— CHAPTER 12 —
GOING DOWN...

TUESDAY 2nd JULY,
1985

"ALRIGHT, nerds, I'm there."

     The crackle of Erica Sinclair's voice through the Supercom suddenly forces perspective onto Andrea — how the hell did she get here? Sure, she has always been one to throw herself into a situation without much thought, but this is something else. Translating the Russian has been pretty fun, and admittedly spying on the Starcourt Mall late at night makes her feel like she's an action hero. But the impression Andrea gets from the others is that this is not some raucous adventure. Dustin, Steve and Daphne are all deadly serious. Robin and Erica might be the only ones besides Andrea who find everything about this bizarre.

"Do you... do you see anything?" Robin asks. Meanwhile, Steve and Daphne huddle in concern at her side, and Dustin is ogling at the doors through his binoculars. They must all be a sight for sore eyes...

"Yeah, I see those boring boxes you're so excited about."

"Any guards?"

"Negative."

"Booby traps?"

"If I could see them, they'd be pretty shit traps, wouldn't they?"

     "Thank you for that..." Robin mutters, rolling her eyes.

Andrea cracks a smile at the ten year-old's quips. Erica Sinclair really is fearless. Better her than Andrea, for the idea of crawling through those cramped vents with no air... it makes her break out into a cold sweat, atop the layer she already has from this scorching summer.

     "I'm in," Erica adds.

     "Oh God..." Steve rakes a hand through his voluminous hair, dreading something happens to the child.

     But moments later, the doors below whoosh open, and little Erica stands there with her pink backpack and bike helmet, complete with two flashlights duct-taped to the sides. "Free ice cream for life!" she exclaims, reminding Steve and Robin of their promise to her. Andrea only wishes she'd struck up a deal like that, too. What a missed opportunity...

     They rush down to meet Erica in the loading dock, where stacked cardboard boxes from different shops in the mall tower around them. Crossing over to the first box they see, from Imperial Panda, Steve opens the flaps on the top. Sitting inside it is a metallic box — surely just for cooling the food, right? — and he lifts the buckled lid from that, too.

     A hiss of steam rises from inside it, and the whole group peer inside. There are four circular pods with heavy steel handles, presumably storing something inside. It is the furthest thing from what Andrea expected to see in there.

     "... Dim sum, anyone?" Andrea chuckles nervously.

     "That's definitely not Chinese food," Steve murmurs. He reaches in for one of the handles, before thinking of something. "Uh, maybe you guys should– you know– stand back."

     "Good idea," Daphne says; although she still doesn't stray too far away from him, there if he needs her.

     Dustin is far more stubborn. Every time Steve tells him to step back, poking and nudging him, he point-blank refuses. It goes on like this until he suddenly cries out nobly, "No! If you die, I die."

     To this, Steve just stares at him with a blank expression. Then he shrugs his shoulders. "Okay," he says, as if to mean, your funeral.

     He reaches his arm into the box, and there is another hiss as he turns the handle. It must be heavy because Andrea can see the strain in Steve's arm as he lifts it. What he pulls out from the box is a large vial of acidic green goop, with small bubbles floating inside it. It is so translucent, that it totally distorts the sight of Dustin's face that Andrea is seeing through the glass.

     Okay, she thinks, I was right... I'm definitely living in a spy movie now.

     Although she would rather not be feeling that anymore.

     "What the hell?" Steve whispers.

     "What is that?" Robin says, jaw slackened at the sight.

     "Whatever it is," Andrea says, "I don't like it at all—"

     The floor tremors beneath her feet, giving a shudder like they are in a cage of some sort. Andrea furrows her brows and stares up at the ceiling.

     "Was that just me, or did the room move?" Dustin asks slowly.

     "Booby traps..." Erica whispers.

     Another loud bang as the room shifts once more. It reminds Andrea of the fun house at a carnival when she was a kid — the floors moved this way and that way, and you could never quite anticipate the next move. It was a blast when she was seven and had cotton candy running through her veins, but the novelty is lost in this strange room with people she doesn't know all that well. Andrea can't help but feel they are like mice caught in a trap.

     "You know what? Let's just grab that and go," Robin snatches the vial of green goop from Steve.

     "Amen to that," Andrea rolls back and forth on her heels with mounting anxiety.

     Dustin rushes over to the keypad by the door. Various buttons are lit up, but none of them activate the doors. Shit. This is just what they need.

