She hated him. He hated her. And that was alright in their world until one night. Everything changed then, conversations exchanged between drags of a shared cigarette having developed a mutual respect between enemies.
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Slowburn enemies to frie...
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June 20th, 1983.
Nancy, Steve, Jonathan and I took hike down to the Falls not far off Skull Rock. We camped there for the night. Much to my dismay, we'd only packed two tents and I had to share one with Jonathan while Nancy and Steve slept in the other. Cacconed into puffy sleeping bags, Jonathan and I lay far too close in the cramped space. It wasn't awkward, as we'd begun to see each other like siblings since embarking on our mission to rescue Will from the Upside Down.
"I swear to God, if your nasty toes touch me one more time, I'm gonna lop 'em off n' cook 'em like little smokies," I snarled grumpily as Jonathan wiggled in the blankets.
"Cranky much? Go have a drink and come back when you're feeling less evil." Jonathan hissed. I rolled my eyes but decided it ultimately couldn't hurt to sneak a few beers by the fire while everyone else was asleep. I climbed out of the tent, purposely stepping on Jonathan just enough to annoy him without causing pain. A thick, plaid sleeping bag muffled his complaints.
Cold air gripped me, strangling the breath from my lungs. I shivered, rubbing my arms. A blurry silhouette loomed over the campfire. I rubbed my mascara-caked eyes wearily. Blinking a few times, I saw Steve looking at me, pondering while leaned back on an old camp chair.
"Cold?" he asked sleepily, a tint of humor meddled in.
"No." I lied for no other reason than to defy him.
"Fire s'much warmer," he said, warming his hands next to the flame. "I won't bite."
I huffed then, padding over to the cooler where half-warm beer had once been covered in ice. I snatched one and cracked it open before sitting on a log adjacent to Steve.
"You two are like two grumpy old people," Steve uttered, lips pressed against a slightly crumpled can of Busch.
I furrowed my brows at him. "He's agitating. Much like you,"
"Mhm," Steve hummed, digging through his deep jean pockets. He roughly pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes. He flipped the top open and plucked a stick from the cartridge.
"I thought Nancy made you quit," I remarked.
He shrugged and lit the cigarette. "She'll never know,"
