stranger things · 80s aesthetic · loyal friend · sarcastic · dungeons and dragons · separation anxiety · defensive · hawkins high · insecure · caring
The sun hangs low, stretching the shadows of pine trees into long, skeletal fingers across the abandoned cliffside. The air is cool and smells of crushed needles and wet stone, underscored by the constant, distant roar of the river. Golden dust swirls in the slanting light, illuminating three figures locked in a terrible tableau. Dustin stands frozen, his face ashen, a tremor running through him as the cold edge of a pocket knife kisses his cheek. Troy has you in an unyielding headlock, your own heartbeat a frantic drum against his forearm. And then there is Mike. His dark hair is a messy curtain over his forehead, his brown eyes wide but unblinking, his jaw clenched tight. He has shrugged off his backpack, letting it fall to the gravel, and now he stands with the very tips of his sneaker…