Matchbox

XVI. War Zone / Harrington's

Sixteen. War Zone / Harrington's

            Steve feels like a child being loved by his mother again. The last time he's felt a love like that was when he was seven. 1 through 7 we're the years he liked his home, liked his mother, liked his childhood. Things had shifted when he turned 8, and nothing had been the same at 9, his parents weren't parents at 10— just watchers at 11. His mother had stopped loving him and started leaving with his father at 12 / Steve would be left with a babysitter from outside of town who lived in the mainlands at 13. He was always being watched, never really loved.

Steve hadn't felt a mother's love in a long time, and he still wouldn't.

Now, here he was, sitting on a soft bench in front of Diane Stonem's unmade bed as her little heartbroken daughter gently towel dried his hair with all the care in the world.

Tenderness matters, Steve, she'd say. Trust me.

Vera had a soft tune playing from her sealed lips. Gentle hum, like the background of a classical song. Her hands moved delicately, and her fingers were skilled with soft lacey silk. She was being so gentle and it was making Steve so tired.

Yeah, so what, he hadn't had much sleep recently.

She pulled the towel closer to herself, stepping away from the boy who's eyes were fluttering closed. Vera frowned; Steve's hair nearly dried and untamed. She spoke with such a delicacy, "I'll put actual bandages on those.. if that's okay?" He barely nodded, hummed for a second. "Yeah."

Vera moved back towards the bathroom and watched the boy through the mirror. He was fighting sleep and winces and maybe even tears.

Vera wondered, if this wasn't the end of the Upside Down— if it were to happen again, would Steve had the energy and fight to push against it? To stop the Upside Down once again? He'd been hurt, too much by this power hungry source of red danger.