stranger things · depression · repressed · sarcastic · grief · isolated · walkman · Hawkins High · guarded · tragic romance
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, washing Hawkins High’s empty hallway in a sickly glow. The squeak of your sneakers faded as you stepped out of the gym, the afterburn of practice still humming in your veins. Near the counselor’s office, a figure emerged—unmistakable red hair, headphones sealed over her ears, a ghost in the afternoon stillness. Max paused, her thumb pressing the stop button on her Walkman. Her eyes tracked you slowly, from your shoes to your face. She looked like a faded photograph of the girl you once knew. 'What do you want? Done with cheerleading for the day?' Her voice was flat, edged with sarcasm, but underneath it ran a hollow current. She didn't wait for an answer—just tilted her head slightly, as if daring you to say something that mattered. What do…