Chapter Text
September 21, 1995
Hawkins, Indiana
"Alright, everybody, if I could have your attention," the DJ boomed through the mic, "please welcome to the floor, for their first dance as newlyweds, Max Mayfield and Lucas Sinclair!"
The two walked through a curtain, hand in hand, and took their place at the center of the room. Her hands on his shoulders, his on her waist. Their song, the Grover Washington classic Just The Two of Us, was the end result of a long discussion between the two.
Max had wanted Running Up That Hill, given its grand significance to their relationship, but Lucas was very much not interested, no matter if he did thank Kate Bush every night before bed. It was simply too imprinted in folds of his brain, like a ghost image on a television.
This had gone on for some time (at one point, they'd both agreed to The Humpty Dance in some deranged game of chicken,) until Will suggested a 3 vetos system. Both agreed and things went more smoothly from there.
It ended up being his only veto, while Max had used 2: he couldn't wear the stupid print tie he'd joked about (he couldn't even remember which one) and Mike Wheeler couldn't be best man (a decision he was honestly grateful for after watching him fumble around all weekend in his latest drug-fuelled stupor.)
"Hey, Sinclair," Max whispered, pressing her cheek to his jaw, "can you come back and join me? It's kinda hard to dance with an astronaut."
"Sorry, just... tired."
"Dude, I totally get it... My ass is gonna be planted in that wheelchair the rest of the weekend."
A wry smile appeared on his face.
"You sure there wasn't somewhere else it was gonna be?"
"Are you asking to be big spoon? Bold move."
"Shut up," he said with a chuckle, carefully dipping her, "if anything, I'd have to ask to be little spoon."
"I can't help that you have sexy shoulders and are, like, half a foot taller than me."
"So does this mean I'll never get to be little spoon?"
"Hmm... I'll think about it. Maybe if you ask nicely."
"Is taking you to Jamaica not nice enough?"
"I mean, maybe it is, but that's still weeks away."
"Brat."
"Yeah, I know. That's what makes the sex so fun."
"Alright, folks," the DJ piped back up, "give the lovely couple a round of applause."
The room did so, and it was almost thunderous.
"To accommodate for the bride," he continued, "the rest of the dances will be after dinner, starting with a dance between Lucas and his beloved mother Sue, but I'll be pumpin' the jams all night long, no matter what!"
The two headed towards the wedding party table, where Dustin, Will, Erica, and Ramona, Max's friend from the world of skateboarding, had already found their seats.
"Y'all are truly a sexy ass couple," said Ramona as they sat down.
"I second that eee-motionnn," sang Dustin.
"God," groaned Erica, "you're both already a couple sheets to the wind. In an hour, I'm going to be hearing about nothing but Ramona's fuck ass ex-husband and El."
Lucas cut her a sharp look, before kicking her in the shin for good measure.
"Ow!"
"You know what you did."
"Hey, hey, it's okay," said Ramona, "fuck Noah, but, like, it's no big deal if he comes up."
"Trust me, Mona... It wasn't about Noah," said Will, in what would be one of the very few things he said that night.
Later in the evening, Max stood up at the head of the dancefloor.
"Alright, ladies, get your asses out here! It's time for me to throw this dumb bouquet so I can finally go home and get in bed!"
Most of the young women in the room filed forward (save for Erica and Ramona, who were both having none of it, albeit for different reasons, and a few distant relations.) Max, however, had a specific target. She zeroed in on Nancy Wheeler.
Turning around, she tossed the bouquet over her head. It went sailing through the air, before...
"I got it!" yelled Robin Buckley joyously.
Max turned around and let out a woop.
"Do your thing, Buckley!"
She gave her a wink and a salute, before intertwining her fingers with Nancy's.
What she said next was too low for the bride to hear, but from the look on the shorter woman’s face and the short turnaround on their exit, it was probably some variation on “what say you and I head somewhere more private,” a phrase that had become a Rockin’ Robin standard.
Not long after, the rest of the crowd dispersed and Max returned to the wedding party's table.
"You did that on purpose!" accused Dustin, now about 5 sheets to the wind.
"No shit, Sherlock. That's been the plan for months."
"You better be glad Robin's so damn tall," laughed Lucas, "you fucked up that throw."
"Okay, Mr. Buzzer-Beater, I'll take pointers from you next time."
"Next time!? Didn't we just agree to 'til death do us part' like 2 hours ago?"
"Yeah, well, we’ll have to have a vow renewal in, like, 30 years, dude."
Dustin raised his pointer finger.
"It's not like a driver's li-"
"Henderson. I say this with all the love in my heart. Shut the fuck up."
"You know what? Fair. I gotta get a ride to Steve’s anyway. He left to catch a red-eye to Vancouver to spend the weekend with Jonathan."
"I can take you," hiccuped Ramona.
"Absolutely not," barked Max, "that's the blind leading the blind, but with a DUI involved."
"I think I saw Nikki around here somewhere," said Lucas.
"I saw your cousin Marcus hitting on her earlier."
"She's been through enough, then," he winced, "Where'd Will go?"
"Helping Holly wrangle The Idiot."
"He's been through enough, then."
"The lovebirds?"
Lucas thought hard for a moment, before flagging down Robin from across the room, where she and Nancy had been in a conversation with Charlie and Sue.
After several congratulatory goodbye hugs from and for the Sinclair parents, the future wives jogged over, hand in hand.
"How can we be of assistance, oh capitaines, mes capitaines?" smiled Robin.
"Can you get their drunk asses back to Steve's?" Max said, gesturing over her shoulder.