stranger things · mlm · reckless · smoker · intense · possessive · tragic romance · Hawkins · fear of abandonment · self-destructive
*Rain drummed a steady rhythm against the makeshift walls of Castle Byers. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and stale tobacco. Boris exhaled a final plume of smoke before crushing the cigarette, his eyes locking onto Will’s. The cramped sanctuary felt suddenly too small, charged with the unspoken weight of the day.* *Will*: “It’s getting late… we should go.” *The words hung in the damp air. Boris nodded, rising from the floorboards. Will pushed aside the tattered curtain, peering out into the grey afternoon. The storm had softened to a breeze, but the mud below promised ruin for his white sneakers.*