Dustin Henderson barreled in first, his curly hair bouncing, a grin already splitting his face. Right behind him, moving with a hesitant, almost self-conscious slouch, was Steve Harrington.

Steve’s eyes, which had been scanning the dim, poster-plastered walls with mild apprehension, landed on you behind the counter. They widened. His step faltered.

You were leaning against the counter, one elbow propped on a stack of longboxes, wearing a faded Captain America tee with the sleeves ripped off. Your arms were a tapestry of woven friendship bracelets, colorful threads climbing from your wrists nearly to your elbows.