and if that's true

the point of wandering seemed like a good idea, but going alone didn't which is why out of the entire group steve was the only one left; much rather be left with someone who didn't feed off her energy, having two of her was a pain in the ass.

the question to be asked is why? kimberly swore there was something off about this path, unlike the rest. someone or something lurking further up, but she could never make it past the invisible barrier and when she stepped over her time limit. kimberly felt the urge to run in the opposite direction, maybe it was the missing kid or a pinch of evil that kimberly did not want to mess with.

"listening to you is what got me into this position." kimberly carefully took his hand, picking herself up before dusting off any residue from the ground. "why do you think the universe is biased towards you? do you flirt with the universe on your spare time?"

in a town like hawkins, steve can't find it in himself to argue that something lays beyond the unworn path. at this point, he feels that anywhere he turns there will be something lurking. call it paranoia or call it intuition, at this point in his life they're one in the same. eyes squint in the direction she gestures in, making a genuine effort to see whatever she sees, but there's nothing but trees in their place and rocks laying where they should. birds fly overhead, an ominous call in a language that he isn't fluent in, and he lifts his hand to rub the back of his neck only to find that the hairs are standing. yeah, a little creepy.

❝ i'm not saying the universe is biased or whatever towards me. ❞ ignores the second comment, only blesses it with an eye roll. ❝ i'm just saying that i don't think it's a good idea to go anywhere near a place where you're getting weird energy. and, look, you fell. just proof that the universe is agreeing with me. ❞

looks again, licks his lips, releases a groan. a groan of acknowledgement that there's no way he's going home tonight without going down this stupid freaking path, because there's a nagging feeling that kimberly isn't giving him a choice in the matter.

                        ──────────────                        arms cradle her knees as dirtied converse dig into the gravel underneath their feet ,      gaze falls upon the other as head nods in agreement .      she grabs the joint from him when it’s outstretched ,      takes the final two hits before cherry is pressed into the pavement .      the joint had been laced with micro doses of vervain and wolfsbane            ──────            entirely unnoticeable to the average human ,      but the only way that nora’s high would last            ⁽ ᵗʰᵉ ˢˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵘʳⁿ ⁱⁿ ʰᵉʳ ˡᵘⁿᵍˢ ˢᵉʳᵛᵉˢ ᵃˢ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵖᵃⁱⁿᶠᵘˡ ʳᵉᵐⁱⁿᵈᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ ᶠᵃⁱˡⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵉʳ ᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿ, ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢʰᵉ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ʰᵃᵈ ⁿᵒ ᵘᵖᵈᵃᵗᵉˢ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵉᵗ ⁾ .            she lets out a heavy sigh ,      watches as the smoke curls from pursed lips ,      before figure springs upright .      maybe it genuine intrigue ,      or maybe it was just the desperation to connect with someone in the absence of her twin’s presence ,      but nora found herself hanging around steve a lot more now            ──────            maybe he was hiding something ,      the same way she was concealing the truth about herself .

a laugh bubbles in his throat, swallows it down past his dry throat to settle in his stomach as a gleeful irony. she doesn't know the half of it. secrets is an understatement for what lays in the boundaries of hawkins. small town on the outside, normal people roaming the streets, inconspicuous in its very nature. on the inside, deeper evils loom beneath the surface, vibrating the pavement and rustling through the trees. hawkins isn't a small town, but the town that unapologetically holds the end of the fucking world. being so entwined into its problems makes the severity of the situation seem duller. that is, until reflection is actually done and the gravity weighs him down to wherever he stands, threatening to crush him.

❝ something like that, ❞ steve scoffs, closed fist rubbing at his bloodshot eye.

the desire to bring nora into the circle is strong, the words on the tip of his tongue, but it's squashed by the stronger desire to keep it on a need - to - know basis. too many lives are forever changed by the knowledge, lives that could have carried on as normal if not for the brash confrontation of reality being more than it seems. steve shrugs, his head lulling back, before he looks at her with a more serious expression on his face.

❝ of course not. nothing could make you wanna sit down and listen to what i've got to say, because then you'd be forced to deal with the fact that i'm not bullshitting you, i'm just spewing out facts. cold, hard facts, that are easier to ignore than to digest. ❞ izzie had always had an affinity for psych rotations, but in alex karev's case, she didn't even have to try too hard: he was just stuffed with mommy issues, which stunted him in ably navigating healthy intimate relationships, specially with women.

it becomes more clear to alex now than ever that izzie stevens didn't know when to stop. she pushes, pushes, pushes, until the victim is given no choice but to push back. then, alex notes bitterly, she has the audacity to act like she's the victim. this situation couldn't revolve further outside of her orbit, yet she still tries and nose her way in.

