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carpenoctxrn · 3 months ago

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a hoax, a bait, a challenge (Ominis Gaunt x fem!reader) Part 2

Disclaimer: mentions of face-sitting, boob-job, horny Ominis, horny reader.

AN: Okay I think I will do one more part. And yes I like making Ominis obsessed with the reader because I like them possessive...

Word Count: 8426

Masterlist

Ominis Gaunt strode through the library, his wand tapping lightly against the floor with the faint click-click-click that echoed in the quiet room. The sun bathed the far corner in golden light, his preferred spot, where the rays would warm his back as he worked through the labyrinth of notes and textbooks. But as he approached, something felt… off.

Someone was sitting in his seat.

He sighed. “Sebastian? Why aren’t you in class?” he called out, setting his stack of books down with a deliberate thud.

“Didn’t feel like it,” Sebastian replied lazily, his mouth half-full of an apple as he flipped through a worn tome.

Ominis ran his fingers over the chair next to him before sitting, exhaling sharply. “Why am I not surprised?” he muttered, his tone tinged with exasperation. “Please, keep yourself entertained. I have actual work to do, and I’d rather not get swept into one of your scandals today.”

“Scandal?” Sebastian asked with mock offense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” Ominis retorted, already busying himself with his textbook. His wand traced the Braille like enchantments on the page, one hand gliding across the text while the other jotted notes in impeccable handwriting.

For a while, the only sounds were the scratching of quill on parchment and the occasional crunch of Sebastian’s apple. But then, from somewhere behind them came the unmistakable sound of giggling.

Ominis stiffened. “Merlin’s beard, that’s distracting,” he muttered, his jaw tightening as the laughter grew louder.

Sebastian smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like someone found this month’s issue of Haughty Witches and Naughty Snitches,” he said, the amusement clear in his voice.

Ominis paused mid-sentence, his brow furrowing. “The what now?”

“Oh, come on,” Sebastian said, sitting upright with sudden enthusiasm. “You remember the first time we found a copy? Fourth year, I think it was. Or was it third?”

“I’m choosing not to dignify this conversation with a response,” Ominis deadpanned, his focus snapping back to his notes.

“Don’t give me that look, Ominis. It’s a natural part of life,” Sebastian said smugly.

“Yes, Sebastian, I agree that sex is a natural part of life,” Ominis replied coolly, “but a woman performing pull-ups with her-” he hesitated, his face turning pink, “...her assets out is not.”

“She was doing a challenge! That takes skill, Ominis. Skill and dedication,” Sebastian said, shaking his head at his friend, making his blind friend feel as if he doesn’t recognize talent or dedication.

“Speaking of challenges,” Ominis said, his tone suddenly lighter, “did you know I’m currently participating in one myself?”

Sebastian straightened, intrigued. “Oh? You? Participating in a challenge?”

“Yes. My dear girlfriend bet me that I couldn’t keep my hands off her for a week. Naturally, I countered with the same bet. She’s convinced I’ll cave first,” Ominis said, the corners of his mouth curling into an amused smile.

Sebastian stared at him for a long moment before placing a solemn hand on his shoulder. “Ominis, you’re going to lose.”

Ominis blinked in surprise. “What? That’s absurd. If anyone has self-control, it’s me. Between the two of us— ”

“Stop right there,” Sebastian interrupted, leaning closer with an almost pitying expression. “Ominis, do you remember two months ago when she left for three days?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Ominis asked, already growing defensive.

Sebastian’s smirk widened. “You turned into a bloody menace. You walked straight into a Quidditch match, while it was in progress, just to Accio the Snitch and blow it to bits. Your excuse? ‘The first years were making too much noise.’”

“Well, they were— ”

“It was their first win of the season! They had every right to cheer!”

Ominis opened his mouth to retort, but Sebastian wasn’t finished.

“And let’s not forget the second game of the season. You were all smiles, eating stale popcorn with a pleasant expression because she was sitting right there next to you. Coincidence? I think not.”

“That’s just basic decency, Sebastian. Good company should always be appreciated,” Ominis said, lifting his chin in defiance.

“Sure, sure,” Sebastian said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Except Imelda swears she saw her limping that day, and according to her, you’re quite the—how did she put it—‘big guy.’”

Ominis froze. His quill stopped mid-dip into the ink, and a scarlet blush crept across his face.

Sebastian grinned wickedly. “Face it, Ominis. You’re doomed.”

“And why is my handsome boyfriend doomed?” Her voice chimed from behind, soft and lilting, but carrying just enough edge to tease. The sound made both boys pause, but it was the warmth of her touch that pulled Ominis’ attention completely. She slipped up beside him, her presence as familiar and comforting as the sunlight streaming through the library windows.

Ominis felt the heat creep up his neck as he turned toward her, his cheeks tinged pink, a rare sight on his typically pale, freckled complexion. Unless of course when they otherwise occupied in their relationship, Ominis never blushed. “My love, you’re out early,” he said, his voice softer now as he stood and reached for her.

She came to him effortlessly, as if drawn by some magnetic pull. He placed his hands lightly on her waist, her hands sliding up to rest on his neck. The kiss she gave him was quick and light, yet it lingered in his mind like the taste of something sweet.

“You can thank Garreth for that,” she replied with a small laugh as she slipped into the chair Ominis had already pulled out for her, ever the gentleman.

Sebastian raised a skeptical brow. “But you weren’t even in Potions,” he pointed out, his tone a mix of confusion and amusement.

“True,” she admitted, smoothing her robes as she sat. “But unfortunately for everyone in Divination, there’s tea, and Garreth Weasley has an endless supply of recipes in that head of his.”

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “Of course he does. That boy would turn a funeral into a brewing experiment.”

As the two chatted, her fingers drifted toward Ominis’ hand resting on the table. It was a habit of hers, one Ominis adored. She would absentmindedly trace the lines of his palm or run her fingertips along his knuckles. Only this time, it was different.

Her fingers found his fingers—the same two that had been intimately acquainted with her last night. She trailed them with deliberate strokes, her touch feather-light but undeniably intentional.

Ominis froze. His mind betrayed him, conjuring vivid images: her flushed face, her breathless gasps, the way her doe eyes locked with his as she-

“Are you alright, Omi?” she asked sweetly, her hands sliding up to rest on his neck. The coolness of her touch made him jump ever so slightly, jolting him from his thoughts.

Her tone was syrupy, laced with mischief, and he knew- oh, he knew - she was doing this on purpose.

Sebastian, sharp as ever, leaned forward with a wicked grin. “Yeah, you’re looking a little… flushed, Ominis,” he teased, drawing out the last word.

Ominis’ jaw tightened. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Sebastian?” he bit out, his dead eyes boring into his friend with a sharpness that could cut glass. Even without sight, Ominis’ piercing gaze was enough to make Sebastian straighten, a shiver running down his spine.

“All right, all right. Don’t get your knickers in a twist,I’m leaving.” Sebastian stood, still chuckling as he grabbed his half-eaten apple and the tome he’d been leafing through. “Though I do need to find Weasley and ask how he pulled that off.”

“Check the Divination classroom,” she called after him, her tone perfectly pleasant. “He’s probably still cleaning up the mess.”

“Noted,” Sebastian said with a wink before sauntering off, his laughter echoing faintly as he disappeared among the shelves.

The moment he was out of earshot, she turned back to Ominis, her movements quick and deliberate. The soft strands of her hair brushed against his cheek as she did, sending a shiver down his spine.

“So,” she said, her voice low and teasing as her smirk spread wide. “Why are you doomed, Ominis?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in defeat. “I was hoping you hadn’t heard that part.”

“Oh, but I did,” she purred, leaning closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “And I want to know everything.”

“Sebastian thought the challenge assuming,” Ominis spoke truthfully as he began gathering his books and quills.

“He thinks that I don’t have the capacity to regulate my emotions without…” his word halted as his actions did so “release.”

Ominis’ voice was smooth, steady, and entirely too composed. It caught his girlfriend off guard, especially since she was expecting the usual hint of rosy embarrassment to bloom on his pale, freckled cheeks. Normally, the mere whisper of anything remotely intimate, specifically involving him, was enough to send his carefully curated poise toppling faster than a tipsy Prewett on a broomstick.

This time, however, there was no such reaction. Instead, Ominis spoke with a calmness that unsettled her, as if he had mastered some secret she wasn’t privy to.

Her eyes flicked up to his face, searching for any trace of the usual pink hue or flustered demeanor, but all she found was his characteristic serene expression. She hesitated, suddenly unsure how to respond. “Oh,” she mumbled, her voice quieter than she intended, as she clutched his notes close to her chest. Basically embracing it to herself.

