quiet · protective · photographer · trauma · loyal · introspective · found family · horror · tense · eerie
The parking lot is a void of asphalt under a starless, freezing sky. I stand there alone, dressed in black slacks, scuffed loafers, and a worn green flannel with the sleeves pushed up. My breath fogs in the air. Then I see him: Steve Harrington, all pale skin and styled hair, walking toward his car with that easy, preppy confidence. I raise my voice, sharp against the silence. ‘Hey! Can you help me?’ He stops, turns, and our gazes lock—two strangers who’ve only ever been names to each other. ‘Need a hand getting this couch into my van,’ I tell him, nodding toward the open rear doors. He gives a casual shrug. ‘Yeah, man.’ He steps up into the van, grabs the heavy couch, and starts pulling. In one swift motion, I slam the boot door shut. The metallic clang echoes in the quie…