𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦?! | 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟖. 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝟏𝟎𝟏: 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐃

There was a rustling sound and you felt the couch cushion lift as Clay's weight left your side. "Wait, don't leave me to die!"

The noise stopped. "I'm getting matches and a lighter. The Demogorgon hates fire."

You nodded. This was a reasonable precaution. "Internet's out." Through the window, you saw a faint sliver of streetlight. "Everyone else still has power. It's probably just the apartment." You parted the curtains–it was a full moon, and shockingly bright, as if tonight wasn't spooky enough already.

"Must be a prank... by the landlord." He gave a tremulous laugh.

Of course. The situation was completely under control and the cause for this outage was entirely mundane and not supernatural in the slightest. "Wait–the landlord said he'd be away this whole week. He's not even here."

Something clattered to the floor and you heard a muted curse.

You twitched, unable to sit still. "I'm getting the knives." You got up to help, rummaging over the counter before your hands settled over a familiar set.

You heard more vigorous rustling. "Finally found it." Clay lit a candle, and a deep vanilla perfume trickled into the kitchen.

"Lighting. Nice."

"Gift from my mom," he explained. "I'm not actually into the girly stuff."

"No shame if you are." In the modest glow, you thought you saw him smile.

"I know. Thanks. But really, it's a gift from her. Never thought I'd use it."

But of course, he wouldn't throw it away. He really was a mama's boy. "Got anymore? And if you have a ouija-board, we could hold a full-on séance–"

"–No! No, none of that paranormal stuff. We can't tempt fate. Right now, we've got to survive."

You laughed. "True. Got a Steve Harrington baseball bat?"

"I wish. I was a football and soccer kid."

An unseasonably strong gust rattled the windows. The candle flickered, sending out another waft of vanilla, and cold seeped into the room. With the heating knocked out as well, you shivered. "This is too spooky. Let's go."

Clay paused. "Your room is that way."

"We can't split up! First rule of horror movies. That's how everybody dies." Ordinarily, you'd be shy about going into someone's bedroom with them, but not-dying trumped social convention any day.

He looked away. "Fine." He started walking, and you pinched his sleeve.

"What?" He turned, still cradling the candle in one palm.

"Holding on so I don't lose you." You half-joked.

He stopped. "[Name], you can't say that."

"That."

"You–never mind." Clay crossed the threshold, and you were close behind. You shut the door behind you, locking it.

"If the Demogorgon appears–"

The two of you spoke at the same time "–I'll protect you."

"–I'll use you as a meat-shield–Oh."

He strode forward, freeing his sleeve from your grasp. Clay placed the matches and the candle on the nightstand, sitting himself in bed. "Never mind. You're on your own."

"Wait!" You drew out a knife from the set. It was the paring knife–the absolute smallest. It gleamed pathetically in the meager candlelight. "If anyone comes close, I'll–! I'll stab them!"