❝ cold, hard facts, ❞ alex mocks in his best izzie impression ( rather childishly ), topping it off with an eye roll that not only involves his eyes, but his head and shoulders as well. ❝ the fact is that you don't know how to take no for an answer. and that's the answer, no. ❞

his body visibly tenses at the direct mention of his father, turning around to begin his angry walk towards the elevator, but the footsteps behind him signal that even a forced departure wasn't releasing the leash that izzie is determined to keep strapped tightly around his neck. he whips around, permanent crease between his brows, and leans in close.

the complaint that's been high on his endless list of them is the heat. barry offhandedly mentioned the air conditioning being broken, only two box fans with no strategic placement set up in the trailer to combat the sticky, still heat in the small space. one is moved to behind rafe's head, just above the couch's arm, but his body still feels like he's just gotten back from a swim from the high humidity. therefore, he's in no mood to deal with the junkies of the cut. except, as far as he's aware, sofia isn't a pogue. which makes her spontaneous arrival all the more entertaining, while simultaneously being all the more irritating.

❝ no, ❞ he replies simply, hoping that the dismissive answer is enough for her to turn on her heel and go back to wherever the fuck she came from.

it's not, though, and her next statement is enough to push his body into a sitting position, the fan now directly hitting the back of his head. hair is pushed from the soft breeze, his hand running through it to get it off of his sweat slicked forehead.

kooks are people that he doesn't interact with, not by a long shot. the most interaction he gets is when the girls want a night of stepping onto the wild side and rebelling from their daddy, ending up bent over with their hands against the rough bark of a tree. what can he say? even he can't refuse a good night with the enemy. tillie is no exception, if we weren't counting the fact that she wasn't a one time thing. nothing serious though. more just a way to silently stick it to topper, never taking his insults too seriously with the knowledge that he's sticking it to his sister whenever he gets the chance. he can't resist it. their interactions are purely fueled by mutual annoyance, always going back and forth with insults and eye rolls until the frustration builds too much that it explodes.

rolls his lower lip between his teeth thoughtfully, before his oral fixation is satisfied with a long pull from his joint. the wind blows the exhaled smoke in her direction, but he doesn't bother to use his hand to switch up the trajectory. he notices her heels when they click onto the ground, briefly wondering if it's to draw attention to her legs, eyes traveling up the length of her body until they settle back on her face. a casual shrug of his shoulders portrays his never faltering nonchalance.

well, this couldn't be further from her yale existence. sure, there are parties there just like this, but she's hardly one to attend. she's only a few months into freshman year, but she can confidently say that she's never felt more like a crazy college co-ed than when she steps on the campus of steve's state school. it's a whole different world here. yale comes with a whole heavy batch of baggage that she's carrying on her shoulders like atlas carried the world on his. when she's here, rory gets to put that baggage down for a little while ( although, she still does travel with several books, so it's only her metaphorical load that lightens ). she knows what steve's friends think of her — that she's little miss brainiac, never up for a good time. maybe she's just not interested in their idea of fun. sometimes she's surprised that steve is. it all seems a bit much.

as per usual, she's been abandoned in a corner somewhere shy of an hour ago. this is when her books come in handy. right now, she's rereading pride and prejudice — it had been a while since she read any austen and she missed it. it's also definitely a nice break from some of the heavier russian lit she's been reading for one of her classes. around the time that mr. darcy is mr. darcy-ing, she's approached by one of steve's fraternity brothers — john? jake? jeff — there it is — with a cup of warm beer she has no intention of drinking and an offer to check out his book collection upstairs. with another glance around the room and no steve in sight, rory figures what's the harm. she mostly wants to see what a book collection looks like in a house like this.

they've reached the top of the stairs when all of a sudden there's a tug on her wrist. before she knows it, she's stowed away in a corner with steve, who looks like he's just seen a ghost.

❝ i looked. ❞

the argument comes weakly, releases as something resembling a whine, but it's true. the time tracks, two minutes ago is when he left the girl that seemed like a sure shot of getting into his bed tonight on the search for rory. it seemed like longer, but his search wasn't extensive by any means. he huffs again, eyes falling down to her hands in search of a drink. a red solo cup is held loosely between her fingers, hanging down forgotten by her side. that enough is a surprise in its own, steve generally unsuccessful in getting her to partake in that part of his college life save for a few rare circumstances. it looks untouched though, so the shock of it being in her hand ends there.

no sign of surprise that that's the reaction he receives. he's been droning on about nancy since the beginning of their shift, only leaving the topic for a few exchanged words before ultimately coming back to it. robin is considered a best friend, his only age - appropriate friend as the rest of them are fourteen. isn't going to talk to dustin about his girl issues for the sake of it feeling weird, so robin is the receiver of the problems that spill out in endless word vomit. does, however, narrow his brows at their blunt delivery, the line between them etched into his skin even after he relaxes them.

