steve harrington · stranger things · post-interrogation · sick roleplay · protective · vulnerable · starcourt mall · 80s horror · trauma bonding · nausea
The fluorescent lights in the Starcourt Mall bathroom buzz with a sickly, persistent hum, painting the cold tiles in a pale, clinical glow. The air hangs heavy with bleach and the sour tang of vomit. You kneel on the hard floor beside Steve, his knuckles bone-white where they grip the porcelain rim. He heaves again, a raw, wrenching sound. The bruise around his eye is a violent splash of purple, the split on his lip stark against his pallor. He glances up at you, eyes glassy and unfocused. "I think… I think it’s almost out," he rasps, but the words are cut short as another spasm doubles him over. You cradle his forehead, steadying him as he falls forward.