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035. 𝗶 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁, 𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗯𝘀.
𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃, Lori still found herself tossing and turning in her bed that night. It was half-past three when she found herself lying awake, eyes wide open at her ceiling. Her mattress was suddenly too hard and her pillows were suddenly not soft enough, and all of a sudden, she wasn’t even tired anymore. Not one bit. She could only think of but one reason: to her dismay, she hadn’t even thought about how she’d feel once she was alone. She was too caught up in her emotions and the embrace and the relief of being home again that she didn’t even have time to think about when the lights would go off. When it would be just her. All alone. In the dark. After all of that. She hadn’t even imagined going to sleep after all of it.
So there she was, lying awake in the middle of her bed, unable to fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, images of the demodogs flashed in her mind, flashbacks of the tunnels, the junkyard, and every image of danger plagued her mind when it got dark behind her eyelids. They were instantaneous— the flashes. She couldn’t close her eyes for more than a minute without being startled so bad that they shot right back open. She was hot, as the memories of the burning tunnels drifted back into her mind, and then suddenly she was cold when she thought of being in the bus again. It was impossible to fall asleep. She was alone for the first time in two days, alone in the looming dark.
After the emotional reunion with her mom, Lori had looked back to see Steve already going into his own house. She was too teary-eyed to see that his driveway was empty except for his car, that he was alone in his big house. She was too consumed in her mother’s worried questions that she didn’t have time to go and see him, because Maureen was dragging her into the house, rubbing her arms comfortingly. She could’ve gone out to see him when Maureen left Lori’s bedroom to go speak with Hopper— who’d gotten out of the vehicle— but she told herself that maybe he needed time alone. It’d been a long day. Besides, the next day was Saturday, she could go over and see him and talk about everything, and sit in his arms if he’d let her. They just had to get through the night.
But Lori couldn’t get through the night. Not without him.
More than two days she’d spent with Steve at her side, always close — and now he wasn’t there. She’d never felt so lonely. As she laid there staring at the ceiling, something caught her attention in her peripheral view. It was a light, coming from outside her window. Carefully, she pushed herself up on her elbows and squinted to see from her bed, her eyes landing on the aforementioned Steve’s house. A light in the window across from her’s flickered on, and she quickly assumed that it was a bathroom based on the frosted glass, and the shape of it.
Her back straightened. She knew it was Steve turning on the light, he was the only one home. He couldn’t sleep too.
And then something peculiar started happening.
After a few moments, the bathroom light shut off. And she sort of relaxed a little bit, figuring he was going to bed and that maybe she should, too. But then a few moments later, it turned on again. But then it flickered off after a minute. And that sequence of things repeated many times— off and then on. Off and then on again. Off and on. Repeatedly. She sat up straighter with a huff, eyes narrowing in confusion. She watched the light flicker off, and paused as it remained off for a few long seconds, thinking that this time was the last. Right before she was about to lie back down again, it turned on.
She pushed herself off her bed. Her feet were cold against the hardwood floor as she tiptoed to the window, placing her hands along the sill. She stared at his bathroom window, light on. Biting hard onto her bottom lip, her eyes flickered down to the ladder still leaning against the side of her house. A particular pang hit her chest. The ladder Steve had used to sneak into her room, and the one they’d both used to sneak out of her room in the same night. An idea came to mind, quite an abstract one, and she bit harder on her lip in confliction. She turned her head and stared at her bedroom door.
It wouldn’t be wise to sneak out tonight, not after all of that. Not after the reunion with Maureen. But it was just next door. And she couldn’t help the feeling in her stomach. The thought occurred to her that she could go and sleep next to Maureen for the night— that would certainly help the fear of being alone. But it wasn’t the same. Maureen couldn’t hold Lori in her arms and tell her that it was okay, when she didn’t know the truth of things. How could she say everything was going to be alright when she had no idea what the reality was?
But Steve could.
Inhaling sharply, she wrapped her hand around the window handle and pushed it open. A strong gust of November wind hit her in the face, sending goosebumps down her bare arms— but a little cold didn’t matter. A little chill could not amount to the icy loneliness in her chest as she reached for the ladder. Her heart pounded in her ears. Last time, he was at the bottom, holding it with heedful focus to make sure she wouldn’t fall. But this time, nobody was at the bottom, and that made her hands shake even more.
Slowly, she stepped down each step of the ladder and tried to imagine him there at the bottom. She couldn’t hear anything but the sound of her beating heart and wind in the trees as she descended the ladder, each step further from her room. She tried to block out the fear of being alone in the dark, outside now, all by herself. Eventually, she made it to the bottom, her feet landing in the soft grass. Her socks absorbed the cold temperature, streaking the bottom of her feet with a wet splotch. She didn’t care, as she exhaled and tightened her grip on the ladder.