Ominis suppressed the smirk threatening to creep onto his face, savoring her rare moment of uncertainty. He didn’t press, letting the silence stretch just long enough to leave her wondering before he reached for his heavier books.

As they rounded a corner, their sides brushed together in that effortless way they always did when walking side by side. Ominis leaned just slightly closer, his movements subtle, as though the proximity were accidental. But it wasn’t.

His nose caught a whiff of her familiar scent; something soft and warm, with a hint of lavender. He breathed in a little deeper, savoring the way it wrapped around him, filling his lungs like a comforting charm. The corners of his lips twitched upward.

He loved her. Every little thing about her, from her laugh to the way she fit so perfectly beside him. And while he didn’t mind losing their playful wager it didn’t stop him from relishing moments like this. Moments where he could get the upper hand, even if only for a second.

“Sebastian,” he began, his tone light and conversational, “is wrong about most things. This time is no different.”

The casual dismissal caught her attention, and she glanced up at him with a raised brow, only to find his expression completely neutral. His delivery was so nonchalant it was impossible to tell if he meant the words or if he was simply trying to get under her skin.

Before she could form a response, Ominis tapped his wand, sending the library door swinging open with a practiced ease. He stepped aside, gesturing subtly for her to go first.

“After you, my love,” he said, his voice dipping just slightly into a warmer tone that sent a shiver down her spine. It was her who was now basically turning red.

Her steps faltered briefly as she passed through the doorway, her mind racing to decipher whether he was teasing her, challenging her, or simply enjoying her confusion. She turned her head to glance back at him, and though his unseeing eyes remained forward, the faintest smirk played at his lips.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that Ominis was toying with her. It was subtle, in the way he spoke and carried himself, but she knew him well enough to notice. Her thoughts drifted briefly to the time she had confessed something… unexpected.

She had told him outright that his gentlemanly nature turned her on more effectively than a Lumos charm lit up a pitch-black corridor. The shock on his face had been priceless. “These are the bare minimum,” he had said, looking genuinely baffled by her declaration. She’d replied in her own way—by dropping to her knees and showing him just how much she appreciated his “bare minimum.” That memory still lingered, vivid and unshakable.

Before she could get lost in those thoughts, she cleared her throat, the flush rising in her cheeks betraying her composure.

“Are you all right?” Ominis asked, his voice warm and amused. He didn’t need to see her to know exactly why she sounded so flustered.

“Something in my throat,” she muttered, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

Ominis chuckled softly but didn’t comment, choosing instead to savor her bashful tone. He loved these moments, where her sharp wit gave way to sweet timidity.

As they reached the doors leading outside, Ominis suddenly turned the other way, heading toward the familiar path leading to the Slytherin dorms.

“Omi,” she called after him, quickening her pace to catch up. “Lunch is this way.”

“Yes, love, I know,” he replied calmly, his wand tapping lightly against the stone floor. “But I thought it’d be wise to drop off my supplies before dinner.”

She caught up, falling into step beside him. “And?” she pressed, sensing there was more to his diversion.

“And,” he added, a faint blush dusting his pale cheeks, “I have a gift for you.” His tone softened, and his unseeing eyes seemed to gleam with something that made her heart flutter.

Her curiosity ignited instantly. “What is it?” she asked without hesitation.

Ominis laughed at her eagerness, the sound light and genuine. “You’re impatient as ever.”

“I’m just a curious girl,” she mumbled, a slight pout forming on her lips as they continued toward the dorms.

And then the questions began. “Is it white?” she asked, tilting her head in thought.

“I wouldn’t know,” Ominis replied smoothly, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

“Oh, right,” she muttered with a grin. “You’re more blind than first years helping Garreth brew potions in exchange for those god-awful crude magazines.”

Ominis chuckled, shaking his head. “A generous comparison, but I like to think I’m slightly more competent than they are.”

She giggled, but her curiosity wouldn’t let up. “Can you touch it?”

Ominis gave her a look before he raised an eyebrow “Like most gifts i give, yes you can.” he spoke softly trying not to showcase his notorious Gaunt annoyance at stupidity.

If Sebastian had been the one to ask such an absurd question, Ominis knew exactly how he’d respond.

“Sebastian,” he’d say in his most exasperated tone, “sometimes when you speak, you force me to believe that you fell off your broomstick and hit your head on every branch of the Whomping Willow.”

His girlfriend couldn’t help but giggle at the thought. “I guess that was quite the ‘Sebastian question,’” she quipped, clearly amused by her own joke.

“You guessed correctly,” Ominis replied with a chuckle, shaking his head as he imagined Sebastian’s affronted face. The conversation dissolved into soft laughter, and for a time, their walk fell into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the quiet hum of her voice.

It was a tune Ominis recognized—a jaunty melody she must have picked up from one of the castle’s many eccentric portraits. Specifically, a portrait named Salamander.

Salamander was a younger-looking wizard, forever captured in the prime of his life, whose painting hung in a hallway near the Astronomy Tower. Despite his best efforts to rise above petty feelings like jealousy, Ominis couldn’t stop the irritation bubbling up at the sound of that blasted tune.

“Mind changing the tune, love?” he asked as they rounded another corner, keeping his voice calm and even.

“Sorry, Omi,” she said, her tone light and unbothered. “I was just talking to Mander about constellations and how stars change over the centuries. We had quite the conversation. At first, he thought it was because the Earth is flat, but I explained why that’s not true.”

Her voice carried on, animated and carefree, as if she didn’t notice Ominis stiffening slightly beside her.

He wasn’t hearing anything after the word Mander. Mander. She’d given him a nickname.

His jaw tightened. Nicknames were a rare and precious thing, and the only two men privileged enough to have them were Ominis Gaunt himself and Sebastian Sallow. And now now this Salamander had joined their exclusive club? His thick brows twitched as her cheerful recounting of her conversation went on and on and on about that irritating portrait.

“He sounds absolutely delightful,” Ominis said finally, his tone tight as he worked to keep his jealousy at bay. “Though I suspect he must’ve been dropped as an infant—several times, at least.”

She didn’t catch the bite in his words. Instead, she smiled, trotting a little faster to keep up with his suddenly longer strides. “Oh, he’s wonderful, Omi. And he’s a poet!” she added with a bright enthusiasm that only made the knot in his chest tighten.

“He wrote me a poem about how my eyes remind him of the stars,” she said, her voice dreamy. “It was soooo beautiful. I wish I could remember it word for word.”

Ominis’ grip on his wand tightened imperceptibly, and his jaw clenched so hard he thought it might crack. Of course this Mander had written her a poem. Of course, it had been about her eyes. He was a painting, for Merlin’s sake, an inanimate object! Yet here he was, swooping in with flowery words and lofty metaphors.

“How… poetic of him,” Ominis managed to say, his voice strained as his long strides carried them faster toward the dorms.

She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You’re walking so fast, are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine,” he replied curtly. “Just eager to get back.”

Her confusion melted into a soft smile as she caught up to him, slipping her arms into the crevice of his elbow. “You’re adorable when you’re in a hurry, you know that?”

Ominis faltered slightly at her words, his tense expression softening. He exhaled, his lips twitching upward into a small, reluctant smile. His strides now matching her pace.

“Adorable, am I?” he asked, his tone lighter now.

“Absolutely,” she teased, squeezing his hand. “Though I still think Mander would have something to say about it.”

His smile froze. Mander again.

Ominis swore that painting would be moved to the darkest, most forgotten hallway in Hogwarts before the week was out.

Before Ominis could fully plot where Salamander’s portrait would meet its unfortunate relocation, Leander Prewett’s voice rang out, startling both of them.

“Oi! What are the lovebirds up to?” Leander called, swaggering over with a smirk as he glanced between them.

She turned toward him, blinking in surprise. “Leander,” she greeted, her tone curious. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much,” he said, eyeing them with a grin. “Just wondering if you two are up to anything interesting.”

“Oh, you know,” she said breezily, her lips twitching into a mischievous grin. “Just making Ominis jealous of Salamander.”

Ominis stopped dead in his tracks, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to full-blown betrayal. His pale freckled face twisted into a scowl that screamed, How dare you.

Leander frowned, clearly baffled. “The painting?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to connect the dots.

“Exactly,” she replied, giving a small, conspiratorial nod.

Meanwhile, Ominis’ frustration simmered just below the surface. “Can we help you, Prewett?” he snapped, his tone sharp and utterly devoid of patience.

“Oh, not you, Gaunt,” Leander said dismissively, waving a hand as though Ominis wasn’t even there. “I need your girlfriend.”

Ominis’ grip on his wand tightened, but before he could respond, Leander reached into his robe and produced a neatly wrapped package. It was wrapped in black, silk-like paper and topped with a bright yellow bow.

