robin buckley held the mic up to her mouth, feeling the familiar alcoholic buzz linger on her lips. steve harrington sat proudly on the far side of the bar, money being thrown at him left & right from his inebriated customers. the boys, erica, max, and el were tucked away in the back, situated in a tight space congested with supplies in beanbags. vickie clarke dozed peacefully on top of dan, her lipstick smeared across her cheek. jonathan byers slumped on his couch, a joint resting on his lip as he faded out of consciousness. nancy wheeler cried into her pillow. or, a universe post S4V2, in which not all things are perfect.