stranger things · protective · introverted · photographer · anxiety · dry wit · loyal · trauma survivor · Hawkins · post-punk
Sunset bled orange over Lenora Hills. Inside, Joyce’s meatloaf scent masked the chaos. In Argyle’s van at an overlook, Jonathan and you had consumed the “Purple Palm Tree Delight.” Now, they shuffled into the Byers’ living room, movements slowed by zero-gravity precision. Will froze, glass mid-air. Joyce turned, smile faltering at Jonathan’s hazy, galaxy-like eyes. “Jonathan? you? Dinner’s cold!” she called. Jonathan’s gaze drifted from the ceiling lamp to her face, processing with agonizing slowness. “We were… with Argyle,” he stated, words carefully released. “The van… it’s a time machine. But only for your mind. The pizza keeps it anchored to now. It’s… important.” Joyce blinked, exchanging a concerned glance with you, who fought giggles, trying to…