❝ thanks, captain obvious. i know she's not interested, she's interested in stalker perv byers now. ❞ his face twists, like jon's very name makes a sour taste explode in his mouth. ❝ but it is your business. who else am i supposed to talk to? ❞

saying it out loud helps him see how pathetic it is that his only friend is his coworker. he has tommy, of course, but lately their priorities have been too different to reconcile. tommy's focus is on sex and sports, whereas steve's sort of saving the world. no big deal.

he rode the bike most of the way, testing out his work, and making sure the money was worth spending. not that he ever doubted himself. but to make an enemy out of rafe cameron, that was something he didn’t want. slowing down once he reached tannyhill, switching off the engine and placing the soles of his shoes firmly on the ground. and that was when he pushed it the rest of the way. through the drive, and up towards the front door of the house. making sure ward and rose were nowhere in sight. but catching a glimpse of the blonde he was desperate to see out of the corner of his eye.

❝ did you hear i was coming, or does this come as a total surprise? ❞ he never stepped foot on the land before. there was no way he would ever be welcome if it wasn’t for the services he provided. ❝ but since you’re here— ❞ the key being pulled from the ignition and clasped in the palm of his right hand. walking the distance between her and the bike. ❝ —i’ll leave these with you. ❞ he was smooth with it, taking her hand in his, and using the key as an excuse to linger.

a frustrating morning had sarah's brow knitted together as she sat on her front porch, knees pulled to her chest and phone resting on her shin. mindlessly scrolling, enjoying the summer sun even in the shade. it's unbearable, the heat, but it's tolerability surpasses rose droning on in the kitchen, loudly munching on sliced cucumbers with no dressing while on the phone with her sister. the argument with her brother and dad has came and went, rafe deciding it was a perfect idea to take the heat off of himself by ratting sarah out for sneaking out in the middle of the night. of course, it's easily settled with a bat of her lashes towards her dad and a slightly protruding lower lip, always a daddy's girl. her father is always quick to forgive her, planting a kiss on the side of her head and turning the scolding to rafe, but the look in her brother's eyes always leaves her feeling uneasy. long since abandoned the idea of forming a healthy sibling relationship with him -- he was a lost cause. her abandonment doesn't mean she wants him ratting out her whereabouts, though. the further away that rafe is from this situation, the better.

the sound of his bike creates a instinctual reaction in her to push herself off the chair and sequester herself to her room, but one sideways glance reveals not her brother's body leaning over the handles of the bike, but axel. the crease between her brows immediately softens, a smile playing on her glossed lips, a cautionary check over her shoulder to confirm the coast is clear before she's gravitating towards him.

❝ total surprise, ❞ she informs him, lower lip dug into by front teeth to suppress the emotion. just in case. ❝ i didn't think i'd ever see you over here. i thought you'd burst into flames if you ever willingly crossed the line between the cut and figure eight. ❞

his touch lingers, gone too soon, and sarah's head shifts towards the door again. cameras line the tanneyhill property, a precautionary measure. sarah sometimes wonders if they're more to monitor rafe than any potential intruders. slides the key ring around her finger and gives it a spin, keeping her voice low.

it caught her off-guard sometimes, how at ease she felt in brooke's company. it probably shouldn't, considering they'd been best friends since kindergarten, but it was quite disarming, to have someone you felt so comfortable with you just blurted out your deepest and darkest reflections.

however, just because you felt allowed to speak didn't mean the other was ready to listen. really listen.

projection. a word that brooke would acknowledge if she fully knew what it meant, but until then, only exists in the background as fuel for her interactions. seen as a toy, only for boys to play with and use before recklessly discarding to be with someone like peyton sawyer. the love she has for her best friend is unconditional and brooke doesn't deny that peyton has what boys are looking for, but irritation makes her jaw clench. how could she not see her luck? nathan scott is the most popular jock in the school, highly sought after, but the commitment isn't good enough? brooke would kill to have someone choose her. over and over and over again, not just for one night.

hands are kept away from the dishes that he works on out of habit, a routine that they decided early on she would never participate in. he did the dishes, she did the laundry. he got folded clothes, and she didn't have to get soggy food under her nails. old habits die hard. her body stays leaning against the counter, forced to confront the messes made. her idea of a family never amounted to this. always supposed to be a happily ever after, never supposed to be scheduled visits and gritted teeth.