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and took the package from him. “Who’s this for?” she asked, turning it over in her hands before noticing the name written in tidy handwriting. “Imelda?”

“Of course,” Leander said, puffing his chest out slightly as if proud of himself.

Her lips twitched, and she leaned in closer to inspect the gift. “Oh, Poppy’s going to have a field day with this,” she murmured under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.

“What was that?” Leander asked, leaning forward, his confusion deepening.

“Nothing,” she said smoothly, slipping the package into the deep, enchanted pocket of her robe with a quick flick of her wand. “I’ll give it to her when I see her.”

“Thanks,” Leander said with a satisfied nod. “And make sure to tell her it’s from her secret admirer, yeah?” With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered off, clearly proud of his efforts.

As soon as he was out of earshot, her face split into a wide grin, her mind already racing with the chaos this would undoubtedly cause.

Ominis, still by her side, tilted his head toward her. “What’s the smirk for, love?” he asked, his tone curious as he guided them back toward the path leading to the dungeons.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, though her voice was laced with amusement. “Just thinking about how karma works.”

Ominis arched a brow but didn’t press further. They walked in companionable silence, their steps muffled as they moved through the shadowy halls. The air grew cooler as they descended, and the torchlight flickered faintly against the stone walls.

She glanced around, noticing the path they were taking. Her grin widened when she realized he was sneaking her into his room. Ominis was weaving through the less-traveled corridors to avoid detection, leading her deeper into Slytherin territory.

“Ominis,” she whispered, her tone playful, “are you sneaking me into the boys-only dormitory?”

Ominis smirked, a rare, devilish gleam lighting up his pale features. “Perhaps,” he replied smoothly, his voice low and teasing. “We could not go, if you wish to not receive your present?”

She laughed, her voice soft and melodic, and slipped her hand into his. “Okay, okay I’ll bite,” she said, squeezing his hand gently as they disappeared into the shadows.

The light echoes of their footsteps became a comforting sound in the abandoned hallway, the tune she hummed now was one from a candy from honey dukes. Ominis forgot the name of the candy but he knew exactly how it tasted in her mouth.

As they ascended up towards the dorm and made some quick and swift turns at the corner. The pair finally at ease as they entered Ominis and Sebastians shared dormitories.

“Go sit on my bed love, I will come back with the gift.” Ominis said as he set his study books on his study table before heading towards his closet. Opening it his suits and robes are all hanging. All looked pristine.

HIs girlfriend was seated on his bed as she observed his figure. The light from the lantern nearby illuminates his feature in a glow that mimicked the setting rays of sunshine. His pale skin and platinum hair looked ethereal. His features are so soft and delicate.

“Here it is,” he said as he picked up a neatly folded stack of clothes.

“What is Omi? What did you get me?” His girlfriend asked, now more excited than ever.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, knowing very well that he really should just give him the gift than making her wait.

As her hands held on to the delicate and soft fabric of silk her eyes widened.

“This is lingerie, Ominis!” She said as she looked at him.

“Yes it is my love, keen observation.” Ominis spoke as his eyes had a flutter of tease and amusement in it.

“Well Ominis I am unsure if you heard me correctly yesterday but yo-” Before she could reiterate the rules of the challenge Ominis interrupted.

“There is no rule against gift giving.” He said softly as he sat on his study chair. His mind materialises the image of the girl looking at him rather than the lingerie in her hand.

“..I suppose.” She mumbled as she felt the fabric slip and soothe her fingers with its coolness.

“What color is it my love?” Ominis asked.

“It’s black.” She said with a smile on her face as she appreciated the intricate lace and all.

“I figured it since it smelt of ink and lavender. That's why I bought it, it reminded me of you.” He said with a slight pink on his face.

An idea streamed its way inside his girlfriend's head.

“Hmm.. it’ll be a shame for me to wait a whole week before I could wear such a thoughtful gift.” She said teasingly.

Ominis raised an eyebrow before asking “What are you getting at love?”

“I think I would like to wear this now, Omi be a dear and turn around would you please?” she asked with a smile.

“I believe that is a violation of the rules you set upon us.” He said feeling as if his gifts may have backfired.

“There was nothing about getting naked in each other's proximity.” She said softly as she came closer to where he was seated.

She placed her hands on his thighs, as she kissed his lips softly. The intimate action was welcomed. Her lips captured him in a slow kiss as if to say thank you.

“Thank you for the gift Omi,” she whispered in her ears before she kissed it.

Ominis just kept turning red. His body felt hot and his mind felt fuzzy.

What was he thinking? He brought the hottest girl he knows into his dorms, to give her lingerie as a gift all the while he is participating in a challenge with said girl of celibacy for a week.

He practically dug himself the hole for him to lie in.

“Turn around Omi,” she said in a voice feigning annoyance. As she walked over to the bed, her back to the boy behind her, she began to undress.

Her rob was the first to hit the ground below her, then her tie, then her white shirt. And Ominis felt his heart skip a beat as she came into her mind. Now clad in her skirt, socks and shoes but her back was naked. His little minx of a girlfriend forgot her bra. Then came time to take off her skirt and Ominis couldn’t help but hold his breath. He felt the familiar rush of blood through his body, the familiar knot in his throat, and the knowing heat that brewed in his stomach.

He was getting aroused.

“You know I was scared that I would be late for breakfast, so I just didn’t wear my knickers or my bra.” She said casually as she took off her skirt. Bending over a bit. The image of her supple skin glistening in the light came into view and Ominis finally realized what he was challenging himself to not do for a week.

He basically challenged himself to not caress her soft meaty thighs as he buried - no he can’t. He can't reminisce about what he can’t do, because then he will do it. Yes he had great restraint in the outside world but this was his dormitory for heaven's sake. He is sure that he has tainted this room more than Sebastian, and that is a fact.

Another image invaded Ominis’ mind— his girlfriend standing before his mirror, adorned in the black silk panties that clung a little snug to her hips, the delicate lace tracing patterns against her soft skin. She reached behind her, fingers expertly hooking her bra into place, completely unaware of the absolute torment she was putting him through. Her ponytail had come undone, and now her hair cascaded over her shoulders, teasing him further as it brushed against the swell of her chest.

“This looks so cute!” she gushed, turning from side to side to admire herself in the mirror.

Ominis’ chest felt tight. His mind had short-circuited. He was staring— gaping, really— his cheeks flaming red as his body grew unbearably warm.

This was supposed to be her latest attempt to seduce him, a move in their ongoing game to see who would cave first. But she had gotten completely sidetracked, too busy admiring the gift to remember her mission.

"Isn't it, Omi?" she asked, spinning toward him with genuine excitement.

He barely managed a reply. “Ye-yeah,” he croaked, stepping forward until he was right behind her. She was still admiring the way the silk hugged her when he lightly placed his hands on her hips.

In an instant, she turned and pressed soft, giddy kisses to his lips.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she murmured between each peck, her warmth sinking into him, her scent, mallowsweet and vanilla, wrapping around him like a spell.

It was too much.

The familiar weight settled low in his abdomen, his body betraying him in a matter of seconds. His cock pressed insistently against the fabric of his robe, a physical reminder of just how little control he had when it came to her.

And the worst part? It had taken nothing for her to unravel him. She could have been wearing a jester’s costume, and he still would have felt the same. Because it wasn’t about the silk, or the lace, or the way it clung to her curves.

It was her.

Her laugh. Her scent. The way she felt. The way she felt about him.

And Merlin, was he a mess for her.

“Are you okay, Omi?” she asked, blinking up at him before following his gaze down.

Her lips parted, and a slow, mischievous smile crept onto her face. “Oh… does someone need help?” she teased, voice dipping into a knowing lilt.

Ominis froze. His grip on her hips tightened ever so slightly, his throat dry as he struggled to maintain some semblance of composure.

"That's j-just a normal reaction," he muttered, his voice low, warm against the side of her face.

A shiver coursed through her, her skin erupting in goosebumps at the sound of his voice. She swallowed hard, but it was too late— her body had already responded before her brain could catch up.

She let out a soft, broken whimper.

And suddenly, the dam broke.

Ominis pulled her flush against him, his mouth crashing onto hers with a desperation that left them both breathless. His hands were in her hair, on her waist, on her, kneading, feeling, memorizing the way she melted into him. Her hands were just as eager, slipping beneath his robes, pulling at his clothes with a feverish need to feel him.

"I told you, Imelda, I don’t- WOAH!"

Sebastian’s voice cut through the haze like a blade.

They froze.

Ominis turned so fast he nearly knocked her over, planting himself in front of his barely-dressed girlfriend as Sebastian and Imelda stood in the doorway, both looking thoroughly entertained.

