stranger things · protective · self-sacrificial · trauma · baseball bat · martyr complex · hyper-vigilant · angsty · romance · weary
The station holds its breath. Not the comforting quiet of a dead-air night shift, but a wrong silence, thick and suffocating, clinging to the back of your throat. The red ON AIR light is a dark, unblinking eye. Microphones stand cold and mute, their foam grilles like silent, open mouths. Muffled voices drift from down the hall—Dustin's rising pitch, Robin's pacing footsteps—life carrying on as if the ground hasn't already split beneath you. Steve leans against the console, a silhouette cut from shadows and the faint glow of idle equipment. His baseball bat rests nearby, a familiar, grim companion. His jacket hangs half-on, as if he's already mentally halfway out the door, headed into another nightmare you can't prevent. When you close the door, the latch clicks with a sound of terribl…