#cliched

Grit teeth and clenched fists turning bloodied knuckles white. It was far fair to say he was seething internally. His beloved mask of both physical and emotional protection. Cracked and laying discarded in the mud as he raised tattooed fingers to wipe away the red ink that stained his lips and chin. Blowing off the other’s comment like dust on an old book.

『❛  Shouldn’t that be my line? You might have broken my fucking nose,         but i still got a good hit on that shitty piece of cloth you call a jacket.  ❜』

     With a groan of annoyance, the ginger practically threw herself onto the couch before pulling all the blankets and pillows towards her. She took a couple seconds to surround herself with them as if it were the beginning of a cocoon. Phone in hand, she flicked through her contacts as she giggled to herself, “Should I call the guy from yesterday? Or the one from before that? That girl last week was pretty cute... Or I could finally take up the quarterback on his offer...”

AFTER dropping off Will at the arcade, Joyce had been on her way home. What she hadn’t expected to see was Steve just wandering around on his own. It wasn’t light outside, but Hawkins was pretty small to get lost. However, she still was concerned, so she slowed down the car, rolled down her window and offered to drop him home. But she frowned at his response. She didn’t assume what state he was in, but she could see that he was not walking straight. It hadn’t been the first time she could see the drunkenness radiating off another character but Steve of all people? Not that she would judge; but she was looking out for his best judgement by driving him home at this rate. Plus, what harm could it do?

“Steve... let me take you home, I insist,” she offered again, giving him a small smile in hope it reassured him that it was more than okay. Maybe he needed fresh air, or maybe he’d been out for awhile, but either way, there were many, many factors as to why she should bring him home... if home was where he wanted to go.

The last thing she wanted to do was have him fight or be offended. Was he drunk? Was he sleep angry? Or upset? She didn’t know and Joyce wouldn’t press unless Steve admitted it to her. Mama Byers always had an ear to listen, even if it wasn’t just for her own children. If Steve wanted to sit in her car, silent, she’d let him. If he wanted to talk her ear off, she’d let him. 

“If it helps.... you can always home and stay at our place for the night if you need, we don’t mind. I can drop you off at home in the morning on my way to work?” It wasn’t like they had many things going on, but she offered because she cared for the boy.

Julie doubled over, dropping him and her knife, hissing in pain. Her hands moved quickly to clutch at her wound, and her blood was already soaking through her shirt. She couldn’t remember feeling anything close to this awful before. It was almost funny, in a sick, twisted way, how you could think you would know what being stabbed would feel like, until it actually happened.

At first, she had to take a moment to realize what had happened. There was a sharp pain, sure, but it had almost felt like he’d just punched her really hard. After all, it wasn’t like she’d be able to recognize the feeling if she’d never been stabbed before. She’d only realized what had happened when she looked down at the bloodied shard of metal in his hand.