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Steve Harrington should most definitely know better than to leave his house in one of the coldest winters Hawkins has ever had without being dressed for the weather. And maybe if he had even a sliver of self preservation he'd have taken the time to get a thicker jacket.
But his parents are home and he never does his best thinking when they're around. Not that he ever does his best thinking.
Steve knows people consider Hawkins a small town, but he never really feels trapped or bothered about the size until his parents come around. It's on these days that the town feels the most stuffy, and how even after booking it out of Loch Nora he still feels claustrophobic. His skin crawls with the ever present burn of having to play the role of son when his parents are in town.
And that's all it is really, a role he steps into sometimes. His parents only really care about him on the rare occasions they want to tote him around as just another piece in his collection to show off. Nice house. Nice car. Nice wife. What came next was a child, but only because of how good he could make them look with his accomplishments.
What none of them knew was that unfortunately the child bestowed upon them is not a very accomplished guy. The thought makes him frown and grumble, kicking a rock to watch it skitter down ahead of him.
He's marching along the road, not really paying attention to the direction his feet take him. There's no destination in mind. And that's the problem isn't it? He doesn't really have anywhere to go. Nancy doesn't love him anymore, never did. Which is an all too familiar circumstance with his parents being far more interested in their curated image than the literal person they were tasked with raising after bringing him into the world.
The cold is starting to bite through his clothes.
Steve notices it somewhere around the time his fingers stop feeling like they're attached to him. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, curling them into fists and trying to breathe some warmth into them.
It's stupid.
He knows it's stupid to be out here dressed like this. It's one of the coldest winters Hawkins has had in years, and he's walking around in a jacket that barely counts as one.
He should go home. The thought comes and goes almost immediately.
Home. Right.
Steve kicks another rock, watching it bounce across the pavement before disappearing into the snow.
He could go back to Loch Nora. He could walk through the front door, pretend nothing happened, and play the part he's supposed to play until his parents leave again.
Except he doesn't really feel like it. So he just keeps walking.
The wind cuts through his jacket hard enough to make his shoulders hunch. His ears hurt. His cheeks sting. His hands feel stiff inside his pockets.
He knows enough to understand what that means.
He's too cold. Probably getting way too cold.
Steve stops for a moment, looking down at himself like the answer might be hiding somewhere in the thin jacket and jeans that didn't seem like an issue when he left.
"Shit." he mutters to himself. He should find somewhere warm. He should turn around or something.
He should probably do a lot of things.
Instead, he sighs and starts walking again. At least he's moving. That's got to count for something. He clenches and unclenches his numb hands, unsure if it's helping circulate the blood like he thinks it's supposed to.
The road ahead blurs slightly, and Steve blinks hard until everything settles back into place.
Maybe he's just tired.
He's been tired for a while. He brushes that thought away and tries to smush his face lower into his jacket.
His feet are beginning to feel strange. Not even painful anymore. Just distant, like they're belonging to somebody else and he's borrowing them for a moment. That thought almost makes him laugh, imagining himself as some sort of temporary Frankenstien.
He rubs his fingers together inside his pockets.
Nothing. That's probably bad, he knows that. He jsut can't seem to make himself care very much. There's worse things than being cold.
His parents don't love him. Nancy doesn't love him. He doesn't really know where he's going. Cold seems pretty far down the list.
Especially when it keeps him from overthinking, on account on how hard it is to form thoughts.
The wind picks up again, sending snow skittering across the road. Steve squints against it and keeps moving, though he's not entirely sure where he's headed anymore. He can't make out houses or familiar landmarks or anything. It's just him and the endless white.
He thinks maybe he should find somewhere to sit down.
No.
That's a bad idea.
You don't sit down when you're this cold. You keep going. He thinks he remembers that much.
But his legs are starting to feel heavy. He eyelids close as his shoulder trops, the tension and the shaking stopping for a moment. He stumbles but blinks awake. That's a close one.
He takes another step and a spike of dizzness has him aborting any plans to continue forward.
Just for a minute, he thinks. He could just sit down for a minute. Maybe get somewhere out of the wind.
The shaking has started to slow down, which is probably a good thing. Steve doesn't feel nearly as cold anymore, either. Maybe he just needs a minute to warm back up.
He could take a quick breather, a little break, and then get back out there and decide where to go.
The trees seem kinda far and the cold really doesn't seem so bad he might've just been being dramatic. So Steve decides to just plop down right where he's at. Just for a minute.
A car passes somewhere down the road, tires hissing against the wet pavement. Steve barely registers it before the sound fades into the wind.
A few minutes later, another set of headlights appears through the snow.
Eddie almost doesn't see him.
At first, he's just another dark shape against the white, sitting off to the side of the road. Eddie nearly drives past before the headlights catch on what looks like a snow-covered teenager.
"What the hell?"
Eddie slows the van, staring at the figure for another second before pulling over. There's somebody sitting on the side of the road, and even from here Eddie can tell they're not dressed for this weather.
He should probably keep going. It's not his problem, and stopping in the middle of a snowstorm to investigate some random person sitting beside the road sounds like exactly the kind of thing that gets him into trouble.
None of his business.
He keeps sitting there for another few seconds before his stomach twists.
"Shit."
He tells himself it's because he doesn't want to live with himself if he keeps going and something happens. That's all. He's not brave. He's not some kind of hero. He's just checking.
Eddie throws the van into park and climbs out, already pulling off his outer layer as he looks toward the figure. He can handle the cold for a few minutes, he's not so sure he can say the same about this guy.
"Hey!" he calls, raising his voice over the wind. "You okay?"
No response.
Eddie walks closer, boots crunching against the snow. The person is sitting on the ground with their knees pulled up, head hanging forward. They're wearing a jacket that looks about as useful against the cold as a paper bag.
"Hey, you alright man?" Still nothing.
Eddie crouches down in front of him and reaches out. Then the figure lifts his head, and Eddie freezes.
"...Harrington?"
Steve squints at him for a second, like he's trying to place the voice. Then he drops his head again.
"Oh. Hey."