From behind him, she let out a tiny squeak, grabbing onto Ominis' robe as she gladly hid behind his taller frame.

Sebastian’s smirk stretched across his face as he crossed his arms. "Well, well, well. Looks like it’s time for you to pay up, Reyes."

Imelda groaned, already pulling out a small satchel of gold. "I had more faith in you, Ms. Hero of Hogwarts," she grumbled.

"Wait!" she called from behind Ominis, making both intruders pause.

"What?" Imelda asked, clearly irritated.

"You didn’t lose, Imelda. We didn’t do anything besides some light making out," she said matter-of-factly before nudging Ominis. "Right, Omi?"

Ominis blinked, his mind still racing, his body still aching. But he forced himself to nod, his face burning. "She’s correct."

Sebastian sighed dramatically. "Fine." But his smirk didn’t waver.

She took the opportunity to grab her robe and wrap it around herself before stepping forward. "Why are you two even here?" she asked, pulling the fabric tightly around her as she stood next to Ominis.

"Sebastian said he didn’t have my Potions book-"

"Which I don’t!" Sebastian cut in quickly.

"Which he clearly does," Imelda deadpanned, as she picked up her book from the study table in front of them.

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose. "As joyous as this reunion is, may I suggest you both leave so we can become a bit more… decent?"

He was amazed his voice didn’t waver.

"Five minutes," Imelda said before dragging a still-grinning Sebastian out with her.

The door shut. Silence fell.

"Soooo…" she started, pulling off her robe as she knelt to gather her discarded clothes.

Ominis swallowed hard. "Yeah."

She stood, slipping into her uniform with swift, practiced movements, casting a few quick spells to smooth out the wrinkles. Ominis did the same, knowing full well she’d fix his uniform properly in just a moment.

As expected, she turned to him, smoothing down his collar with gentle fingers. "I guess I really shouldn’t be worried."

Ominis raised an eyebrow. "Worried? About what?"

Her lips curled into a smirk. "About losing."

Ominis let out a soft chuckle before settling his hands on her hips, pulling her just a little closer. "I made a miscalculated decision," he murmured. "One that will not repeat going forward, my love."

And before she could respond, he tilted her chin up, brushing his lips over hers. His tongue traced the bottom of her lip before he pulled away— just a little tease, a taste of what was to come.

Her breath hitched, but she laughed, threading her fingers through his. "I really adore the gift, Ominis. I think I’ll wear it when I’m getting my way with you."

His grip on her hand tightened. "You’re a menace."

She giggled, tugging him toward the door. "And you love it."

Imelda and Sebastian leaned casually against the stone wall outside Ominis’ dorm, waiting. As soon as the couple emerged, Sebastian’s smirk deepened.

“So,” Imelda began, falling into step beside them as they made their way toward the quad. “Are you two planning to spend your nights in the Room of Requirement this week?”

Ominis frowned. “What for?”

Sebastian snorted, already knowing where this was going.

Imelda rolled her eyes. “Your lovely girlfriend explained the full terms of the bet, Gaunt. No wanking your willy, no flicking your bean— so wouldn’t it only be fair to spend the nights together as well? I mean, it’s not like you two haven’t done it before.”

Ominis opened his mouth, then promptly shut it.

She had a point.

His girlfriend hummed in thought before glancing up at him, amusement flickering in her eyes. “That does seem fair, doesn’t it, Omi?”

A pause. Then, begrudgingly, he sighed. “Fine.”

So it was settled.

Tuesday came and went without incident.

They both remained on their best behavior, though that wasn’t to say the tension wasn’t there; because it was.

Normally, Tuesday nights in the Room of Requirement were spent brewing potions, tending to plants, and— more often than not— tangled up in each other’s arms before bed. But not this time. Not with the bet hanging over them.

So instead of their usual routine, she sat behind him, fingers kneading into his back, working out the tension he refused to acknowledge.

Ominis knew she was up to something.

The moment she offered a massage, he had braced himself for torture - a slow, teasing descent into madness. But that wasn’t what happened.

There was no deliberate shift in her weight to press against him, no featherlight touches skimming too low, no sultry whispers against his ear.

Just her hands. Just steady, firm movements that should have lulled him into a state of relaxation.

And yet, he was more tense than before.

His muscles were coiled tight, his body on high alert, because none of this made sense.

She was supposed to tease him. Tempt him. Drive him over the edge until he cracked under pressure. That’s what he had prepared for.

Instead, she had done nothing.

Just as the unease was beginning to get to him, her hands stilled.

“I’m tired,” she murmured, shifting beside him onto her side. “I think I’ll stop here.”

He tensed further, waiting for the catch. But there wasn’t one.

She yawned, stretching languidly before curling up comfortably against the open space beside him.

“Goodnight, Omi.”

Her voice was sweet, too sweet, and when he turned his head toward her, he could practically hear the smirk in her tone.

Ominis lay rigid, mind spinning.

This was a trap.

It had to be.

But as the minutes stretched on, her breathing evened out, soft and steady. She had actually fallen asleep.

What the hell was she playing at?

She knew him too well.

She knew that if she had teased him, he would have resisted, fought back just as hard. But this? This was calculated.

Keeping him on edge. Keeping him confused.

And Merlin help him; it was working.

At some point during the night, Ominis succumbed to sleep. His body had finally relaxed, muscles no longer wound tight with tension. And when he woke, he felt, strangely, well-rested.

Except… something was off.

The warmth beside him had shifted. Her body had gravitated closer in sleep, her presence so familiar now that he could feel it even without touching her. He reached for his wand instinctively, letting the vibrations fill in the image his sight could not provide.

And Merlin, was it a sight.

Her hair spilled across the pillow like spilled ink, a chaotic mess around her peaceful face. Her lips were slightly parted, a faint line of drool escaping the corner of her mouth, completely unbothered in her slumber.

His mind drifted lower, tracing the delicate silk of her nightdress, short, because she preferred it that way. The thin straps had slipped from her shoulders, and with them, the fabric had shifted— too much.

His breath hitched.

One perfect breast had spilled free, soft, inviting, rising and falling with every slow breath she took.

Ominis clenched his jaw, swallowing against the immediate heat rushing through his body. But it was too late; his cock had already responded, painfully stiff, throbbing against the constraint of his underwear.

A low groan slipped from his lips as he felt the unmistakable dampness of precum leaking from the tip.

This was unfair.

She had done nothing, and yet here he was— wrecked.

Ominis stood abruptly, grabbing a fresh towel before making his way to the bathroom, his body aching for relief. The moment the door shut behind him, he let out a sharp breath, pressing his palms against the cool porcelain sink.

This was hell.

It wasn’t unusual for him to wake before her— she always slept longer, comforted by the familiar sounds of his morning routine. But today? Today, he needed to get away before he did something reckless.

He turned the knobs, letting cold water cascade over his overheated skin. The shock of it sent a shiver through him, pressing him back against the chilled stone wall. His cock was still hard, still leaking, and he hated how easy it was for her to do this to him.

Even now, his mind betrayed him.

The boat house.

Her.

The way she had pressed her tits together, slick and warm, dragging him between them before wrapping her lips around him. The way she whimpered, the way her tongue had—

Fuck.

Ominis' jaw clenched. His hips had jerked involuntarily, searching for the pleasure he refused to grant himself.

He gritted his teeth.

No.

Not here. Not like this.

The pressure in his abdomen coiled tighter, a slow, agonizing burn. He needed more—but he wasn’t going to lose.

He quickly turned the water from cold to warm, hoping to reset his thoughts.

It didn’t work.

Because now, the warmth reminded him of her, of the way her body pressed against his, the softness of her skin, the heat pooling between her thighs as she whimpered against him.

Ominis groaned, gripping his aching length for just a moment before yanking his hand away.

Am I really this weak?

Do I have no resolve?

Precum dripped onto the tile, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

This was supposed to be his damn solace.

Disgusted with himself, he shut off the water, stepping out of the shower still hard, still frustrated beyond belief. He wrapped the towel around his waist, gripping it tighter than necessary, willing himself to calm down.

And then— she walked in.

Yawning as she stretched, her silk nightdress hitching up just enough to reveal the soft underside of her ass.

Ominis nearly whimpered.

Instead, he swallowed his groan, his fingers twitching at his sides as she moved past him.

Completely. Unbothered.

This was unfair.

She grabbed her toothbrush and handed it to him with a small smile. “Good morning, Omi.”

He forced himself to take it, shoving it into his mouth before he could say something pathetic.

She started brushing her teeth, her voice muffled through the bristles. “You don’t take hot showers. What changed today?”

His grip on the sink tightened. “Nothing.”

Liar.

His wand was in his pocket, and despite himself, he couldn’t stop it from registering the details of the room; the way her breasts bounced as she brushed, the way her thighs pressed together slightly as she leaned over to spit—

Salazar, have mercy.

