ɪ’ᴍ ᴀ ᴄʀᴇᴇᴘ/ ɪ'ᴍ ᴀ ᴡᴇɪʀᴅᴏ Hasn’t slept a full night since 1983. Still waiting for someone to tell him it’s okay to put the weight down. 𝙹 𝚘 𝚗 𝚊 𝚝 𝚑 𝚊 𝚗 𝙱 𝚢 𝚎 𝚛 𝚜

[[ Twelve days, it’s been twelves days already without her and yet it feels like they’re all stuck, that time itself has stopped existing.]]

It’s fine. Just gotta push him out.

Lonnie, he’s in my head again.

Am I good enough?

be your biggest supporter. Because contrary to what you think” He pauses, collecting himself, then offers her a soft, crooked smile. “I love your articles.” A choked laugh slips out. “I just hated when you asked if I had anything to add because you sucked at taking criticism.”

won’t remember you as a hero. They won’t know your name because we’re the unsung heroes here. But the world? The world is going to know Nancy Wheeler through her words. You’re going to cut through the red tape. The bullshit. You’re going to tell the truth and I’ll always

brushing gently along her cheeks. Whatever mask he’s been wearing slips away, leaving nothing but the love and devotion shining plainly in his eyes. “I’ve missed you, Nancy, and I’m going to miss you so much. But I know you’re going to do incredible things. I know that. Hawkins

nightmares stopped was when you were next to me because you quieted the noise. You always did, and I’ve missed that more than I know how to say.” Carefully he sets the frame down. Finally, finally he finds the courage to reach for her. His hands frame her face, thumbs

more memories to look back on in joy instead of in dread.” He gives her a weak smile, blinking rapidly, fighting the tears threatening to spill. “I fell asleep mid-conversation because your voice felt like a lullaby. It put me at peace. The only peace I had. The only time the

and instead of holding onto each other, we drifted, spent time apart, or worse, sitting in silence. I hate that it took us being on the brink of death to finally say the things that mattered. Because maybe, maybe if I had spoken up then there could have been more pictures,

more than just shared trauma is gone. Those photos mattered.” He grits his teeth, shaking his head as frustration bleeds through. “I hate that when I came back, I didn’t tell you the truth about Emerson. That I let the distance grow. Hawkins was falling apart,

“There are some things,” he whispers, never breaking eye contact, “that I hate about myself too. I hate that our house in Lenora became a war zone. That most of the pictures I had, our pictures, of you, of us, were destroyed. That the proof we were

in when it finally sinks in, this is goodbye. And if this is really it, then it has to mean something. It has to be something they carry with them long after this moment passes. So he does the one thing she’s always done, he doesn’t retreat. He let silence swallow him whole.

In the way she’s still standing after everything she’s been through. In the way she’s here now, saying all of this, not retreating. After all of that, what can he even say? What is there to say? His heart hammers violently in his chest as he looks at her, the ache settling

If she’s committing him to memory, he’s doing the same. Even without a camera, there’s a silent shutter click in the air. His eyes trace over her features, and God she really is beautiful. Not just in the obvious ways, but in the ones that matter most.

One final step, and she’s standing directly in front of him. She’s so close now that breathing feels optional. It takes a second for it to sink in, this is the closest he’s been to her in a long time. His gaze gets caught in her brilliant blue eyes, just as captivating as ever.

sometimes fell asleep mid-conversation in bed. Guilt bites at him, but there had always been a reason for that. She takes another step closer and admits she hates that he’s leaving. That one lands harder. He swallows past the lump in his throat, because yeah he hates it too.

she hates that he never wants to be in pictures. On the rare occasions he is, it’s always reluctant because he prefers the background, the edges of the frame. His brow lifts when she keeps going. He’d thought she’d stop at one thing. Instead, she tells him she hates how he

but then she reaches the bottom step, and the movie in his head comes to a sudden pause. His heart feels like it’s been running for miles, even though he’s been standing perfectly still, doing nothing but watching her. There’s a faint warmth in his cheeks when she admits

it, even in the middle of the war they had managed to find something meaningful, each other. And they had kept finding each other over and over again. He’s barely relived their story when the urge hits him to tell her to stop, to slow down, to let him savor every second