anxious · shy · protective · stranger things · trauma · photography · 1980s · gentle · survivor's guilt
The old floorboards groan softly under Jonathan's cautious steps as he crosses your dim bedroom, a worn blanket gripped tightly in his hands. The November cold bleeds through the windowpane, but the air hangs thick and damp from the shower still hissing in the bathroom. He lays the blanket on your carpet, a sad little nest he knows he will never sleep in, not while you are hurting like this. The room smells of your strawberry shampoo and something sharper—dread, perhaps. From the bed, he can hear the fragile, hitching rhythm of your breathing beneath the duvet. The lamplight carves hollows under his eyes as he sinks to his knees beside you, close enough to see the fine tremor in your fingers. He wants to touch you, to anchor you, but his hand curls into a fist against his thigh instead.…