Night Vale ▷ Steve Harrington

iii. the tell

𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘, 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. Even after they had mustered up the courage to go back inside and investigate-only to find the light switch that previously didn't work no matter how many times they tried it-they clutched each other, too afraid to let go, as they stared at the newspaper's headline until they couldn't stay awake any longer, falling asleep tangled on the couch.

Sometime during the night, he'd slipped onto the floor and Letitia stretched out on the couch herself, but they remained inseparable until morning, when the sounds and smell of something sizzling woke them up, blinking at the light streaming in from the window onto their faces and hurriedly sitting up when they heard someone behind them, letting out a sigh of relief when they realized it was only Clark-although Scout thought he heard a grumble from Letitia's direction.

"Late night?" the man called, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder from where he was frying bacon in the kitchen, surveying them with a mix of bemusement and something else Scout couldn't place.

"Yeah, you could say that," Scout answered, glancing at the brown-haired girl and following her gaze to the empty space on the coffee table where they had placed the newspaper from yesterday, "Um-where's the newspaper?"

"The newspaper?" Clark repeated, raising an eyebrow as if he thought his son was joking, "Since when are you interested in the newspaper?"

"Since a woman was murdered yesterday," Letitia said, almost snapping, and she ran a hand through her curls and rested it on her face, as if she was nursing a hangover the day after, shooting his father a look when his back was turned.

He whistled. "Damn, so it's true? My buddies told me about it last night but I thought they were joking-Night Vale's always been creepy as hell but it's never gone this far."

"People probably think the same of Hawkins too," Scout chimed in, making his way over to the kitchen to see what his dad was making; he never made breakfast unless it was a special occasion and he couldn't think of anything today, "This is new."

"Yeah, I thought I'd whip you and your girlfriend up some breakfast when you told me she was coming over," Clark said proudly, turning his head and speaking in a hushed tone to his son, jerking his head in the girl's direction, "But trust me son, don't you wanna date someone else? I mean-she's, you know..."

Scout couldn't believe what he was hearing, and evidently, neither did Letitia. His mouth dropped open at his dad's implication, gaping, staring at him as the man shrugged and continued to make breakfast, buttering toast as if nothing was wrong, snapping the dish towel in his son's direction with a smirk. "You want butter on your toast or jam?"

It took him several moments to speak, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. It was only until he cleared his throat, his face burning with anger, that he glared at his father and stomped to the living room, where he grabbed Letitia by the arm and guided her to his room, slamming the door.

"I'm sorry," he said when the door closed, watching his friend stand in the middle of his room with her back towards him, sitting on his bed heavily, her hands resting on her lap, "Tisha-"

"It's fine, Scout," she interrupted, holding up a hand to silence him before letting it drop back onto her lap, her voice hard, blushing angrily.

He moved to sit beside her on the bed, contemplating whether she would be comfortable with him putting his arm around her and decided against it, folding his hands in his own lap as they sat in silence, listening to Clark move around in the kitchen preparing food he wasn't sure he wanted to eat anymore, even though he'd been so excited for morning to come, it was going to perfect-his dad made breakfast and he was going to show him their music, but everything was ruined, now. He wondered how many second chances he would give his father.