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You climb through Dustin Henderson’s bedroom window like you’ve done a hundred times before, shoes clutched in your hands so they don’t knock against the siding window and wake half of Hawkins. The screen gives a loud *shhk* as you ease it back into place.
There goes waking half of Hawkins
“Wow,” Dustin mutters from his desk without turning around, his soldering iron still glowing.
“Ten out of ten stealth. Good one, Y/N”
You freeze for half a second. “You’re awake? Dustin, its like 10pm..”
“Obviously,” he says. “If I was asleep, I’d be screaming right now.”
You bite back a grin
"And besides," he looks at you, putting down his soldering iron "You're awake right now too, if I'm not mistaken."
You tiptoe across the carpet. Your head was still buzzing from rehearsal. "I guess I am, yeah."
The air smells like Dustin’s mom’s laundry detergent. Dustin was hunched over his desk, He had gone back to fiddling with whatever he was making, His curls falling into his eyes. His tongue was poking out in concentration as he fiddled with a mess of wires and metal scraps. Something half-built sat between his hands. It was an invention you did'nt understand and probably never would.
You set your shoes down by the bed and flop onto it, sprawling on your stomach. “It’s so late.”
He shrugs.
You watch him for a second,Your chest doing that annoying thing it always does around him.
“You should’ve been asleep. Mrs. Henderson will kill me if she finds out I climbed in again.”
“She won’t,” Dustin says easily. “She thinks you’re a good influence”
You snort. “So I'm a delight?”
“That’s debatable.”
You roll onto your side, propping your head on your arm. The adrenaline from rehearsal hasn’t faded yet, your limbs still feel tingly.
“Rehearsal went really good.”
Dustin glances over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say, breathless. “The harmony finally locked in during Act Two, and the director didn’t stop us once, which basically means I'm Broadway-ready.” you gloat
He hums noncommittally and goes back to his wires.
You grin anyway.
"Y'wanna hear about my solo???"
"no-"
"Yeeeup... I basically nailed it... I swear, I can feel the applause already! Honestly, you should be begging for my autograph now while im unknown.."
“That’s… great,” he says, tone careful, like he’s trying to defuse a bomb.
You know he doesn’t like theatre. He never has. he says that its because there are "Too many people singing when they could simply talk like normal people."
But he still listens.
You kick your feet lightly against the bed. “It’s this musical about a spelling bee—”
He groans. “Oh no.”
“—and it’s actually about pressure and identity and how growing up is terrifying—”
“I hate it already.”
“—and there’s this one girl who spells a word wrong on purpose—”
Dustin turns in his chair, pointing the soldering iron at you. “Why would anyone do that.”
“Because pressure, Dustin!”
“Boo.”
You laugh and he rolls his eyes you notice the smile tugging at his mouth.
You keep talking anyway. You talk about blocking and lighting cues and how the pianist messed up the tempo again in your song. Dustin leans back in his chair, his invention put to the side. He listens closely even if he doesn’t get a word of what you are sayong.
Eventually, your voice softens, the buzz in your head settling.
Dustin reaches over to the milk crate by his bed and pulls out a vinyl record. “Wanna hear something dumb?”
You sit up. “why not?”
He drops the needle, and the room fills with a soft crackle before mellow jazz drifts out.
Is this dumb Jazz?” you ask jokingly.
“I never said that.” he corrects. “This is what I listen to when I need to focus”
"you kind of did-"
"shut up for a second?" he smiles warmly at you. butthead.
The lights are all off apart from the desk lamp glowing, There are shadows stretching across the walls.
"I cant believe you listen to records, just use a tape like a normal person!" He rolls his eyes at your retort and you lie back again, staring at the ceiling, listening to the record.
"It is pretty nice though.."
there is a comfortable silence for a few seconds before
“You ever get tired?” Dustin asks quietly.
You consider it. “Yeah.”
He nods like he understands. The record pops softly.
Dustin stands, suddenly awkward, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. The song ends and another, slower song starts.
“Hey, uh. This song’s… slow.”
You glance up at him.
“Okay?”
He scratches the back of his neck.
“Nancy said slow songs are meant for dancing.”
“Nancy Wheeler also said girls our age are dumb.”
“True,” he says. “But she also danced with me, so her credibility’s like… fifty-fifty.”
"She danced with YOU?"
"Long story.."
You sit up, the space between you suddenly charged.
"Wait a minute." you take a second to understand what you just heard.
“Are you asking me to dance, Henderson?”
He shrugs, cheeks pink.
“We’re not dating.”
“I know..”
“We’re just… friends.”
“Very close friends,” you say.
“Extremely,” he agrees.
He holds out his hand anyway.
You take it.
He’s stiff at first, unsure where to put his hands, so you guide him.
One hand on your waist, the other loosely holding yours.
You sway together, barely moving.
Dustin exhales, shoulders relaxing.
“This is… not terrible.”
You smile up at him.
“High praise.”
The room is quiet except for the vinyl and the soft sound of your breathing.
His forehead almost touches yours.
You can feel his warmth.
You’re not dating.
You’re just dancing in the dark,
in his bedroom,
at midnight...
You secretly wished it meant something.
And maybe it does.
Maybe it could.