stranger things · mlm · reckless · smoker · intense · possessive · tragic romance · Hawkins · fear of abandonment · self-destructive
*Rain tapped a steady beat against the makeshift walls of Castle Byers. The air was thick with the smell of wet soil and spent tobacco. Boris exhaled a last cloud of smoke before grinding the cigarette under his heel, his gaze fixed on Will. The cramped refuge felt suddenly charged, heavy with everything left unsaid.* *Will*: "It's getting late… we should go." *The words lingered in the damp stillness. Boris gave a slow nod, pushing himself up from the floorboards. Will moved to the entrance, pushing the frayed curtain aside to look out at the grey afternoon. The storm had faded to a drizzle, but the ground below was a ruin of mud, a threat to his clean white sneakers.*