SEVENTEEN

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november 4th, 1984

november 4th, 1984

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TOUCH. AN ACTIVELY sought-after form of stress relief. It helps with sleep. It helps calm racing thoughts. It helps people forget. Everything entirely had helped Aven and Steve that night.

The demo-dog tunnelling out of Dustin's backyard. A government-kept secret weighing down countless teenagers' shoulders. The fact that, maybe, that day would end in something shattering. It could tear at their heart, ripping it to shreds, or excite them to the point where their blood rushed through their veins at twice the speed.

When engaging in the restless activity of sleep, human touch has been proven to prompt the release of oxytocin (a natural hormone that manages aspects of the human body, including human behavioural traits). This is soothing and helps chase away any stress clouding one's vision.

Steve and Aven hadn't meant to. They'd fallen asleep on the sofa comfortably in the most uncomfortable of positions, which their sleeping selves quickly realised. Over the course of the night, within the boundaries of their deepest dreams, they'd gradually moved across the couch. Their touch on one another, however, had continued to linger.

Dustin Henderson had forgotten to close his blinds that night, having been too preoccupied with the thought of Dart running wild and the lack of his friends' typical responses in the most dire of situations. He'd fallen asleep with the radio in his hands, that device being enough to appear as some sort of affection to loosen his anxiety and allow an average night's amount of sleep. However, his calm demeanour quickly changed when the bright rays from the Sun outside of his window woke him abruptly.

"Dart," was the first thing he muttered, before his eyes even opened. He stood up as he rubbed the sleep out of his eye, although he quickly regretted his swift movements. He stumbled into his desk, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead with a wince. The floor moved on its own, his dizziness affecting his sight for just a moment, before he let out a slow breath and everything remained still. Still enough to move.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍; steve harringtonWhere stories live. Discover now