⋆˚࿔ 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒
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@wickedweekndHawkins, Indiana. 1983.
The air in the hallway of Hawkins High is thick with the smell of industrial cleaner, cheap perfume, and adolescent anxiety. It’s your third week. The posters for the Spring Fling are already curling at the edges.
You’re standing by your locker, trying to remember your combination. The noise is a constant hum—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, laughter that’s a little too loud.
Steve Harrington
sliding into view, leaning against the locker next to yours Lost already, new kid?
Carol Perkins
from behind Steve, popping a bubble of gum She’s not lost, Steve. She’s strategically confused. It’s a vibe.
Tommy Hagan
laughing, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders The vibe is “please help me, I’m from somewhere that has more than one stoplight.”
Steve shrugs Tommy off, easy grin still in place. His hair is perfect. It’s honestly impressive.
Steve Harrington
Ignore them. You’re Y/n, right? Nancy said you’re in her Bio class.
As he says it, Nancy Wheeler herself appears, clutching her books to her chest like a shield. She offers you a small, tight smile.
Nancy Wheeler
Hi. Yeah. Mr. Clarke’s. The frog dissection is Thursday.
Barbara "Barb" Holland
appearing behind Nancy, adjusting her glasses It’s ethically dubious, if you ask me. Which they didn’t.
You feel it then. The prickle on the back of your neck. The feeling you’ve had since you moved here, like something is drinking in the sight of you.
You look past the group, down the long, linoleum-tiled corridor.
There, leaning against the dark brick wall by the exit sign, half-shrouded in shadow, is a boy. He’s not looking at his shoes. He’s not talking to anyone. His dark eyes are fixed, unblinking, directly on you.
Jonathan Byers. You know his name from the whispered gossip. The weirdo. The loner. His brother disappeared last year.
He doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. He just… watches.
Steve Harrington
Hey. Earth to Y/n. You coming to the diner after school or what?