until it does.

Between the shrinking clusters of trick-or-treaters going home, a guy around her age sits on the curb in a cul-de-sac, his head hung low over a beer bottle dangling from his arms. Daphne squints at the figure for a moment, tilting her head at him in recognition. For a moment she wonders whether she should say something. After contemplating this, she settles for a yes:

"Steve?"

Jumping slightly at being addressed, Steve Harrington looks tiredly at her — first at her feet, then works his way up to her face. "Hey..." he sighs, sounding completely forlorn.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Party wasn't fun anymore..."

Daphne recalls the memory of Steve following Nancy to the bathroom, then subsequently storming out minutes later without a word. Something must have happened between those events that has him sitting all alone this way — she almost feels weird seeing Steve like this, like she is invading his space.

Still, she hesitantly asks, "Can I sit?"

Steve shrugs, welcoming the idea. Daphne slowly sits down, cringing as her knees click in the awkward silence. She hugs her knees to her chest and watches him for a few moments — staring down into the bottom of the bottle, completely spaced out. A light breeze rustles their hair and washes a dusting of dead leaves past their feet.

"How many of those have you had?" Daphne finally probes, nodding to the beer bottle.

"Crap..." Steve suddenly mumbles, his head falling into his hands. Somehow he still clings onto the bottle — the hollow slosh that comes from it tells Daphne there is still some drink in there, albeit not much.

One too many, she estimates. Partly for his sake, but also because she's a little cold, she moves closer to him. Their elbows brush together as he looks up again. He certainly looks as though he has seen better days.

     "I take it you're not having a great Halloween," Daphne remarks sheepishly.

     "No, I'm not actually, and y'know why?" Steve rebukes, a slight slur creeping in. Why is everyone drunk tonight? "I'll tell y'why. It's bullshit. All of it."

     "What?"

     "Or at least that's what Nancy said... what was it again? Oh yeah —" he laughs, but with an edge of bitterness, "— I'm bullshit. Our relationship? Also bullshit. A lot of bullshit, bullshit, bullshit... she really likes that word. Also, she doesn't love me. Oh, and we killed Barb—"

     "Shhh!" Daphne cuts him off in a panic, before he can say anything more. She checks if the coast is clear before sighing with relief — but it doesn't stop the pity she feels after everything he said. It suddenly all makes sense. Nancy was drinking to forget, just like Felix did. Wanting to be a 'stupid teenager' for the night. But instead, she took it all out on Steve. Daphne had been sceptical on-and-off about how right Steve was for Nancy — right now, though, she doesn't think she has ever seen him broken-hearted. She hadn't estimated just how much he cared for her. He must have fallen hard. Really hard. Daphne thinks she knows a thing or two about that kind of sting...

     "She was drunk, Steve," she tries to reassure him, although even she isn't fooling herself. The delivery could have been better and more sober, but if that really is how Nancy feels... it doesn't come as a total shock. From the times Daphne has spoken to Nancy, she has never seemed comfortable living this double life of secrets and lies about last year. None of them are, of course, but Nancy in particular appears to struggle.

     Steve raises the bottle to take another gulp, but Daphne shoots her hand over the bottle top.

     "That isn't going to help."

     "Trust me, it already is."

     "It'll only delay the pain," she insists, increasingly pitiful of him. His grip around the bottle loosens and she manages to pry it away from his hands. Daphne looks around, knowing there is definitely no sign of any of his friends — they all seem to be magnetised to Billy Hargrove — and sighs in submission to what she is about to offer. "Here, let me take you home," Daphne offers.

     "I'm fine," Steve dismisses, with a wave of his hand. "I can drive."

"Um, no you're not," she retorts. He may not be totally drunk, but that's still intoxicated enough to not get behind a wheel. "Please, let me. It's on my way home anyway. Do you know where your car is?"

"Yeah. It's here, somewhere..."

Oh boy... "Think you can take me to it?"

Steve holds his arm up, signalling for help to stand up, so Daphne takes his hand and hauls him onto his feet. Once he has regained balance, he seems able to walk by himself — she still strolls right by his side in case he suddenly sinks. Along the sidewalk, a group of kids dressed as Ghostbusters gawk at them. Steve sends them back a weary stare and murmurs, "What are you looking at, you punks?"