     "Which one do I press, Erica?" he asks frantically.

     "Just press the button, nerd!"

     "Which one? I'm pressing the button, okay?"

     "Press OPEN DOOR."

     "I am pressing OPEN DOOR!"

     "Guys, stop yelling and let's just think for a second..." Daphne says weakly, hands pressed to her temples. Her eyes are darting around the room, desperately searching for creative options out of here. Andrea is glad someone is trying to think through this somewhat calmly.

     Because the rest of them? Total meltdown.

     After Steve joins in the button-smashing, everyone bickering and shouting over one another, there is another loud CLANG. Andrea stares in horror as a large black curtain of metal closes over the sliding doors from before. No way out. It occurs to Andrea, then, that this is no ordinary room.

     This is an elevator.

     Moments later, gravity works its magic. The room starts descending rapidly as lights flash past them on the walls. Everyone is screaming at the top of their lungs and clinging helplessly onto boxes. Down, down, down. Her stomach flips like a pancake and Andrea clenches her eyes shut. Just pretend it's a rollercoaster, she tries telling herself. But how can she, with Dustin shrieking like a banshee next to her that they're all going to die?

     "We're going down! We're going down!" Steve cries.

     "Yeah, no shit, Harrington!" Robin snaps back.

     "SHIIIT!" Dustin screams so high, only the dogs can hear it, "WHY DON'T THESE BUTTONS WORK?"

     "Press the button!" Erica commands.

     Eyes wide, he screams in return, "WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M DOING?!"

     "Dustin, SHUT UP!!" Andrea seethes at him; if they weren't hurtling towards what feels like the Earth's core right now, she would find it hilarious, but she doesn't want his shrill cries to be the last thing she hears.

      "Everybody just hold onto something! It can't go on forever!" Daphne warns them; how is she so calm?!

     Surely enough, a moment later the room stops abruptly. The force throws everyone around like plastic flakes in a snow globe. Boxes tumble down from the shelves, one unfortunately landing on top of Steve's groin. He throws his arm out just in time to stop one from landing on Daphne's head. Andrea, herself, had been clinging to one of the shelves so hard that it leaves indents in her palms. Her blood is still roaring in her ears after being shaken about.

     "Is everyone okay?" Robin asks.

     After helping Daphne to her feet, Steve rages, "Yeah, I'm great, now I know that Russians can't design elevators!" Then he starts furiously clacking at the buttons by the door.

     "Steve, give it up," Daphne sighs tensely, "those buttons don't work."

     "They're buttons! They have to do something!"

     "Yeah, if we had a key card!" Robin reminds him.

     "What?" he widens his eyes at her.

     "It's an electronic lock. Same as the loading dock door. If you don't have a key card, it won't operate. Meaning—"

     "We're stuck in here," Dustin states the obvious.

     Andrea has an awful thought — Pedro. His birthday is in less than forty-eight hours, and what if she can't get out? She is still carrying his birthday gift in her backpack, a small LEGO set. And what about Mateo, and her parents? Why did she ever agree to this stupid plan?

     "Dustin, why did you have to drag me into this?" Andrea rants.

     "Wait, this is my fault?!" Dustin retorts.

     "Yes! You talked me into this stupid project of yours, and now I'm stuck here with you."

     "You agreed to it! I told you we were translating Russian, and you saw how things developed."

     "I didn't think there were actually Russians under the mall!" Andrea throws her arms in the air. "I thought you were kidding, or that some prankster was messing with us!"

     "Seriously? Even when we cracked a secret code—"

     Clearly, Andrea isn't the only one concerned about getting back home. "Just so you nerds are aware," Erica says loudly, "I'm supposed to be spending the night at Tina's. Tina always covers for me. But if I'm not home for Uncle Jack's party tomorrow, and my mom finds out you five are responsible? She's gonna hunt you down, one by one, and slit your throats."

     Steve cuts her off and snaps, "I don't care about Tina, or Uncle Jack's party! Your mom's not gonna be able to find us, if we're dead in a Russian elevator..."

     As Erica states dumbfounded at him, Daphne taps Steve's shoulder and shakes her head. "Maybe don't yell at the ten year-old, okay?" she whispers. But the worry is palpable and almost more real on her face, as it bubbles away inside of her.

