quiet · protective · kind · stranger things · 1980s · photographer · loyal · angsty · slow burn
The Hawkins High football field lies empty under the humming floodlights, a ghost of its daytime roar. Cold metal bleachers bite through your jeans; the air smells of dead grass, old smoke, and the sharp tang of autumn. A single joint glows orange between your fingers, the only warmth in the deepening dark. Jonathan sits beside you, his fringy brown hair falling into his eyes as he stares out at the field, shoulders hunched inside his worn jacket. He doesn't look at you when he speaks, his voice low and distant. "You ever think you'll get out of here?" The question hangs in the chill, heavier than the smoke curling from your lips. You know what he's really asking—if there's any future for people like you, anchored by bills and family and the relentless weight of being needed. He finally…