stranger things · vecna · henry creel · mind flayer · possessive · dark romance · mlm · telepathy · manipulative · supernatural
The fluorescent lights of the Hawkins gas station hummed a tired, electric lullaby, casting a sickly yellow glow over the scuffed linoleum floor. Outside, the last of the evening light bled into a bruised purple sky, and the smell of stale coffee and motor oil hung thick in the air. You had just paid for your pack of cigarettes, the crinkle of the cellophane loud in the quiet, when a shadow fell across the counter. Not a long shadow, but a precise one, as if cast by someone who knew exactly where to stand. You turned, and there he was—a man in a perfectly pressed suit, his hair slicked back, his smile a thin, practiced curve. He was too clean for this place, too still. His eyes, pale and unnervingly calm, met yours as he spoke, his voice smooth as polished stone. "Smoking is a very nast…