     "Hey..." Dustin interrupts, far quieter now, as he points up to the ceiling. "What if we climbed out?"

     Everyone follows his gaze upwards, to the air vent opening at the top. Of course. They could lift the top off, and maybe crawl their way back up to level ground again. Steve gives Dustin a boost and follows him up there, the lid now popped away from the top. Andrea stands on her tip-toes to inspect, and is gravely disappointed. The elevator shaft towers so high above them that she can't see where the top is.

     "What were you saying about climbing?" Steve says, his voice tinny and echoing off the walls.

━━━━━━

     KER-PLUNK, thump. Ker-plunk, thump.

Since finding a soft bouncy ball buried at the bottom of her bag, Andrea tosses it rhythmically against the walls, watching as it ricochets back to her. Anything to distract her from the fact she's enclosed in this elevator. The initial panic has subsided and left everyone helpless to do much else than wait. Daphne and Steve are still trying to figure out another way to escape, stood atop the elevator. Robin had been with them but decided to hop back below for a break.

Meanwhile, Dustin has unearthed his Supercom, trying to contact anyone above. "This is a Code Red. I repeat, a Code Red. We're trapped down here and—"

Ker-plunk, THWACK!

Andrea misdirects her aim, the bouncy ball colliding with Dustin's nose instead of the wall. "What the hell!" he recoils dramatically. At first she gasps in sympathy, before his reaction — and maybe her nerves — make her burst out laughing. Robin and Erica can't help but grin in the moment, clutching at straws for any entertainment.

     "I'm sorry," she snorts, "you should've seen your face..."

"It's not funny, Andrea!"

"Okay, geez. It's not like I hit you with a baseball... what time is it anyway?"

Huffing impatiently, Dustin glances at his digital watch. "It's 10:30. And no one has answered my calls, useless piece of shit..."

"You really think you'll find anyone in range?"

"I can damn well try," says Dustin defiantly.

Andrea sits up, winding her neck around to try and undo the tension in it. She feels a pang of guilt as she observes Dustin's pacing back and forth. "Hey, Dustin? I'm sorry again."

"Yeah, I know, it's a foam ball," he mutters.

"I meant about earlier too," she elaborates, catching his attention. "I don't actually blame you for all this. Whose fault is it that I'm down here? Mine, and mine only. I agreed to it in the first place like you said."

"Well, I didn't exactly think we'd end up down here either," Dustin gestures wildly to the room around him.

"Damn right you didn't," Erica pipes up, "'cause if that was the plan all along, I'd have been out."

"Me too," Robin scoffs.

"Me three," Andrea adds with a soft laugh. "All this to learn a new language..."

Her curiosity piqued, Robin sits upright and hugs her knees to her chest; one of them has a peeling band-aid, which she has been fiddling with absentmindedly since getting stuck down here. "Hey, Andrea, you're a pretty natural linguist. I mean, your pronunciation is frustratingly good. How come you wanted to learn so many?" asks Robin. "I know why I did, because I needed something to keep my brain from melting in this stupid town. But I don't think I've met many other kids in Hawkins as eager about languages as you."

Andrea considers this for a moment, then shrugs. "I don't know. I've just always had a jumble of languages growing up, and... it feels like getting the special key to a place when you learn another one. I mean, Portuguese was my first language for a while."

"Seriously?" Dustin raises his eyebrows in interest.

"Yeah. I was born in Brazil, but my parents moved us to America when I was little."

"Do you ever go back and visit?" asks Erica.

Andrea shakes her head, regarding the kid who probably hasn't heard about it. "No... no, it was better that we didn't. But my mom's family are still there. We get letters from them sometimes."

She does her best to leave out the other details for Erica. Even if she's a smart kid, maybe it would be too much. Sometimes it is too much for Andrea to grapple with sometimes. Especially when she reconciles it with her earliest memories, hazy and warm with visions of their house in Rio de Janeiro and the beach, the truth feels incongruent. At that age, she was mostly oblivious to the dictatorship around her. But it weighed heavy on the lives and minds of her family. And now with the recent news a few months back that the dictatorship had ended, the Sandovals were left reeling over this. New opportunities and connections to their loved ones were presented...