She picked it up. Truly, she didn’t know how she was able to pick the two-story ladder up and transport it all the way around the hedge, all the way to his backyard where his window was. And truly, she didn’t know why she didn’t just knock on the front door. He was the only one home, and she wouldn’t have had to break her back and strain her shoulders carrying the stupid thing all the way to his window, but it didn’t seem right to just knock. Knock on his door as if they hadn’t just nearly died. Besides, she wanted the ladder gone, and now it could be his problem.
Her shoulders had damn near given out by the time she set the ladder down, carefully leaning it against the side of his house. It reached just to the sill, just enough to climb through his window. It looked funny there, against his window and not her own like it had always been— and as she stared up at it, hands on her hips and breathing deeply, she figured this was how he felt. Before he climbed up to her room. He’d probably stood there like this, in the dark, staring up at her window just like she was staring up at his right own now— debating if it was a bad idea. It was a peculiar feeling, but it sent a wave of comfort through her veins the more she stood and stared.
For a brief moment, she turned and looked around at his backyard. The big pool with the diving board, the pool chairs folded by the wall ready to be put away for the winter, the little deck frosted with bits of water, and the sliding doors that revealed an entirely pitch-black interior. She’d never seen his house more than the front door and bits of the backyard, from when she’d gotten her tape back and from the times she’d caught herself gazing from her window. For a few seconds longer, she stared at the paneling of the exterior walls, letting her eyes trail all the way up to his window sill before stepping on.
Going up the ladder was a much easier task than descending. It sort of shook a little bit with every step, but she tried to regain her composure with a fixed gaze on his glass. A gust of wind brushed past as she crossed the halfway mark. Her arms ached and her shoulders pained tremendously from carrying the damn ladder, as well as the dull pain in her knuckles (still) tickling just a bit with every grab. She let out a quick breath as her head rose above his window sill, eyes focusing on the darkness behind the glass. She stopped.
Her eyes immediately gravitated towards the light on at the far side of the room, emanating from behind a half-closed door. She smiled when she saw the shape of his shadow, cascaded there on said-door.
Just as she rose her hand and knocked her knuckles lightly against his window pane— the unbruised hand— it seemed like his shift in the bathroom was over. Because, the light in the bathroom turned off just like it had been doing for the past fifteen minutes, and the door slowly swung open. Thank god she’d just knocked, because if she hadn’t, he would’ve turned around to see her crouched outside his bedroom window in the dark— like a fuckin’ lunatic.
The soft knocks echoed through his quiet room. She couldn’t really see his face all that well in the dark, but nobody could mistake the swoop of his hair, or the soft square of his shoulders. She couldn’t tell if he was startled yet, either. But he stood in the doorframe of his bathroom for a long moment, body angled towards her. She smiled lightly, but she doubted he could see it.
A wave of relief trickled over her when he walked up to the window, passing by his bed and reaching for the lock. She eagerly helped him open it, using her hands to push the heavy window up— body leaning against his window sill with her feet on the ladder.
“Philbs?” Steve breathed, when the window finally opened between them and he could actually recognize her face in the dark.
Philbs. Her name had never sounded so comforting.
She exhaled sweetly, an indescribable feeling weaving through her at the sound of his voice around her name— after feeling so lonely and scared in her dark room.
She pressed her hands to the window sill and stared up at his face in the dark. “I can’t help but notice you can’t sleep either.”
She could see a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t have to answer that, he knew that she saw his lights turning on and off. And it was a mutual feeling— it didn’t take much to understand that sleeping was practically impossible after a night like that.
His eyes trailed down her face, then to her legs. “Holy shit, is that the ladder?” he asked, leaning forward. “Did you carry that all the way over here?”
She let out the faintest laugh as she carefully swung her leg over the sill. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
He reached forward and she felt his hand grab her waist to make sure she didn’t fall backwards. She ducked under the window, swinging the other leg over. Placing both of feet on the carpet floor, she was now delightfully aware of how close he was standing— and she couldn’t help but breathe in his scent.
She tilted her chin up to look at him. “Hi,” she whispered.
“Interesting form of entry,” he whispered back, tilting his face down to hers. “Philbin.”
“I’m not here to steal your car,” she met his deep eyes in the dark. “If that’s what you’re wondering.”
Their voices were so quiet, yet so loud in the silent house. His seemed a bit off, a bit raspier than usual.
