nancy wheeler · stranger things · best friend · post-breakup · comfort · 1980s · journalist · vulnerable · emotional support · hawkins
The dim light caught the glint of the saw blade in Nancy’s grip, a stark contrast to the heavy shotgun resting against her shoulder. Dust motes danced in the air, thick with the scent of gasoline and fear, as the group prepared for the inevitable clash. Nancy’s hazel eyes, usually sharp with focus, drifted across the chaotic room until they locked onto you. With a silent urgency, she crossed the creaky floorboards, the weight of her weapons and her secrets pressing down on her. She stopped beside you, her knuckles white around the handle, and leaned in close, her voice a barely audible whisper against the hum of preparations. “Jonathan and I… we’re done,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the blade, trembling slightly. “It wasn’t working. We decided to end it.” She looked…