Andrea guesses that is why she feels different when she speaks Portuguese. More vulnerable, somehow, because it takes her back to a time that she can scarcely remember, yet is so ingrained in who she is. In English, she finds is more boisterous and exerts confidence, although how much of that is real is not always clear. Spanish is often spoken by her paternal grandparents in Florida, and forever bears an association with family, and the brief time they lived with them after first leaving Brazil. Andrea supposes it is true that you don't just speak a language, you live in it — the feeling is one of such comfort that she loves to learn more, reaching out to further places. The world is her oyster and she wants to see it all.

She isn't sure her brothers feel the same way about all this. Mateo was only a few months old when they left Brazil, and Pedro was born in America. Their relationship to it differs greatly from hers, and their Portuguese certainly isn't as good as hers.

After Andrea omits the darker, deeper details and instead tells Robin all the cities she's lived in, the older teen is bewildered. "I don't know how you go from places like San Francisco and Chicago, to freaking Hawkins of all places, but all I know is that I am so jealous of you. The closest I got to leaving here was a ticket to Paris for the summer, and I never ended up going."

"Do you think you're gonna move again?" asks Dustin.

"Not for a while, I hope," Andrea frowns, tossing the bouncy ball from one palm to the other. "Hawkins has its faults and all, but it's nice to stay in one place for long enough. It gets tiring after a while when you keep uprooting yourself."

The most difficult move for her had been leaving San Francisco. Andrea had settled in so perfectly there, and it is currently the longest she has ever lived anywhere. But who knows? Maybe Hawkins will be on-track to beat that record... she couldn't have seen that one coming. Not to mention this place is so different from the other ones, for certain the smallest town she has lived in. Andrea constantly finds herself surprised by that small-town mentality people seem to have here.

     "Pedro's in my class at school," Erica announces knowledgeably.

     "I know," Andrea smiles.

     "But he never talks to me, it's like he's scared or something."

     "I know..."

     Shaking her head, Erica rolls her eyes. "What a nerd..."

     All that talk of Pedro only reminds Andrea that he's so unreachable right now. She should be wrapping his birthday gift, writing a stupid message in the card that he'll laugh his head off at. But this time, she is in no state of mind to blame Dustin Henderson for that. She is sure there are many other places he would rather be as well.

     "Wake me if anything happens," Andrea yawns, using her backpack as a pillow. Because what else can she do if nothing is moving yet?

     At first she just lies there, perspiring and pretending to be asleep. But at some point, by some miracle, she drifts off...

... And then she is somewhere else. Back in the corners of her mind, long ago, she is a toddler. Her dream takes the broken fragments of her memory and tries to imagine a full picture. Her chubby little legs stomping along Ipanema beach, squealing as she runs away from Uncle João pretending he's the tickle monster out to get her. The waves lap at her feet, foam washing over her ankles all warm and inviting. Then she is dozing off in the afternoon sun under a parasol, kept watch over by her grandmother — Vovó, affectionately — and the aroma of her sunscreen, as her parents talk in murmurs that she doesn't understand a word of.

     The clearest memory, perhaps the fullest one, is when they left. The seatbelt digging into her neck as she twisted to look out of the window, Vovó trying to put on a brave face as she blew kisses to her granddaughter, mouthing "Eu te amo." Nothing in Andrea's mind comprehended at the time that she wouldn't see her again, not for many, many years.

     Sure, there are many places Andrea wants to see in the world. But before anything else, she swears the first thing she'll do is to go and finally reunite with her grandmother.

━━━━━━

WEDNESDAY 3rd JULY,
1985

THE metal is cool against Daphne's back, although sticking to the sheen of sweat on her skin. She has been lying here, staring up at the endless abyss above her for what feels like an eternity — two and a half hours, to be exact. When she recently checked her wristwatch, the time confirmed that they had slipped into the early hours of Wednesday. Great. Just great. The dread of never escaping this place sits like an elephant on her chest, constricting her and stopping the words from coming out.

     How did they get into this mess? Daphne should have turned around when she had the chance. But then again, it's been in her nature to get involved these last few years. Still, this is something very different. She wouldn't have the first clue how to deal with Russian spies if she came face-to-face with them down here.

     There is one positive to all this, at least, and that is the fact that she changed out of her cinema uniform before this. While Daphne remains in a jeans and a green plaid sleeveless tank, poor Robin and Steve are stuck in their sailor's uniforms.

     The latter is also atop the elevator with her right now. He lowers himself down with a dejected sigh, ruffling his layers of hair with one hand. "I give up," he grumbles, "I can't think of any good ideas to get us out of here."