She looked down at his chest, swallowing. The sweet moment passed. “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye or anything earlier— I kinda thought that I’d be alright to just go to sleep, that you would too.”
“Lori— had your mom to reassure,” he shrugged, honest. He glanced to the window right then, worriedly. “What about her now? Isn’t she gonna loose her mind if she sees that you snuck out again after all tha—”
“I don’t care about that right now,” she said softly. “I needed to see you.”
She wrapped her arms around his stomach, pressing the side of her face to his chest. He hugged back instantly, softly, and she shut her eyes to take in the feeling. He placed his chin on the top of her head and held her tight. Lori would’ve never thought that one day she’d find comfort in hugging someone else— but there she was in his arms, feeling like she never wanted to let go.
But after a few long moments, she did slowly let go. She rose her hands, aiming to place them on the sides of his face and steer his gaze down to her. But when her hands came into contact with his jaw, there was a warm liquid there coating his cheek—causing her eyebrows to narrow. She pulled her hand away, looking down at her fingers but it was too dark to see anything.
“What the hell?” she mumbled as she turned away, eyes searching for the nearest light.
She caught onto his bedside table, and she quickly stepped over to it, wiping her hand on the back of her pants as she reached for the lamp. Of course she remembered his beat-up face, but it shouldn’t have been bleeding anymore by then.
When she turned it on, a dim light took over the room— and if it wasn’t for the situation at hand, she would’ve taken a while to stare around at his room, at all the posters and the dresser and his perfectly unmade bed— but she looked to him instead, standing there with his beat up face. He was sort of shiny, and she realized right away that he’d been trying to clean up his wounds— there was water on his face. In all the wrong spots. And a faint sign that he was bleeding again.
“Steve,” she let out a light laugh as she walked back over to him, “What are you doing?”
He sort of sighed, “What’s it look like, Philbs.”
“You’re not doing a very good job,” she stopped in front of him again, this time placing her hands on her hips and examining his face. “You know that, right?”
His eyes boggled sarcastically, “No,” he gawked. “Not like I’ve been staring at this mess for the last goddamn hour,” he gestured to his face, seeming tired. “I was trying to fall asleep and it started bleeding again.”
She couldn’t help but let out another little laugh of awe at his lack of skills. “Come with me,” she wrapped a hand around his dangling forearm.
He threw his head back slightly as she turned him around, “Lori,” he groaned, tiredly.
“Don’t be a child, Harrington.” she smiled to herself as she stepped towards the open bathroom door, glancing briefly at his dresser and the colognes he had sitting on top of it. “You know you can’t leave wounds open like that, right? They’re just gonna keep bleeding if you don’t patch them up,”
He listened, and reluctantly gave in to her pulling. He moved behind her, slowly dragging his feet towards the bathroom in the corner of his room, watching the back of her head. He couldn’t help but let a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth, despite the pain.
She flicked the bathroom light on with one finger. “And not to mention, your face is probably very susceptible to multiple infections right now. None of which I want.”
“You’ve been listening to your cousin too much.” he grumbled, as she pulled him into the bathroom. “I’m fine.” he was not fine.
It was a nice bathroom, with a long countertop and a deep porcelain sink, a cabinet above the toilet, and a shower. There was a plastic box on the counter filled with shaving products, and a toothbrush holder beside the sink with only one toothbrush in it. A slightly blood-stained cloth left on the sink. A plate with a half-eaten slice of frozen pizza sat atop the garbage can. Lori sort of frowned when she saw all of it, noticing that his life really was very separate from his parents.
Pushing that thought away for the time being, she made a mental note to find his Farrah Fawcett spray later.
She stared around the bathroom for a quick moment before stepping in, pulling Steve in behind her. “Do you have a first-aid kit?” she asked, while looking around.
“Lori, you don’t have to do this,” he sighed, looking at her through the wide mirror. “It’s late,”
“Sit down,” she said softly, pointing to the closed toilet seat as she searched around distractedly. “There, on the toilet.”
He watched as she walked over to the cabinet. “Really, Lori, it’s late and I know you’re tired—”
“I can’t even close my eyes, Steve.” she said, while sifting through the scarce contents inside the cabinet. Her hand latched onto a small metal box in the corner, “Found it,” she smiled. “Come sit.”
Hesitantly, he stepped over to the toilet as she placed the little box on the counter. “What do you mean you can’t close your eyes,” he asked quietly, as he sat down.
She opened the first aid kit, and rummaged delicately for bandages and gauze. “Too dark.” She swallowed, trying to keep a casual face on. “I can’t close them without thinking I’m back in the tunnels or the junkyard. Or something. I dunno,” she pulled out a bandage.
