❝ in the seventeen years i've been on this earth, i've never met anyone as f#@!%^g stupid as you. ❞
in which two kids on the opposite sides of the social spectrum find solace in one another during a strange period of time.
ESTELLA COLLINS STAND ALON...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE ; HOMESICK also known as; ( pre-episode one)
★☆
STELLA COLLINS WOULD ALWAYS BE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PERSON HE HAD EVER SEEN . Whether her hair was up or down, if she was dolled up or covered in blood (which had not been an uncommon occurance over the course of their relationship), he swore she was some kind of goddess. He wished he could write poetry, or create the kinds of art she adored, but he was incapable of doing so. All he wanted was a way to express his love for her.
But alas, poor Steve Harrington was not good with words.
He had forfeitted the title of 'King Steve' a couple years back now, and along with it went his smooth talking and suave. He didn't miss it as much anymore, because he now knew that he never needed it. He had no one else to charm, because he had the one girl he'd want for the rest of his life. She didn't care for inauthentic gestures, or empty words. She wanted him.
He never thought he'd be the type of man to be so utterly in love that he would travel across the country solely to see her smile, hear her breathe, touch her skin - yet here he was, lying on their bed, in their apartment, watching as she painted something for her college assignment. They were doing a study on Surrealism at present, and he couldn't say it was his favourite. Her art, usually bright and filled with the excess love that spilled out of her chest, had been infested by the darkness she had faced. Like Dalí, there were inanimate objects that melted or broke. Like Magritte, the soft colours contrasted with a beautiful, yet horrific image.
He could see himself in her work, both figuratively and literally. In each work she did, he could see the colour of his eyes, the neon lights of Starcourt Mall, the apparent mundanity of Hawkins. Whether she did it intentionally or subconsciously, the reminders of home would always be there.
Her current work, and her final submission before spring break, was a piece she had not yet titled. A self-portrait, apparently, but Steve didn't recognise her. Her eyes were sunken in, stitch-like patterns woven through her eyelids. The top of her head was cracked open, and out of it came a cage, where the arms of the Mind Flayer gripped the metal barrier, scrambling to get out.
It wasn't his favourite piece.
Stella was adamant on finishing it in time, though. Their flight left in less than three days, and she still needed to write her companion piece before she handed it in. Her hair - yanked back into a bun that was already falling out, was also something she needed to fix before going back home to see her parents. The front was bleached blonde while the rest was left it's natural dark brown. She had been meaning to getting around to changing it to a singular colour, but their hairdressing apprentice roommate had enough lasting trauma from the first attempt.
