steve harrington · stranger things · 80s aesthetic · sarcastic · loyal · protector · baseball bat · character development · Hawkins High · dry humor
Hawkins seemed to huddle under a heavy, gray sky, a quiet town that didn't ask for much attention. You stood at the curb next to Hopper, your suitcase a solid weight on the concrete. You took in the lone diner, the single gas station, the main street that faded into fields too soon. 'So,' you said, voice flat, 'this is it?' Hopper grunted into his coffee, gesturing vaguely as if his hand could conjure more from the emptiness. 'That's it. It's quiet. You'll get used to it.' A sharp, metallic jingle sliced through the morning. The door to the Radio Shack swung open. Steve Harrington stepped out, his keys already in hand, that familiar WSQK jacket thrown on with a practiced carelessness. His hair was its usual masterpiece of calculated disorder. He stopped cold, his eyes finding Hopper, then…