Intimidated, the little kids scurry away. Daphne sighs. "Yeah, how about we don't scare off little children?"

"Everyone's dressed up as Ghostbusters this year," he says grudgingly, "even you."

"Oh my GOD, I'm RIPLEY!" Daphne shoots back, tired and annoyed at this point. "From 'Alien'? Sigourney Weaver? Ringing any bells?"

"Ohhhh... it wasn't very obvious. If I were you, I'd paint some blood on the shirt, with the alien coming out like—" To demonstrate, Steve sluggishly mimes an alien bursting out of his chest.

"But Ripley doesn't get infected. That's the whole point, she's the sole survivor!"

Steve eventually locates his car and lets Daphne get in the driver's seat. Instantly upon getting inside the BMW, the seats somehow feel more expensive, the dashboard polished clean. And... what's that smell? Is it hairspray? She can't quite tell. It takes a second to figure out how to drive it, accustomed to her own little midget of a car that she adores for its humbleness. Once she does, they mostly drive in silence, Daphne's window rolled down a crack and Steve staring blankly out of his. She finds herself imagining how her ten year-old self would react, if she told her she would be driving Steve Harrington home one day — she would possibly spontaneously combust. Oh, how that crush aged like milk in the sun. It certainly doesn't feel that amazing right now, the awkwardness of the whole situation thickening the air.

She has only walked or driven past Steve's house before, but Daphne sees it in a new light as she pulls up outside. It almost looks like the ones that are splashed across the front pages of architectural magazines — the kinds which don't look lived in yet, like they are for show and waiting for someone to make them feel like home.

Daphne is reaching to open her door, when Steve finally speaks up:

"Hey, can I ask you something? And be honest..." Steve swallows thickly and looks over at her, his gaze intense through the dim light in the car. "Did Nance and I ever have a chance?"

Loaded question, Daphne thinks with a panic. She isn't quite sure how to answer that, or whether she should. She knows what she would say if there was no such thing as social filters — that after what she had endured, what Nancy needs right now she simply cannot get from Steve, and that maybe the same is true for him too. Daphne doesn't say a word of this to him though. She is reluctant to start taking sides, since they are both her friends...

Internally, she does a double take. Friends? Since when has she started calling Steve a friend? That seems like too much of a stretch, to call him that only because she still feels she owes him after he pummelled a demogorgon for her.

Oh, what does it matter, she thinks.

Steve looks away then, dragging out a heavy sigh — oh yeah, she remembers, I was meant to be answering a question. He seems to have taken her lack of a response as a solid answer. Before Steve stands up, Daphne quickly blurts out: "It doesn't matter what I think. But, if you're asking me... I just think you should talk to Nancy tomorrow. It could be nothing."

He blinks at her. "Yeah. Maybe."

He starts wondering over to his sleek eyesore of a house, and Daphne lingers at first — should she follow him or not? She starts with a few timid steps his way. Steve doesn't appear to protest so she catches up with him, essentially now walking him to his door. An owl hoots loudly somewhere in the trees, slicing through their silence. Steve fumbles with his keys when they get there, while a pair of moths dance around an overhead lamp and waltz with their shadows.

"Do you know what time it is?" he asks her.

Having forgotten she owned a watch, Daphne glances down at her wrist. "9:20."

"That probably means my dad's back. Whoopee... hey, what are you smiling about?"

Daphne snaps back to his attention, embarrassed all of a sudden. He is shooting her a quizzical look. "Nothing," she replies. "It's just... well, I was born at 9:15 on the dot. So I guess that officially makes me an adult."

     Steve considers this for a moment, putting two and two together. Then his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Wait, it's your birthday?" he asks, suddenly seeming more awake.

     "Yeah."

     "Tonight? On Halloween?"

     "Mhmm."

     Steve gives a little nod, a half-hearted smile playing across his lips. "Well, happy birthday then."

     "Thanks..." Daphne gives him a small smile, somewhat taken aback. The door clicks open and he shuts it behind him, leaving her out in the Harringtons' front yard. On her way out, she quietly hums happy birthday to herself — this is officially the moment. Goodbye childhood, hello legal adulthood. Maybe walking Steve Harrington to his door wasn't how she had envisioned turning eighteen, but after a night of complexities, it is a strangely simple and optimistic note to end on.

