ᅠᅠᅠ𖠳 ˖ ࣪ ❟❜ᅠ𝖇. 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 ⸃⸃

ᅠ He misses the ocean. On days hot as this one, there's a primal need for the salty air in his lungs — but none of that exists in Hawkins. That was long ago. Now he's just confined to the park bench, fingers fidgeting with a shell necklace he made when he was ten. ᅠ

ᅠ he was told he couldn't smoke. ‘nicotine impairs healing, william,’ said the nurse who last saw him out of the icy hospital room. he can't help it, though; the grimy aftertaste in the back of his throat is exactly what he needs to coax the pain. the park looks fine today. ᅠ

ᅠ drawing his cigarette again for the sixth time; his right hand mindlessly picks at the bandages through his white tank top. they've been growing itchier by the day — apart from the suffocating feeling of a glued torso and limited mobility. what a sick joke. ᅠ