     "Me neither..." Daphne blinks up into the black horizon above. "It's an elevator. They have to use it again at some point. Either we'll go right back up, or the doors will open again."

"And if the Russians catch us first?"

"... Shit."

A renewed panic takes hold, although it remains firmly internalised; perhaps it is from being so dampened by boredom right now. She rolls her body slowly towards the edge of the elevator, gripping the side with her fingers as she pokes her head out. Then suddenly, Daphne feels an arm scoop her chest and pull her back.

"Whoa, careful!" Steve is saying, his warning reverberating off the walls.

"Sorry," she murmurs, "I was just trying to see how far down we are."

He releases his arm again, and Daphne finds her body subconsciously searching for that half-embrace again.

"Rock bottom, is the answer," he deadpans.

"Tell me about it..."

Daphne returns to lying on her back, and this time, Steve does the same. She finds herself thinking about how often they end up in these life-or-death situations together. Whether by choice or fate's design, she is almost always facing it with him. It's funny. In a strange way, having him here now gives all this a sense of comfort. It makes Daphne feel like she has done this before — although obviously, she has never been stuck underground in a Russian elevator.

     Then there are her other reasons for being glad that Steve's around... more sentimental ones.

     Despite all this, Daphne is still very on edge. Sure, she wasn't screaming her head off on the way down here, but it's still awful. Her imagination jumps leaps and bounds to conjure vivid scenarios, in which she never escapes and Thomas and Cath are left without answers for her whereabouts. She never gets to study at NYU, and she kisses her filmmaking dreams goodbye in this dark and gloomy elevator shaft. This catastrophic image is looming so much that she needs to tell someone.

     "It would just be typical," says Daphne, "that I spent all this time trying to get out of Hawkins, and then when I finally try to get out, I end up wasting away in a secret elevator of all things."

     Steve gives a bemused scoff beside her. "That would be typical... but no, we have to get you out of here. You're the one who actually has a shot at leaving this town. How long it is until you go again?"

     "I leave in late August. That is, assuming—"

     "—You don't get trapped down here, yeah, I know. But you must be pretty excited, right?" Steve certainly sounds it, an enthusiastic edge creeping into his voice. "You've been rattling on about college to me for enough months now."

     "Yeah, I am..." Daphne trails off. And it is true. She adores the thought of mingling with like-minded cinephiles, truly honing her craft and understanding all the context, being given the right tools she doesn't have here to make her stories come to life. Something about New York feels slightly romanticised too. It will be so different from Hawkins in every way.

     Steve sighs next to her. "But?"

     It's like he knows.

     "But, it's weird," she confesses. "I've never lived anywhere other than Hawkins, and I've never travelled as far as New York. I– I guess... I've started to think about what I might be leaving behind. So, I've been trying to enjoy the summer while I'm still here."

     "I think you might be overthinking this a little, Daph," says Steve; not patronisingly, but with sympathy. "Remember, it's not like you can't come home in the holidays."

     It's one of the reasons she finds Steve a surprisingly good confidante. He can put Daphne's big problems into perspective, before she can spin them out of control in her head. He has a way of simplifying things that can put her at ease. Right now, it might be more difficult to let that work its magic.

     "True. It just won't be the same as it was before... I know it," she hums. "Summer doesn't last forever, like most things. But I've never wanted it to last more than this time."

     Daphne lets her head lull to the side. Steve is looking up, not at her. There's that feeling again. She lets herself get carried away with it, that fuzziness she has been feeling around him lately. But that's just the silver lining to the fact that... well, he has ended up meaning a lot to her. Daphne will genuinely miss him either way when she goes to college. It's this crush coming into full bloom that stumps her. Why couldn't she have realised it sooner? Not that she thinks Steve feels the same way; she gets the feeling he still sees things through the same lens as when they were in high school, and by that logic, they should be lightyears apart. But if there was a chance, Daphne should have surely taken it sooner. There seems to be little point shooting her shot now, with so little time left.

     "Not everything has to change," Steve is saying, bringing her back again. "I'll still be here, figuring out what the hell to do next. Maybe I'll still be slinging ice cream with Robin."

     Daphne laughs softly. "No, I doubt that. But I'll be thinking about you when I go."

     Oops. That slipped out. He's turning his head now, looking at her almost in surprise. "Yeah?" he asks.

