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“We’re back, dingus!” Erica called as she and Max pushed through the front door, the screen slamming behind them.
Max paused just inside the threshold, adjusting the straps of the shopping bags digging into her palms. Spending the night somewhere other than Hopper’s place—or the hospital, before that—still felt strange, like borrowing someone else’s normal and hoping it didn’t notice. It had only been a week since she’d ditched the stupid chair for good, and apparently Erica Sinclair had decided that milestone demanded a full-blown shopping spree.
Neither of them could drive—Max still wasn’t cleared, and Erica only had her learner’s permit—so they’d taken the bus all the way out to the nearest mall. It had taken forever. They’d gone to so many stores Max lost count, her legs burning in that dull, persistent way she was learning not to complain about. It reminded her of the summer of ’85, wandering Starcourt with El, helping her discover what she liked instead of what other people told her she should wear.
Now it was Max’s turn.
For months she’d been stuck in borrowed clothes—Joyce’s sweaters, Hopper’s old flannels, the occasional Sinclair T-shirt Lucas pretended she’d stolen. She loved them all, she really did, but none of it felt like her. She wanted herself back. Or at least a version of herself that fit again.
Money had been the problem. Hopper and Joyce wanted to help, but wanting didn’t magically make it appear. Erica, however, had a different philosophy—clearance racks and ruthless confidence.\
“Erica!” Sue Sinclair groaned from the kitchen. “Inside voices!”
Erica huffed.
Sue rolled her eyes, then softened when she saw Max. “Hello, sweetheart.” She crossed the room and pulled Max into a careful hug, mindful in that quiet, instinctive way adults had learned around her. “I’m glad you can finally spend the night again.”
“Me too,” Max said honestly. “I missed you guys.”
Sue smiled, but there was something tired under it. “I can’t remember the last time Lucas actually ate dinner at home.” She sighed. “We’ve basically been a pit stop.”
Max swallowed around the guilt that flared automatically, even though Sue had never once made her feel like a burden. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be,” Sue said quickly. “We’re just glad you’re here.”
“I’m gonna go upstairs,” Max said, offering a small smile. “It’s really good to see you again.”
Sue nodded, and Max followed Erica up the stairs, neither of them bothering to knock when they reached Lucas’s door.
They immediately understood why.
Lucas Sinclair stood in the middle of his room, shirtless, lifting weights, a Walkman clamped over his ears and blasting some song Max didn’t recognize. Sweat slicked his skin, muscles tense in a way that made Max blink once, then twice.
Her favorite nerd, indeed.
Erica dropped her bags and made a face. “Disgusting.”
That was the last thing Max heard before Erica vanished back into the hallway, door shutting decisively behind her.
Lucas almost dropped the weights when Max stepped directly into his line of sight.
“Oh—Max!” He fumbled, yanking the headphones off. “Jesus, I—hey.”
“Hey,” she said, grinning. “You look… interesting.”
He rolled his eyes, breathless. “Yeah, okay.”
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and Max noticed the way he immediately reached for a shirt before she could even tease him about it. He was still careful, always careful, like one wrong move might break something.
“Me and Erica went shopping,” she said, gesturing to the bags.
“Oh,” he said, brightening. “Cool.” He tugged the shirt on. Sensible enough not to hug her while drenched in sweat. “How’re your legs?”
“Good,” she said, easily.
She didn’t mention the breaks. Or how she’d leaned on Erica more than she wanted to admit. Lucas didn’t need to know everything—not tonight.
She sat on his bed, exhaling. “So what’s all this?” She nodded at the weights.
He shrugged, sitting beside her. “Dunno. Thought I should… keep in shape. Or whatever.”
“Well,” she said lightly, “it’s working.”
He smiled at that, small but pleased. “What’d you get?”
“Anything that doesn’t look like it belongs to Joyce,” Max sighed. “I love her, but—”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “I get it.”
Their fingers found each other without thinking, hands fitting together like muscle memory. She squeezed once.
“You’re sweaty,” she noted.
“Rude,” he said. Then, softer, “I’m gonna shower. Dinner should be soon. Then we can come back up here and…” He trailed off.
She raised an eyebrow. “Do what teenagers do when left unsupervised in their bedrooms?”
She shoved his arm when he laughed. “God, you’re insufferable.”
He showered fast. When he came back, Max was sprawled across his bed on top of the blankets, fast asleep.
He smiled, something aching and fond in his chest. Of course she was tired.
He changed, grabbed a comic, and sat beside her, flipping pages quietly. It reminded him of the hospital—sitting by her bed, reading out loud, playing Kate Bush softly while machines beeped in the background. The best and worst days of his life, tangled together.
He took her hand, thumb brushing over her knuckles, gentle enough not to wake her.
A knock startled them both.
Max jolted awake as Lucas called, “Yeah?”
“It’s me, son,” Charles Sinclair said through the door. “Your mother’s finished dinner.”
“Okay,” Lucas replied. “We’ll be down in a minute.”
When the footsteps faded, Lucas glanced at Max. “You good?”
“Yeah,” she said, pushing herself upright, legs wobbling for just a second. “Just startled.”
He noticed. He always did. He didn’t say anything.
Downstairs, the table was set for six, even though only four lived there. It gave Max space—room to slide in beside Lucas without maneuvering chairs or apologies.
Dinner was loud in that comfortable Sinclair way. Erica complained about the mall and Sue asked Max about school, about physical therapy, about whether she was sleeping okay—not prying, just checking in.
Max laughed more than she expected to.
Later, they went back upstairs.
The door closed. Voices dropped. Laughter softened into something quieter.
Time passed.
The next morning, Mike’s house fled with noise as they squeezed into his basement for dnd.
Max sat beside Lucas, thigh pressed to his, their hands tangled like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Can you two stop?” Dustin groaned. “You’re making the rest of us sick.”
“We’re literally just sitting,” Lucas said.
Max grinned and rested her head against him anyway.
Mike rolled his eyes. Will smiled despite himself.
They played for hours. Max teased. Lucas defended her character relentlessly. At some point Holly wandered through and stole snacks.
And for the first time in a long while, Max forgot to count steps, forgot to measure pain, forgot to brace herself for the ground giving out beneath her.
She was just there.
With them.
And it felt like coming home.