“Whatever you say, Omi.” She moved to wash her face, her voice still deep with grogginess, completely unaware of how utterly undone he was.

Or maybe…

Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing.

When she stood straight again, water dripping down her neck, he was certain—

He needed to put his mouth on her.

But she didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m going to take a shower-” She paused, hesitating. He could hear the shift in her tone, could practically feel her catching herself before saying something dangerous.

He exhaled slowly.

She had almost invited him in.

Instead, she cleared her throat. “Never mind. Will you wait for me before breakfast?”

Ominis shut his eyes for a moment before replying, "Yes."

She disappeared into the shower, leaving him half-naked, painfully hard, and more frustrated than ever.

He stomped back into the room, dragging his robes on with more force than necessary.

The door opened again, and he heard it-

The rustle of fabric. The soft zip of her skirt. The quiet snap of buttons being fastened.

And then… nothing.

Ominis turned slightly, waiting.

She always teased him when getting dressed. She always made a show of slipping into her uniform, always brushed against him in passing.

But today?

Nothing.

When she finally emerged, she was fully dressed—plaid skirt, vest, tie neatly knotted, socks pulled perfectly into place.

And Ominis?

Ominis felt betrayed.

Where was the game? Where was the seduction?

She sat at her vanity, combing through her hair as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

His mind raced.

Why isn’t she teasing me?

What is her play?

Isn’t she frustrated?

She hummed in thought, posing with different hairstyles before glancing at him. "Do you think I should leave my hair down today?"

Ominis barely processed the question.

When he didn’t answer, she huffed. “Omi, I want your opinion.”

He let out a slow, measured breath, gripping the edge of the bed. "Whatever makes you happy, my love."

She rolled her eyes. "That’s not an answer."

Neither was hers.

She was dodging the game, changing the rules, and it was driving him insane.

She finished combing her hair, and then–

The scent of mallowsweet filled the air.

Her perfume.

The last step of her routine.

Ominis sat stiffly, his cock still aching beneath his trousers. His body was begging for relief, and all she had done was get dressed.

She hadn’t flirted.

She hadn’t touched him.

She hadn’t even tried to seduce him.

And yet, she was winning.

His grip on the bed tightened.

He didn’t know what her plan was.

But he was starting to realize one very important thing,

He might actually lose this bet.

----

She liked to think she was winning. That her calculated restraint was driving Ominis mad with frustration.

But the truth?

She was suffering just as much.

She missed everything; the weight of him pressed against her, the slow grind of his hips, the way he groaned so sweetly whenever she had him in her mouth. Ominis was addictive, a drug she could never get enough of, and now? Now she was deprived.

Her body knew it.

During class, she was restless, her legs bouncing beneath the desk, fingers twitching against the parchment as she forced herself to focus. But it was impossible. The minutes dragged, each second more unbearable than the last, because all she wanted, all she needed, was to find Ominis and kiss him.

Just a kiss.

Something small, something innocent.

But still intimacy.

By midday, she was desperate, anticipation coiling in her stomach as she made her way to lunch. She could almost see it; Ominis waiting for her at their usual spot, his head tilted slightly toward the sound of her approach, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

But then a note arrived.

Ominis had sent word that he’d be spending the afternoon helping Sebastian and Anne with Potions. He wouldn’t be meeting her for lunch.

Her stomach dropped.

The devastation was instant, a wave of disappointment crashing over her so strongly that she froze in place. She knew where they’d be; the library, but she couldn’t just show up. That would be desperate.

So instead, she forced herself to stay away.

She tried not to think about him.

Tried not to think about the ache between her thighs, the way her body responded just from missing him.

But it was impossible.

Because she felt it with every step she took; the warmth slicking her inner thighs, the way her body wept for him, not from need or stimulation but from something deeper, something worse.

I miss him.

Not just his touch. Not just the sex.

Him.

Her mind drifted.

The first time Ominis had pinned her down and insisted— begged— for her to sit on his face. How nervous she’d been, worried she’d suffocate him, but he hadn’t cared. He wanted it. He wanted her.

And when she had finally given in?

He had pulled her down harder.

She had never been worshiped the way Ominis worshiped her. Never known that kind of devotion, that kind of intensity, until him.

Oh, fuck.

Her thighs pressed together, instinctive, but it wasn’t enough.

She needed him. Now.

Lunch forgotten, she wandered the castle grounds, hoping the cold air would settle her, but it only made her feel worse. Being outside without Ominis next to her felt wrong, felt lonely.

She didn’t even care about sex at this point.

She just needed him.

She didn’t think twice as she marched toward the library, entering with determined steps. But Ominis wasn’t there.

A pout pulled at her lips.

She spent the next twenty minutes searching, feeling ridiculous, before she finally checked the Potions classroom.

And there he was.

Beautiful. Frustrating. Hers.

He stood at the front of the classroom, methodically guiding Anne and Sebastian through the steps of brewing a Pepperup Potion. A punishment from Nurse Blaney for being caught stealing potions, and instead of detention, they had been assigned one hundred Pepperup Potions to make.

Cold season was approaching, after all.

She didn’t care about any of that.

“Ominis!” she gasped, rushing toward him, ignoring the startled looks from the others as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Hard.

Too hard.

But she didn’t care, because his lips were on hers, and that was all that mattered.

The moment was over in seconds, but she felt it everywhere— her lips tingling, her skin buzzing, her heart racing.

She pulled away just as quickly, breathless.

Ominis let out a low chuckle, his smirk unmistakable. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

She scoffed, lifting her chin. “No, I could. I just came here to meet Anne.”

Anne blinked, confused. “…Me?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade today.”

Anne gave her a knowing look before smiling apologetically. “I can’t. I promised Natty I’d study for Transfiguration with her.”

A beat of silence.

Ominis smirked. “Caught in your lie.”

Her stomach flipped, heat creeping up her neck as his tone— so smug, so satisfied— sank into her skin.

Because he was right.

She had lasted half a day without him before completely unraveling.

And the worst part?

Ominis knew it.

---

By Wednesday night, Ominis and his sweet, infuriating girlfriend had made it to yet another night of self-control.

They were in bed, both immersed in their respective readings. Ominis lay propped up against the pillows, his wand hovering lightly over the pages of his book. He was clad only in silk sleep pants, having forgone a shirt; his preferred way to sleep. The air in the room was cool, but his skin remained warm, his body always carrying heat.

And she?

She was struggling.

She had been glancing at him for the past half hour, barely retaining any of the information from her Dark Arts History reading. How could she focus when Ominis was lying next to her like this? When his defined chest was exposed, when the gentle rise and fall of his breathing made his muscles shift just enough to distract her?

Tension wasn't thick, but it was there.

It had settled between them like an unspoken understanding; the constant awareness of each other's bodies, the quiet acknowledgment that one wrong move could unravel everything.

She sighed softly, finally giving up on her book. Closing it, she placed it on her nightstand before shifting closer, curling into Ominis’ warm side.

“Let’s cuddle, Omi.” Her voice was soft, sleepy, as she nuzzled against his bare chest.

A low chuckle rumbled through him. He set his book aside, adjusting easily to accommodate her, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her against him.

“You’re so needy.” He teased, his lips brushing against the top of her head.

She hummed contentedly, one leg lazily slipping over his. “Says you.”

His chest vibrated with quiet amusement, his fingers lazily tracing circles along her exposed thigh.

Ominis was always warm, always steady, and right now, she felt safe; wrapped in the scent of him, surrounded by his presence, his touch, his breath.

For a moment, she let herself just be, breathing in the stillness.

Neither of them spoke further.

Neither of them had to.

The End.

Give me feedback and lmk anything else.

Also I'm just asking who do you guys want to win?

Masterlist

#x reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #dividers by pommecita #x you smut #hogwarts smut

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nothoughts-onlywomen · 2 years ago

Text

steadfast, sightless - chapter fourteen

An emergency party meeting is called, and El makes a tough but necessary decision. Robin helps teach Max some Braille. Lucas and Mike have a serious conversation. Steve comes to visit. Max and Lucas spend some time together. Eleven and Max travel through some more memories. Max makes a desperate request of Lucas.

Lucas couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so tired.

Eleven had called for an emergency meeting after the events of that morning, just as the sun was coming up. It hadn’t taken long for Lucas and Will to rally all of them together: Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, Steve, Dustin, Mike, and Erica.

The grimy fluorescent light fixture hanging from the roof of Max’s trailer shed a yellowish hue over their party as they gathered in the living room. If you could call it that anymore. No one had lived in it now for some time. Max never really lived in this space, Lucas conceded to himself. She just existed in it.

