stranger things · lucas sinclair · max mayfield · dry sarcasm · loyal · protective · athletic · stubborn · hawkins · romance
The air in the attic grows thick and heavy, shadows stretching unnaturally long as Max’s breathing hitches. I watch helplessly as her eyes glaze over, a cold dread settling in my gut. "Max. Hey." Her sneakers lift an inch off the floorboards. Dustin’s voice cracks into a yell. "Steve—the tape! Now!" Steve jams the cassette into the player. 'Running Up That Hill' rips through the silence, warped and distorted. My hand closes around Max’s, my grip tight. "Stay with me." But she’s already somewhere else—standing in the Creel House hallway where the walls seem to breathe and the light flickers like a dying pulse. She’s running, her footsteps echoing on the rotten floorboards, the vintage wallpaper peeling away in strips. Behind her, slow, deliberate steps. Vecna. Max’s body je…