     Daphne walks back to Kerley all by herself, no streetlights to guide her. It is only once she gets inside the house again — 9:30 on the dot, so her father will be pleased — that she didn't once feel scared of the dark on that journey.

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     AS much as she enjoyed Halloween, Cath is overwhelmingly relieved to be shedding her Wednesday Addams facade... mostly the wig. Or, correction: purely the wig. She watches herself in the mirror as she slips the jet black braids off her head, and then removes the bald cap — the contrast is massive as she watches her fair blonde locks cascade out from the wig's wrath. While enjoying the fact her scalp can breathe again, she changes into her pyjamas and brushes her teeth ready for bed.

Cath perches on the side of her bed, her room warmly lit by her lamp. Ringo is curled up by her feet and her library book is ready to have more chapters devoured. But before that, she opens the drawer of her bedside table and retrieves her Supercom. She doesn't use it as frequently as the boys do, however it is their main communication outside face-to-face (mainly to avoid racking up the phone bill). As usual, before using it she slides down the lilac ribbon tied to the contraption, where she has attached the original gift tag containing the Christmas message from the boys.

     She wants to check on Will — or at least just know he was. First she tries calling him, fiddling with the device like she was taught to do by the boys... but there is no response. Maybe he's asleep, she asserts. Presuming that he probably needs his rest after the week he is having so far, Cath switches her game plan.

     Her next best bet is Mike. She knows he took Will home with him after the incident, so maybe he can shed some light on how he was doing. It also couldn't hurt to check up on Mike himself. Cath changes the channel to reach him, and has barely opened her mouth to speak when she hears him already talking. He is a little fuzzy with static, but she can catch the words he is saying:

     "— It's Day 353... I had a bad day today..."

     Cath hesitates. What does Day 353 mean? Is he talking to her? She considers interrupting, but then remembers being taught not to speak until the other has said 'Over.' So she waits, cradling her walkie-talkie gingerly in her hands.

     "... I don't know, I— I guess I wish you were here. I mean, we all do. If you're out there, please, just give me a sign..."

     She furrows her eyebrows, puzzled, but holds the Supercom closer so it hovers by her chest. She still doesn't know what Mike is talking about, or who, but his voice is really what grabs her attention — he sounds so tired. Cath is reminded of what he blurted out earlier, and the weariness he has had since... last year. Hold on...

     Doing some quick maths in her head, she thinks back to what was roughly 353 days ago. The moment she remembers coincides with a rough crackle from her Supercom — underneath the harsh static, it almost sounds like a soft tone, but it isn't discernible. Cath's breath hitches in her throat as Mike's voice returns to the channel:

     "Eleven?" he whispers, into the void.

     Cath abruptly pushes down the antenna of her Supercom, cutting the crackling off to leave only deafening silence in her bedroom. She promptly puts it back in the drawer, as if it will shake the tension laced in the air now. Like yesterday, Cath finds herself thinking once again about Eleven — she wishes she had come to Hawkins Middle, and gone to the Snow Ball, and braided her hair and all those lovely things she never got to do.

     What's more, she thinks she finally has a perception of how much Mike is hurting. How much all of them are. She had been putting off the anniversary of when everything started; now with under a week to go and the turn of the month, it feels like only a matter of time before the past returns and demands to be remembered...

In what shape or form that will be, is up to the universe.

━━━━━━

A/N;

ta daaa! part 2 of hawkins halloween, yet again pre-written. the party scene took so long to write AHH but it was worth it. this chapter was meant to show how lots of the other characters are struggling, e.g. felix starting to spin out of control, amy and whatever she has going on with elaine 👀 as well as of course nancy "bullshit" wheeler, and cath hearing poor mike trying to call eleven (idk if technology-wise that's how walkie-talkies work, but HEY, it's ✨fictional✨). ALSO STAPHNE!! i keep dropping little scenes here and there, but from now on you are going to see a lot more of them... so i really hope you likey.

in fact, things are really going to start kicking off in all aspects after this chapter, so stay tuned for that. we're getting into the good meaty stuff here! (and oh gOD writing about will is gonna be hard 🥲)

thank you for reading as always, and hope you have a lovely day/evening!

— Imogen

[ Pre-written: May 21st, 2022 ]
[ Published: June 23rd, 2022 ]