Lucas noticed that some of his friends seemed very comfortable in Max’s trailer and was vaguely reminded that several of them had been here more than once. Since Max’s mother had gone to rehab, the party – sometimes in small groups, sometimes individually – had been stopping by periodically. At first, it was for upkeep: throwing out any rotten food, giving the floor a sweep, straightening up. After a while, though, certain party members started proposing ideas to better Max’s living quarters. Lucas had a feeling that Robin was the mastermind behind this, especially after she’d been insistent that the party would do better to support him and Max. Steve, who often relayed the goings-on of the visits, seemed to agree.

Jonathan, who had been largely nondescript up until this point, had taken it upon himself to travel to Max’s trailer and start making it more blind-friendly. Nancy and Robin had been more than happy to contribute to his efforts, and Joyce helped wherever she could. Steve, who seemed to have developed a tight-lipped tolerance for Jonathan’s presence, came over to help as well, but only if Robin was present. Together, they and Joyce had scrounged up about twenty dollars’ worth of lamps and positioned them all over the trailer, in places where Max would likely go often. Her bedroom, the hallway, the bathroom, the living area. Steve had also told Lucas out of earshot of Max that they did a sweep of the many beer cans that had littered the trailer. It wasn’t as if Max was oblivious to her mother’s affliction, but Lucas felt that he and Steve shared a mutual understanding on the matter. No point in reminding Max about her family stress. She had enough going on as it was.

Nancy had done some additional digging into reading materials for Max and discovered that the Library of Congress provided “talking books,” in which a blind person could listen to a book being read. In addition, Robin had discovered a very old, but still functional enough, Kurzweil reading machine in the now-abandoned Hawkins Library. It would scan a page of the book, Robin explained, her eyes alight – and then read the page aloud.

“We can definitely help Max try it, if the Hawkins library makes it out in one piece!” She lamented cheerfully, a nervous giggle escaping her. To a pessimist, it might be irrelevant to consider the future of Braille in Max’s life. Especially if they were all on the verge of death anyway. But Lucas knew, in some small way, it was giving them something to look ahead to. Something to hope for.

Lucas blinked, shaking his head. He didn’t know how he was still functioning. The gray light of dawn seemed to have signaled his brain to catch what must be his third or fourth wind by now. The rest of his body, however, was starting to feel the effects of how long he’d been awake. His muscles felt heavier; his vision seemed to vibrate. The lights were too bright, the sounds around him were almost muffled, as if wrapped in gauze. He glanced over at Will, who seemed to be in a similar daze. Twice now he’d started to lean slightly against his brother, eyelids drooping, and Jonathan had shaken him slightly to rouse him.

Eleven, who had been waiting for all of them to show, addressed the room at large.

“Last night, I went into the void. And I saw Max.”

A wave of mixed reactions went around the room – gasps, exchanged looks, muttered exclamations. Lucas supposed he ought to feel guilty that the rest of the party hadn’t been let in on this plan. But times were dire. Sometimes risks must be taken.

“You saw Max?” Nancy’s brows knit hopefully.

“Yes.”

“What did she say?” urged Robin. Dustin and Mike nodded eagerly as El continued.

“She is there, and she is okay. For now.”

Lucas felt some of the tension in his stomach ease. Max had told El she was okay. Though several of them also let out relieved sighs, Erica seemed skeptical.

“How can she tell you that in there, and not out here?” She inquired, one eyebrow raised.

“It does not make sense,” El admitted. “But Max says that part of her is here – her body in Hawkins – and part of her is there. In the void.”

Will nodded. “So it is like me.”

Eleven acknowledged him.

“Yes. Except she goes to the void when she sleeps. She doesn’t dream.”

“So…she’s stuck. Sort of,” concluded Dustin, shrugging.

“It looks like that,” El replied.

Lucas noticed that some of the party members seemed less eager to talk. Mike stood there, tight-lipped with worry, his face tense as he stared at the floor.

“Did she say anything else?” Robin asked, in a now hushed voice.

Eleven nodded, and Lucas saw her swallow anxiously.

“Max remembers when she died. She woke up in the void and thought she was in hell. But then she saw us. Here, on the other side.”

“When she…died.” Lucas still couldn’t really say it. “Vecna didn’t kill her all the way. Not like his other victims. So we think maybe that’s why she’s sort of…in between. She’s here, but she’s also there.”

“Did she say anything about Vecna?” Nancy inquired, and Lucas could hear the slight quaver in her voice at the mention of his name.

“No. She has not seen or felt him.”

A brief silence fell at the mention of their nemesis, as if they were nervous to summon him by saying his name. The silence was only broken by Steve, whose arms were firmly folded.

“And why didn’t you tell us you were doing any of this?” He questioned, in the same tone of voice Lucas’ mother used when he was about to be grounded for something.

“I didn’t know it would work,” El admitted.

“That doesn’t matter,” Robin waved her hand in his direction.

“It does matter, Robin. It was a dangerous idea,” insisted Steve.

Robin shook her head impatiently. “She made a decision, and yes, it was a stupid decision, but now we know Max is okay somewhere in that big, dark…place that Will was in before.”

Jonathan rounded on Will, nudging him awake.

“Were you there too?”

“Lucas and I…” Will yawned widely, rubbing his eyes. “We stayed there overnight. Just to make sure everything went okay.”

“No wonder you look like the walking dead,” Jonathan mused.

“Anyway,” Nancy asserted, gesturing back to El. “There must be more. You didn’t call us all here just to tell us that.”

Eleven glanced at Lucas, and he gave her a reassuring nod. El addressed the group again, pressing on.

“Remember when she escaped Vecna? It was in her happy memory.”

Lucas felt warmth permeate through him as he was reminded of what Max’s happiest memory was, this warmth immediately replaced by an indelible sorrow. He remembered the way she looked at him that night; her blue eyes so cautiously warm, so genuinely soft and content and thankful, almost. As if she was silently letting him know her gratitude. For accepting her with an open heart. For loving her. For seeing her. And now, she’d never look at him that way again. Or at all.

Erica spoke, her tone suggesting she wasn’t altogether convinced. “What does her memory have to do with it?”

“We were trying to find a connection,” Eleven explained. “Between the Max in there, and the Max out here. So she and I walked through some other memories. Ones that are important to her.”

“Like what?” Nancy encouraged.

El’s face grew both sad and slightly nervous. “The day we went to Starcourt Mall. We tried on clothes and took pictures and got ice cream.”

Lucas cringed inwardly as he realized that this had been the memory that had caused Max so much distress during the plunge into the void. El’s gaze flickered in his direction, silently asking for guidance. Lucas supposed they shouldn’t keep secrets from the rest of the party. But he didn’t feel completely comfortable exposing Max’s inner turmoil on her behalf. So he stayed quiet, and after a moment, El pressed on.

“We also saw the day she fell off her skateboard in the gym with Mike.”

Mike frowned at her, speaking for the first time. “How did you know about that?”

El gave him an apologetic look.

“I was there, Mike. I saw you and Max argue. And I…made her fall off her skateboard.”

Lucas supposed he should be shocked, but based on his past experience with Eleven, a girl who could cause bodies to fold like paper dolls when those she loved were in danger, this seemed on par. Based on most of the others’ expressions, they also seemed less than surprised.

“That explains a lot, actually,” said Dustin.

“I thought Mike had found someone else to love,” Eleven explained, her cheeks flushing at the reaction. “I was jealous. But Max told me that wasn’t true.”

“It wasn’t,” insisted Mike from next to her, looking slightly upset that she’d thought this. “I promise. It wasn’t true.”

El leaned toward him, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “I know, Mike. It’s okay.”

The rest of the group seemed unsure about how to react. Mike seemed to be having his own realization related to this as he stared wide-eyed at the floor. Eleven seemed to decide that changing the subject was best.

“We also saw…Halloween night? She scared you and Lucas and Dustin and Will. Then came with you to get candy.”

Lucas watched Dustin and Will’s faces soften to reminiscent grins at the memory. He smiled too. How interesting that Max had preserved that memory in her mind. But it made sense. It was the first time he’d ever seen her smile.

“Were there any other memories?” Jonathan asked.

“No,” said Eleven. “Because…she started to feel bad. And then she woke up here and she was sick. Her nose was bleeding, and she threw up. The nurses told us to leave. But she is okay now. I think.”

“I knew something was going on with her,” Robin said quietly. “She wasn’t right today. She looked really tired. Almost sick. Like before.”

Eleven bit her lip. Lucas felt a deepening sense of foreboding as she looked around the room.

“I do not want to hurt her more, but…I have to go back for her. Vecna is close. Closer all the time.”

Will nodded vigorously, and Lucas saw his hand snake up the back of his neck. “I’ve felt it too. That sinking feeling has been coming back.”

