#vcssl

@vcssl sent » should we call for help?

“For what?” Question is posed before he spats out blood to the ground, and he's wiping what remains from his mouth. An all too familiar ache settles into his knuckles, the sort that comes from punching something without the protection of gloves. “I already dealt with the issue, didn't I?” Groans came from the said problem that was writhing around on the ground, bruised up and half-conscious.

His eyes cast over to Zombie Boy Will. “Calling someone now is bound to cause more trouble for everyone, and honestly, all this is nothing some ice can't cure.” Icing your hands after repeated blows never failed to help. And whoever he'd punched out, he hadn't bothered asking for a name, would definitely want to equally invest in aspirin for his pain.

“Where's the party? Weird seeing you by yourself.” Wringing his aching hands, he nodded for them to get moving. After giving enough time to make sure their . . . er, friend . . . was able to get up.

a sharp bristle of dread ascended the back of joyce's neck: a feeling that presaged the audible rush of her own pulse in her ears.

" hide? " she stammered, in disbelief: a single word that she could barely breathe around with the kitchen lights blinking in erratic tandem and dust shaking loose from the door frame — and her son, looking at her like he almost couldn't place her ( like she was a stranger, illuminated by a backdrop of abstracted childhood nostalgia; someone he'd never seen before but was supposed to know ) , sweating through his lab - standard hospital gown.

" what do you mean? " a deep sense of disquiet permeated the entirety of joyce's shivering exhalation like an arrow — sharp and unbending, and needling deep at the hollow of her throat. she'd seen the headlines in striking black bold on every store counter, on every rolled up paper: they all had. it'd been impossible to miss the news of another mysterious death in town, so soon after the mutilation of poor chrissy cunningham; the uncovering of another body, purportedly mangled beyond all reason, out on the road not far from the trailer park; the hysteria beginning to circle in that tragedy's all - consuming wake.

the anger, the pain.

the panic, fomented, somehow, by the very existence of a kids game that her youngest had been playing for years in the safety of the wheelers' basement almost every friday night; a harmless pastime that'd done nothing but bond him, irreversibly, to the friends that'd helped save his life.

– ↯ .ᐟ fingers brush the top row of tapes, hunting for requested title dust motes 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚛𝚕 in the fluorescent glare as he shifts a crate out of the way, muttering to himself about rogue shelves & rebellious tapes. a wobble goes unnoticed as the until the entire shelf leans, then topples over him, VHS tapes raining down.

❛ hit my head ? nah... ❜ he says〚 as if head trauma were abnormal for the harrington teen 〛 steve grunts, wedged under the shelf. his arm frees to steady it, pulling himself free. ❛ just negotiating with the shelving. ❜ crates and tapes scatter across the floor, dust gathered at his shirt. his hair sticks up in all directions, and steve rubs his head as he shifts to a seated position. he catches the mess and grimaces, followed by a shrug. he crawls towards the mess of tapes, turning through each one to find the title.

almost as if he'd forgotten about the byers boy being there, steve throws a DISHEVELED glance up – ❛ indianapolis out of 'the last starfighter' or something ? ❜ it had been a few months since he'd last seen will, and while it seemed familiar to have him show up at the family video, he makes note of the time passed, the way the mere months had aged him even more.

– ↯ .ᐟ mouth twitches like it wants to smile & gives up. scoff catches in his chest instead –- 〚sharp / dissonant〛 steve's hand flexes at his side, fingers opening and closing around NOTHING. knuckles buzz like they will always remember impact, no matter what.

❛ no–- ❜ he says, defensive. short. word set in his body more than his tone. he shifts his stance, shoes scuffing. shoulders angling forward, muscle memory dragging him a half-step closer. ribs tighten, bracing for a hit that hasn't even come yet. his neck rolls once, tendons standing out –- jaw working as if chewing through the thought.

❛ somebody has to go where it's loud first . . . ❜ words stall through his statement, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

❰     @vcssl   sent   :   don't  let  it  see  you.     ❱ status     →    accepting.

you already ARE finding your way out of this town, mike wants to remind him. he doesn’t trust himself to keep a light, steady tone though. not with his attention split between his best friend quietly sketching at his side and the video game on the screen ahead. it’d be too risky, could come out harsher, more bitter than he wants. might totally show his cards: how gut wrenching this impending move to california is. losing his girlfriend and his BEST FRIEND in one fell swoop. it wasn’t fair, he wanted to whine every time it crossed his mind. why wasn’t anyone considering HIS feelings!?

he understands, in theory. or at least he tries to. hawkins clearly isn’t safe. but there’s hardly a guarantee that moving will fix everything. what if something happens out in california? the rest of the party would be too far to help. mike would be too far to protect will. the thought kills him a bit. but when he’d tried pleading their case to mrs. byers, he just got a sad smile and pat on the cheek as an answer.

will’s reluctance was written all over his face anytime it came up. mike more than understood how he felt. the thought that the first friend he ever made ( lucas not included, considering mike could hardly remember a time pre-lucas ) will be gone in a few short weeks makes his chest ache. but seeing will so blatantly distraught about it would make so much worse. his heart might just crumble, tears prickling threateningly behind his eyes. no, mike would do everything in his power to avoid that. so, he’d pony up and put on a brave face. for will. it’s not like it’s his fault.

mike LIKES being strong for the others. especially will. it’s second nature to him. stepping up to the plate, taking the lead, doing anything he can to feel useful and needed and important. anything to be there for his friends. and will’s already been through so much. more than anyone should ever go through in their whole life, just in the last few years. if mike can shield him from the pain of this change for now, well… he doesn’t think twice about it.

“uh, DUH.” tv screen blinks as mike burned through his last life and was able to finally throw down the controller. shifts around in his seat to face will head on, their knees smashing into each other as he settled. hopefully the jostling cushions didn’t disturb his artwork too much. he leans in slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the sketch before continuing, “i wouldn’t even need my own room. we can just share yours! and we could go to the beach after school. and dustin and lucas could come visit and we could build a huge sand castle with a moat. it’ll be awesome!”