Fallout || Stranger Things [2]

thirty-five || lists and lakes

Although the sun had yet to creep its way out over campus, a family of sparrows chirped the arrival of the morning through the open window of Billy and Steve's second floor apartment. The noise, however, failed to beat out KISS blasting through the Walkman headphones over Tatum's ears.

    Propped on the arm of a cushy brown chair, she leaned down to the open gap and blew out a furl of cigarette smoke. The side of her right hand was dusted in charcoal, two pencils already dead on the living room table from consistent use on the sketchpad balanced on her lap. The left hand held a half spent cigarette, her third of the night after several failed attempts to fall asleep on the sofa.

    The bags under her eyes weighed heavy as she tracked the forming features of Zharkov's face on her page. A fearful gaze watched her back, his slacked mouth earning a final shading to show the sweat running down his cupid's bow.

    "You...you tricked me? You wanted this?"

    "We wanted a way out. So we found one and guided you to it."

     The ghost of the pistol she could still feel gripped in her hand lingered at the edge of the image, the barrel aimed at his forehead.

     "How does it feel?"

     "How does what feel?"

     "To have everything you've ever cared about taken away."

     Tate flinched as a gunshot rang out over the music and dropped the sketchpad onto her lap. A reflexive hand shot up and swatted the headphones off of her head. She took in a deep breath, the soft chirp of birds flowing in from the window.

     A piece of silverware clinked against a bowl in the kitchen as the Walkman hit the floor.

     Her head swiveled hard to the left and she locked eyes with Steve hovering on the other side of the island counter, his brows slightly raised as he chewed like an animal spotted in the wild.

     "Morning," he said gently, swirling his spoon around in the bowl and shifting his expression on a dime.

     She cleared her throat and snapped her sketchbook shut before she slid off of the chair to grab the headphones off the ground. "Is it?"

The real feat was the lit cigarette still in her hand and not a thing was burned.

     Steve flipped over his wrist as he checked his watch. "Little after six," he replied. He poked a thumb behind himself. "Coffee?"

     Tate set the headphones over her sketchpad and snubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray on the table. She stretched her back and sighed before she walked towards the kitchen. "Absolutely."

     He pulled down a mug from the cupboard and set it beside the fresh pot before returning to his own, it nearly drained.

     "How long have you been up?" she asked with furrowed brows as she poured out the dark liquid into her cup.

     He hummed a little and shrugged. "Fifteen minutes or so." He caught her frown as he shoveled a spoon of fruit loops into his mouth. He chewed quickly and nodded his head towards the living room. "You were into it. I didn't want to disturb."

     I wish you had. Tate poured slightly too much creamer into her coffee before she rested her elbows on the counter beside him. Billy's door was just ahead of her and slightly cracked, but there were no signs of movement inside. "You sleep okay?" she asked before taking her first sip.

     "Yeah, but I think the bed at the safe house was comfier than mine," he replied with a sigh. His eyes flickered over to her as he drained his mug. "Did you sleep at all?"