・𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭・

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧: Lydia Wheeler

𝙁𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝘾𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢: Lili Reinhart

𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙢: Stranger Things

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩: Steve Harrington
or someone else

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙨 ━ unpublished

WTS?

( ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ )

✧･: *✧･
──────────

Nancy and Lydia Wheeler.

The Wheeler Twins.

Born only seven minutes apart.

Seven—Hawkins' lucky number, people liked to joke.
A number that felt neat, balanced, almost storybook perfect.

Just like the twins.

The girls next door everyone envied.

Nancy—the sharp-minded journalist with a spine of quiet steel.

Lydia—the golden cheerleader whose smile could light up an entire hallway before morning announcements even clicked on.

Lydia Wheeler.

If Hawkins had a homecoming poster child, it would've been her.

Blonde hair that always looked brushed even on the days she overslept. Green eyes bright enough that teachers swore she'd "go far someday." The kind of smile that made other girls want to sit next to her and boys forget what they were trying to say.

A cheerleader, an honor student, a girl who said "yes ma'am" without being asked. Hawkins' sweetheart.

The girl who helped everyone else before thinking of herself.

People whispered she was "too perfect"—but only in the way small towns do when they can't find anything bad to say.

But no one ever looked close enough to see the hidden pressure behind her perfect posture.

How she planned her days down to the minute. How she worried about keeping everything just right. How she tried desperately to make life smooth for everyone in the Wheeler house—especially when Ted was grumbling, or Holly was crying, or Nancy was slamming her door again.

Not because anything was wrong.

Simply because Lydia was the kind of girl who held things together without ever saying she did.

And Hawkins loved her for it.

Expected it, even.

But expectations wouldn't matter soon.

Not when things changed. Not when Hawkins changed.

Because on this night—their last normal night—Lydia wasn't sensing danger. She wasn't bracing for anything strange. She was just a teenage girl doing homework at the kitchen table.

Nancy was upstairs on the phone, voice hushed. Will and the Party were downstairs arguing over a dice roll. Karen wiped down the counters, humming off-key.
Ted slept in his recliner with Holly curled against him like a warm kitten.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing alarming.

Nothing that would make anyone think the world was about to split open beneath their feet.

Lydia tapped her pencil lightly as she re-read her English paper. The overhead light buzzed softly. The house smelled faintly of dish soap and leftover lasagna. A car passed by outside, headlights sweeping across the wall.

It was all so normal.

So achingly, comfortably normal.

She smiled—her bright, familiar smile—dropping her pencil to stretch her sore fingers. She had no reason to feel uneasy. No reason to think about anything except school, cheer practice, and whether her bangs needed trimming.

No one in the house, no one in the neighborhood, no one in Hawkins knew that normal was already slipping through their fingers.

That this night—this ordinary, harmless night—was the last one they'd get.

Because the storm creeping toward Hawkins hadn't touched anyone yet.

No flickers.

No whispers.

No chills.

Not even a shadow on the wall.

Nothing to warn them.

Least of all Lydia Wheeler—the girl whose life seemed so perfect, so bright, that no one ever imagined how easily it could be shattered.

Not even her.