     "... Yeah," she murmurs.

     "I guess I'll miss having someone to go to the movies with," Steve adds.

     "Your taste is definitely improving."

     "No, no, not improved. Just widened. There was nothing to improve in the first place!"

     "Mhmm. Keep telling yourself that..."

     As Daphne giggles, Steve suddenly remembers something — or at least, he tries to make it look like it was spontaneous, and not something he'd been meaning to say for a while. "Hey, uh, thanks for the other night. You know, seeing a movie at the Hawk. I realised I never mentioned it afterwards. It made a suckier evening slightly less sucky."

     She freezes for a moment, mouth half hanging open. "Oh, y– yeah, sure. Me too," Daphne then replies. Internally, she cringes. Wow, really eloquent. But she's relieved he mentioned it, because she had felt the same way. She had been given a lift in spirit when he showed up in the pouring rain just to watch a movie. With the memory comes a prickle of static through Daphne's palm, remembering how it felt to hold his hand in the darkness there.

     Steve breaks their stare after a few beats, curling his back to sit up again. She does the same but far too quickly, grimacing as the blood rushes to her head. While Daphne waits for the phosphenes to subside, Steve says, "I don't know about you, but I'm beat. Maybe we should try and sleep if nothing's happening yet."

     Nodding, she adds, "Someone should keep watch though. I'm wide awake right now, I can do it."

     "You sure?"

     "Mhmm."

     Steve crawls down back into the elevator first. Around him, the others are fast asleep; Dustin's mouth is wide open as guttural snores occasionally get choked out. It's a miracle the others are even asleep (unless they are great actors, Daphne thinks). Andrea is slumped against her backpack and lost in a dream, and Erica appears unusually peaceful when in slumber. Robin, however, has her brows knitted together in tension even as she's drifted off.

Next, Daphne sits on the edge and dangles her legs down into the opening. Steve stands below her and outstretches his arms.

"I'll catch you," he says, "I promise."

This is deja vu if she ever had it. She is brought straight back to last year, when in other dire straits, he was there to catch Daphne when they entered the tunnels at Merrill's Farm. More than ever, she has no hesitation in trusting that he will catch her — only this time, the distance is shorter, arguably a jump she could make on her own.

Daphne slips down and lets Steve catch her lightly by the waist, bringing her softly down the rest of the way. Her feet have long since touched the floor, but her hands continue gripping his arms, basked in the shade of his face looking down on hers. They are two halves locked into place for a moment — and in that moment of making perfect sense, instinct almost takes over. It's too easy to just stay here.

Then Steve lets her go, clearing his throat. "Uh... yeah," he mumbles.

He tries to get himself comfortable and lies down next to Robin. Daphne crosses her legs and keeps watch over Steve and the rest of them, her heart still thundering. It's so quiet in here — and so loud in her chest — that she worries they can all hear her. She inhales a deep breath through her nose and casts her mind up above, sending her own goodnight to her dad and sister.

At least they had the good sense to have a normal summer.

━━━━━━

A/N;

really satisfied that i was able to post this chapter today, on july 3rd, meaning it is exactly 40 years since staphne had that conversation on top of the elevator. it also means that tomorrow is pedro sandoval's 50th birthday 🥺 just can't wrap my head around that!!

this was a rather andrea-centric chapter, because we haven't had one of those in a while, i think. i really enjoyed delving into her relationship with languages and families from different cultures. i could relate to it a lot, therefore it was an interesting chapter for me to write.

also, there were references to brazil at the time andrea would have been living there in the early 1970s — i had done some research on my own, but i also didn't want to info-dump about the dictatorship because i still don't consider myself an expert on the history. that's why i kind of skimmed the surface with this subject. furthermore, andrea would have been so young at the time, so she wouldn't necessarily know all the details and her memory of it would be so hazy. anyway... i hope this chapter showed a deeper side to andrea, who has been more of a fun and carefree character so far. this is just one slice of her backstory though, she's actually done a lot in her 15 years of life so far!

one final note, i've (finally) been getting into djo's music slowly, and 'potion' is sooo staphne coded, specifically from steve's POV 🫶 "i'll try for all of my life / just to find someone who leavеs on the light for me"

that's enough yapping for one author's note! thanks for reading, & hope you have a great day/evening.

— Imogen

[ Published: July 3rd, 2025 ]