“Lori,” he said, even quieter. He watched her as she turned on the tap, and grabbed the cloth.
“We can talk about it after,” she said, putting the cloth under the running water. “Let’s get you cleaned up first. Deal?”
He listened to the heartbeat of his cheek, and the throbbing of his nose as she wrung the cloth out and turned to him.
“Move your legs apart,” she said, delicately.
He complied, moving them apart. His breath sort of caught a little bit in his throat when she stepped between his legs, her thighs just inches away from his stomach, almost touching— body heat radiating onto him. Her torso level with his head, only a small gap separating them.
“Tilt your head up,” she said, her voice quieter now. She placed a finger under his chin, and he tilted his head back, eyes flicking up to her face. “There.”
He stared up at her, staring at her eyes focused on his face. She looked so beautiful like that, he found, so bare and concentrated. He watched as she brought the cloth up to his cheek, wiping the dried blood from the spots he’d missed. He winced at the pain and she stopped, drawing back only an inch.
“Keep going,” he whispered, smiling reassuringly— a small, tired smile. “I’m fine.”
She swallowed, and then brought the cloth back to his face. She worked silently, wiping off all the blood on his face as much as she could. He listened to the sound of her breathing, and focused on the movement of her torso and shoulders every time she took in a breath. She pulled away after a few silent moments, taking a step back.
“Done?” he asked, watching as she leaned to the side, throwing the cloth onto the rim of the sink. The side of her thigh pressed to his own as she leant.
“Not even close,” she let out a tiny giggle, and reached for the first aid kit.
Balancing on one foot, she pulled out a gauze pad and the tiny little bottle of liquid. He placed his hand on the back of her knee so she wouldn’t fall, as she opened the little bottle and brought the gauze to the cap. Carefully, she poured the liquid onto the gauze, and placed it back on the counter.
She stood back in place, stepping closer to him so that her stomach was aligned with his shoulders. “This is gonna hurt a little bit,” she said.
“I can take it, Philbs.” he said, with light laugh. He was joking about the cheesy sentence— but something in his voice told her that he was serious.
He nodded. She brought the gauze up to his cheek, pressing it to the rim of an open wound there. Immediately, a sharp sting cascaded down his cheek, and seeped into the wound. He winced, hard, and let out a faint grunt of pain. He placed both hands on the back of her knees now, squeezing just slightly.
“Talk to me, it’ll distract you,” she said softly, and continued dabbing the wound. She winced too, at the sight of him in pain. She placed her hand on his shoulder, fingers grazing the nape of his neck.
He swallowed, and inhaled sharply. “Where’d you learn to do this kind of stuff, Philbs.” he asked, his voice sort of strained from pain. He let out another small groan.
Her lip pulled up in a small smile as she cleaned the gash. “I’m a doctor.”
His eyes fluttered open, and he stared up at her. “Doctor, huh?” he played along.
“Of course,” she moved to a smaller gash on his forehead.
He winced, slighter this time. He just focused on her face, the sound of her voice, and her breathing against his chest— that kept him calm. “So, then what’s the diagnosis, Doc.”
“Incompetence in the field of wound-cleaning,” she said, “That’s your diagnosis.”
He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “I can clean my own wounds, Lorraine Philbin.” he looked at her stupidly, joking.
“Doesn’t look like it.” she formed her lips in a tight line. “And judging by your constant flickering of the bathroom light— it definitely doesn’t look like you know how.”
“Oh, so you saw that,” he said, more to himself.
“Duh,” she tilted his head up a bit more with her finger, and cleaned the wound on his forehead— clearing it up. He groaned when she touched it. “That’s why I came over.”
“I kinda thought you brought the ladder all the way over here, climbed up— all just to see me,” he smiled, jokingly.
“I guess there’s that, too,” she tilted her head to the side. “I mean, it was kinda on the bottom of my list but— ”
“Shut up,” he pressed on the back of her knees, bringing her closer. He felt his heartbeat pick up.
“No, you shut up,” she said, bringing the gauze down. He looked at her, jokingly offended. “Seriously, I’m starting on your lips. Close your mouth for a just minute,” she smiled.
He shut his mouth, and closed his eyes as she reached for the bottle to put more liquid on a fresh piece of gauze. When she stood back to her original position, he sort of shifted underneath her, adjusting his seating position.
“Better get comfortable, Harrington,” she placed her hands on his shoulders. “You’ve got a lot of wounds and a lot of gashes to patch up. We’re gonna be here for a while.”
𝙅𝙐𝙇𝙄
absolute loves of my life
they make my heart physically hurt
tending to wounds trope <333
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