sweetie little jean | stranger things

001 ━ why'd you only call me when you're high?

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001 

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somewhere darker, talkin' the same shite
i need a partner, well, are you out tonight?

1984. October 31st.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘, and Jean could see through her own blur the people inside the house dancing and already spilling drinks. Everything smelled of sweat and skunk here but that didn't phase her. There was a feeling of camaraderie where she stood, like they were all here for a reason to witness or experience the same things.

She would've normally been inside dancing away in her shitty costume if not for the new boy doing a keg stand and immediately following up with a drinking game. It was an impressive feat going from chugging beer to whatever awful mixture was in the red cups the basketball team was feeding him.

He was sweaty but Jean realized it was only alcohol spilling down his bare chest. She wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to be dressed up as but he wore all leather and it was surprisingly attractive if not for the nasty look in his eyes.

He didn't seem like a nice person.

But how could she tell? There was a joint in between her fingers (poorly wrapped by hers truly) and smoke was clogging up her lungs. She was standing on the edge of the backyard, clear from the sights of those inside and especially Steve, Nancy, and Lucy. She didn't need their judgmental eyes on her bad habit. She didn't need them to see she was double fisting with weed and a cigarette.

Her bad habits were hers alone and she certainly didn't need beautiful Lucy looking down on her. That was why Zoya was there right beside her, chain-smoking from an old pack she'd found hidden in her dad's trunk of goodies and wild things. But even Zoya wasn't truly paying attention. She was chatting away with Tommy Hagan, a boy Jean didn't truly care of much either. The only boys she liked were Steve and the kids she babysat for and that was about it.

But everyone here...they were all wearing their facades so clearly. Monsters dressed as kittens and bunnies and vampires and sailors. Monsters trying to masquerade as something other than themselves. Jean was doing the same, like them all.

The sound of a lighter flicking near her face rocked her from her thoughts. Turning, the boy with the long hair who'd given her the the papers and weed grinned.

"Needed another light," he murmured, his eyes nearly lost in his bangs. His hair was so thick she had the sudden urge (no, the need) to run her fingers through it down to his shoulders.

She pulled the joint from her lips, surprised she'd left it hanging there while in thought and accepted his light. When he lowered his arm, she noticed tattoos scattered across his pale skin and she found herself reaching out to grab his wrist. 

Twisting his arm to look at the little tattoos on his forearm, the boy let out a breathy laugh and said, "You always so touchy with the guys who sell you weed?"

"Only you, honey," she muttered between the joint in her lips and a deep inhale. "Bats?"

"What?" he said with a smirk. "You don't like them?"

"No," she murmured back with a furrowed brow, "they're cute but just wondering how you even got them? The parlors here kinda suck."

"You're familiar with them?"