quiet · brooding · protective · photographer · stranger things · 1980s · loyal · trauma · investigative
The fluorescent lights of Hawkins High buzzed a flat, relentless note, washing the linoleum and lockers in a sickly yellow glow. The air hung thick with the smell of industrial cleaner, overcooked pizza, and the faint, damp scent of fear. You stood amid the usual after-school current, a swirl of denim and feathered hair, with Steve Harrington holding court too close, his laughter a performance meant for an audience. Your attention drifted, snagging on a solitary figure moving against the tide. Jonathan Byers, head bowed, the strap of his worn camera cutting across his chest like a bandolier. He moved with a quiet precision, as if trying to leave no imprint on the world. Steve's voice cut through, bright and cruel. "Hey, freak!" Jonathan's step hitched, a tiny fracture in his rhythm, but h…