“I have to go back,” El stated resolutely. “Tonight.”

Lucas heard his fist slam into the end table, barely feeling the impact. The entire group turned to look at him, shock and surprise on most of their faces. He shook his head.

“You guys don’t understand. She’s fragile right now. When they were in there, her blood pressure started rising, and they thought she was going to have a seizure. It took twenty minutes to get her back to normal. We have to give her some time.”

Mike pushed back. “How much time can we possibly have, Lucas? Vecna’s closer now, Will and El can both feel him. We can’t afford to wait. If he finds her in there again, we might not get her back at all.”

“And if we push her too far, she’ll be in even worse shape than she is now, and even more susceptible to Vecna and whatever he’s planning,” Lucas countered.

“I think Mike and Will have a point,” Nancy interrupted quietly. They all turned to look at her. Her glance to Lucas was apologetic. “I hear where you’re coming from, Lucas, I do. But Vecna…he’s not going to wait. And if El and Will can sense him…we have no time to lose.”

Lucas sucked in a breath and released it exasperatedly. As much as he hated it, they were right. While Vecna hadn’t made himself known yet, he knew it would only be a matter of time. If they were going to help free Max from the void, they would have to do so as soon as they could.

He leaned forward, his head in his hands. His exhaustion was starting to set in once more, and he could feel it pulling him deeper and deeper.

Lucas felt a hand on his shoulder, and Will’s tired, cracked voice.

“Jonathan’s coming to get me so I can go home and sleep. We can drop you off at home too.”

Lucas jerked his head once, to show his assent.

The car ride passed in a blur. Lucas only knew he’d fallen asleep because Will was shaking him, murmuring “we’re at your house.” Lucas undid his seatbelt and stumbled out of the car, stepping across the pavement. Everything felt as if someone else was doing it. He was barely there.

Lucas was barely conscious enough to enter the door to his house, make a beeline for his bedroom, and collapse into bed.

He’d only hit the pillow mere seconds before sleep enveloped him completely.

Max would never get used to it.

Waking up in darkness was perhaps one of the strangest things about her new existence. She was so used to seeing light from behind her eyelids, carefully cracking them open, squinting into the sunlight. Her body’s signal that a new day was unfolding across the sky. Opening her eyes to no sunlight, no light at all, never failed to confuse her.

The only reason Max knew it was morning was because there were birds chirping outside. She could hear them singing their cheerful, inquisitive dawn songs, uncaring about the constant low rumbling outside that Max always heard now.

Lucas had told her it was the Upside Down. After the gates had broken open, the Upside Down was now half-inside of Hawkins, and Hawkins was half-inside of it. Max couldn’t surmise how anything like a hospital could be functioning while that was going on. Then again, she supposed a hospital would be one of the only things open at a time like this. It figured that she was trapped inside it.

Max wished she could lift her head toward the sound, to better identify it. It was muffled from far away. But as her body had slowly awoken, she quickly realized she felt horrible. She opened and closed her mouth slightly, tasting sourness. Tasting vomit. She didn’t remember throwing up. Max tentatively dragged her hand across the sheets, toward her pillow. Her hand didn’t touch any wetness or slime. So she hadn’t puked in her sleep.

Max’s head throbbed. The vein pulsed in her temple, a screw in her brain that only grew tighter with each squeeze of pain. A little bolt of lightning shot through her skull with each blink of her eyelids. She was shaking, weak, feeling dizzy. She wanted to reach for the nurse button, but her arm was too heavy.

“Cindy,” she managed, her voice cracking.

She didn’t know where Cynthia was, and she couldn’t get up to find her. Her hand grasped limply at the bar on the side of her bed, and she tried in vain to pull herself up. Her arm muscles quivered with the effort, but to no avail. Angered at her own weakness, she grabbed the bar with her other arm and pulled, as hard as she could. A thin whine of frustration vibrated in the back of her throat as she tried again to sit up, both arms braced against the bar, her stomach muscles clenching, her back tensing.

After a few moments, whatever little strength in her arms was finally depleted, and she let herself fall back onto the bed. Max had to take a moment to catch her breath, her arms now shakier due to the exertion. Her hand flopped out toward the bed bar and she tried once again to pull herself up. Nothing. She was weak. Just like she’d always thought.

The door creaked open, and Max gave a little sob of relief.

“Cindy,” she called hoarsely. “Help me.”

A completely different voice cut through the air.

“Max?”

It wasn’t Cynthia, but Robin. Max could hear Robin’s footsteps quickly approach her bedside.

“Max, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Help,” Max reached out into the air.

The warmth of Robin’s arms surrounded her.

“I’m just gonna help you get comfortable, okay?”

Max felt herself lift slightly off the bed, felt her chest press into Robin’s. Robin was wearing a collared shirt, with buttons. Max concentrated on the polyester fabric, the hard plastic buttons jutting into her sternum as Robin moved her up onto her pillows.

Robin’s slightly nervous voice sounded next to her ear. “We’re going back down, okay? Nice and easy.”

Max felt her head press into her familiar pillows, felt the cushions against her back. Her flowered green blanket slipped under her arms, and Max let herself sink into the mattress. As much as she hated being trapped in this bed, day after day, the effort had exhausted her.

She felt Robin take her hand.

“Better?” She asked.

“Yes,” Max all but whispered, giving Robin’s hand a light squeeze.

She couldn’t see Robin’s facial expression, but when she spoke again, Max could hear the concern in her voice.

“I can call the nurse, if you want.”

“Yes,” Max told her.

She heard the click of the nurse button above her bed, and Cynthia was there in minutes. The nurse noted that Max was pale – as if Max had been able to tell – and that she didn’t look well.

“My head,” Max told her. “It hurts.”

“A headache? Okay, I’ll make a note of that. Anything else?”

Max tried in vain to communicate how awful she felt.

“Dizzy. Feel sick. And…weak.”

She heard the scratching of a pen on paper. After a moment, Cynthia spoke again.

“Okay. Max, I’ll be right back. I’m going to adjust your bed so you can sit up, and then I’m going to get you some medicines.”

Max heard the turn of the crank on the bed, felt the head of the bed rise so that she was in a sitting position. She leaned back into the bed, her head still swimming as she heard Robin take the chair next to her bed.

“Um, Max?” She said hesitantly. “If you’re feeling up to it, I thought maybe I could show you some Braille.”

Max blinked in her direction. Braille? Had they discussed that before?

Then the memory floated hazily across her brain. Yes, Nancy and Robin had both suggested Braille for her, so she could still read books. The loss of her sight was a constant grieving process, she noticed. One thing here she could no longer do. One thing there that required sight.

“Braille,” she murmured, almost questioning. “For…read.”

“Yeah.” Robin sounded hopeful. “Yeah, so you can read again. Obviously we don’t have to master it today, that’s impossible, but I thought we could at least learn some of the letters. Then that’ll make it easier for you to learn full words, and then I can try to find some actual books for you. If the Hawkins library survives, of course, there is that to consider. And then we can – ”

Max waved her hand a little, an unwilling smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Robin never seemed to know when a thought was finished.

“Yes,” she relented.

“Okay. Yes. I brought a Braille book for you.”

Max heard frantic rummaging through what sounded like a bag or a purse, and the thunk of an evidently sizable book right in front of her. She felt Robin draw up close to her other side, heard the pages separating as Robin opened the book.

“Ah, here we go. Right here.”

Robin’s hand covered Max’s, almost hesitantly.

“Are you ready, Max? I’ll tell you which dots are which letters.”

Max nodded, still in a slight daze. She wasn’t sure if she would even retain anything right now. But she knew, could hear it in Robin’s voice, how desperately Robin wanted to help her somehow. It was kinder just to let her.

Robin guided her hand, and Max felt her index finger rest on a single raised dot.

“That’s the letter A,” Robin murmured.

“A,” Max sounded it out.

“Good. Let me know when you’re ready for B.”

“Ready,” Max told her without hesitation.

As Robin gently told her which collection of dots was which letter, Max began to feel a bit less overwhelmed. The beginning letters seemed simple enough; A, one dot. B, another dot below the first. C, the A dot with another dot beside it. D, an additional dot below the added one for C. Saying the letters was simpler now too. She allowed herself to feel a bit of pride at how her speech therapy had been paying off. Dr. Cobb had told her the other week that she was doing great. This was the first time she’d sort of believed it.

Eventually, Max heard the door open, and Nancy’s gentle voice sounded from nearby.

“Max? It’s Nancy.”

“Nance, we’ve been learning the Braille letters,” Robin informed her, and Max could hear her excitement. “We’ll have to bring her a book at some point.”

