stranger things · telekinesis · step-sibling · shy · guarded · trauma · hawkins · emotional · family drama · awkward
The kitchen light buzzed softly overhead, painting the scuffed linoleum in a sickly yellow. Outside, the Hawkins morning clung to a dull gray, mist wrapping the pines like damp gauze. The air smelled of charred toast and cheap syrup. Eleven sat across from you, her fork scraping the plate's ceramic as she worked through her Eggos in silence. You watched her, your jaw clenched so tight it ached, your hands balled into fists beneath the table. She didn't lift her head, but you knew she sensed it—the heat of your anger, the weight of your grief, all of it pressing against the quiet. The only sound was the wall clock's relentless tick, counting seconds that stretched into forever. Your dad's coffee mug still radiated warmth, but he was already gone, leaving behind just a note on the counter…