“One step at a time,” Nancy chided her, though Max could hear a smile in her voice. Her light steps drew closer to the bed.

“Max, I can do your hair today if you want.”

“Yes,” said Max. She felt Robin move back, and smelled a whiff of Nancy’s perfume, felt her sit down on the bed.

“I’m going to brush your hair now, okay?”

Max nodded. As she felt the brush bristles weave through her tangled hair, she let her mind wander elsewhere.

She was still trying to make sense of last night. As the physical symptoms started to ease a little – the shaking, the migraine, the nausea - fragments of the night had started to surface in her mind; most notably, the fabric of El’s shirt. Max didn’t know why that stuck out in her mind so much. Other things floated across her mind that didn’t make sense. Tile floor, trodden-on and yellowing. The gym at Hawkins Middle. Will’s face, only much younger, his eyes rolled back. That particular part of her memory came with a real sense of fear that Max couldn’t shake.

“Nance,” she said abruptly, and she felt the brush pause in her hair.

“Yeah?”

Max wished desperately that she could ask Nancy any one of the questions swimming inside her head. Where’s Lucas? Do you know what happened last night? Why do I only remember bits of it?

“Brush more,” she requested instead.

“You want me to keep brushing? I can do that.”

The bristles combed through her hair slowly, and Max closed her eyes a little, enjoying the feeling. She heard Robin move to her other side, felt Robin’s hesitant finger touch her hand, silently asking to hold it. Max reached for Robin’s hand and squeezed it.

“Thanks,” she said. “For reading.”

Only a moment or two passed before she felt Robin’s hand squeeze back.

“Of course, Max.”

Somehow, Lucas was more exhausted than before.

His mid-morning sleep had somehow calibrated him to the wrong frequency. He felt dazed. His head was pounding as he sat up from the bed, rubbing his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was that it was raining. The rumbling from the Upside Down and the regular thunder that accompanied a storm were almost indistinguishable from each other, and so there was a constant rumble in the air, one that occasionally crescendoed into crashes that rattled the window. Only his glance at the clock alerted him that it was early afternoon, around one. He usually went to see Max earlier than this, but he wondered if she had slept in too. They’d all had a long night.

Lucas pulled on clothing and socks as if on autopilot; before he knew it, he was dressed and grabbing his backpack, making his way into the hall. Erica’s door was closed, light peeking out from underneath her door. He knew his mother would be out on the back porch. She usually sat out there when it rained.

Lucas picked up the phone and dialed Steve’s number. On the third ring, he heard a click.

“What, Sinclair?”

“There’s no way you just knew it was me.”

He could almost hear Steve roll his eyes.

“Well, I know you’re not Robin, because I just dropped her off at home. And besides her, you’re the only one who calls me. So yeah, it didn’t take me long to narrow down.”

Lucas smirked. “Oh, so Dustin never calls you?”

“I couldn’t feel the bullshittery through the phone when I picked it up, so I knew you weren’t him either. Listen, do you want a ride or not?”

“Yes, please.”

“All right. Be there in a few.”

Lucas figured he should probably learn to drive at some point.

Steve seemed more tense than usual as Lucas sat quietly in his passenger seat, listening to the rain tap against the windows, watching the wipers swish back and forth across the windshield. The silent radio channel occasionally crackled as they drove through areas of varying signal. Steve turned the dial, seeking music, and came to find more silence, more static-filled stations. He smacked the dashboard with his hand in frustration, a scowl on his face.

“Stupid thing. Can’t even find any music stations anymore.”

“Is everything okay?” Lucas inquired uncertainly.

“Fine,” Steve said shortly. “Everything’s fine. I just…feel like shit.”

“Who doesn’t?” Lucas shrugged. “I mean, considering.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s not all that. It’s Max. Everyone’s doing so much for her – Nancy’s doing her hair, Robin’s helping her with Braille, Will’s bringing her music, and you…you’re practically living there, for god’s sake. And I’m not doing shit.”

“That’s not true,” Lucas countered, astonished to hear Steve talk like this. “You’re driving us everywhere.”

“Yeah, but Max can’t see that. I mean – ” He blanched, hurriedly rephrasing. “What I meant is, I’m not helping like everyone else.”

“I mean…you could always bring her something she likes,” Lucas reasoned. “Or something from her trailer that’s hers. I’m sure whatever you did, she’d appreciate.”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

In spite of himself, Lucas felt a grin sneak onto his face.

“Max does like you, you know. She just also thinks you’re an annoying shit. But that’s to be expected.”

He was pleased to see a slight smile on Steve’s face too.

The hospital hallways seemed emptier than usual.

Lucas trudged along. He was so bone tired that he could barely see straight, but he would be loath to stay away from Max. Especially right now. He knew what they were about to put her through, and he had to help her brace for the impact, the best he could. So perhaps, one day, she’d forgive him for it.

He’d barely made it to her partially-open door when –

“Max, that’s so insane.”

“It’s not,” he heard Max reply stubbornly.

Lucas cracked open the door the rest of the way to see Mike sitting on the bed, his back to the door.

“Okay, but crusts aren’t meant to be eaten,” He was insisting emphatically. “They’re crusts. You’re supposed to tear them off. The only good part is the bread and what’s in the sandwich.”

“Crusts,” Max insisted, her arms folded and jaw set.

As Lucas circled around, he saw that Mike had brought Max a sandwich in a plastic bag, and it currently rested on the tray table that he’d wheeled in front of her, along with some cutlery wrapped in plastic. Her stack of tapes had been moved, resting in three stacks on the bedside table.

“Okay, Max, you can eat the crusts like a weirdo,” said Mike, though Lucas was relieved to see a slight grin on his face. “Do you need me to cut this up?”

“Yes,” said Max, and Lucas saw a little grin quirk around her mouth too.

“Oh, hey, Lucas,” Mike acknowledged him, removing the sandwich from the bag and unwrapping the plastic knife from the silverware pack. Max’s head tilted in Lucas’ direction.

“Lunch,” she informed him.

“I see that,” Lucas replied, amused.

Mike started cutting into the sandwich. Too late Lucas realized –

“Mike, you can’t cut it diagonally. It has to be bite-sized or she can’t swallow it. Remember?”

Lucas saw a flash of horror cross Mike’s face, replaced quickly with an embarrassed indignance.

“It’s fine, I can just cut it into smaller pieces.”

“Cut squares,” said Max.

“What do you mean, squares? Sandwiches are cut diagonally. Everybody knows that.”

“Mike, it’s fine. I’ll just do it,” said Lucas, elbowing him away and taking the plastic knife from him.

Mike grabbed it back at once. “I can cut sandwiches by myself, mom.”

He set to work tearing the sandwiches into bite-sized pieces, his face reddening. Lucas opened his mouth to retort and then he saw Mike’s facial expression. Mortified. Determined. Maybe even a little guilty. It occurred to Lucas why Mike was so territorial over a stupid sandwich - he was trying to do something nice for Max, all on his own. Maybe even to make reparations for the friction between them. Even though they’d been much nicer to each other lately, Lucas wondered if Mike felt culpable. Maybe he felt he’d contributed to Max’s depression somehow by being unpleasant to her. And this was his way of making up for it.

Lucas took a step back, relenting.

“Just make sure the pieces are small enough for her to swallow,” he reminded Mike.

“I got it,” said Mike stubbornly. “There you go, Max.”

Max reached down toward the tray table, palm open, until her hand bumped one of the sandwich pieces. She picked it up with her thin fingers and brought it up to her mouth, chewing slowly. Mike busied himself with taking a few new comics out of his bag.

“I have some new comics for you,” he told Max, who turned her head toward him, her mouth still full of sandwich. “I can’t read them by myself, so we’ll read them to you next time Steve and Dustin are here. Okay?”

Max nodded at him. Lucas gazed at her, a sense of foreboding creeping in. She was different today. The head of her bed was tilted upward, and she was propped against her pillows, lying back against them. She’d been able to sit up now for some time; but right now, she looked like she had months prior, too weak to hold up her own weight. She looked slightly paler, too: her milky eyes almost blended in with her pallid face. Her red hair was tangled and slightly damp with perspiration near her neck. She wasn’t eating quite as hungrily as Lucas would have hoped, either.

Mike reached back into his bag.

“I also brought you…well…”

He unearthed a rock from his bag, a shard of obsidian that gleamed darkly under the fluorescent lights.

“It’s an obsidian rock,” he said. “Obsidian forms from volcanoes. I got it at a museum or some shit, and I guess I had it in a drawer somewhere. It’s a cool one to hold. It feels weird, like glass or hard plastic.”

Max held out her palm questioningly, and Mike placed it in her hand. Immediately, Lucas saw her brow furrow as she closed her fingers around it, trying to picture it in her mind’s eye. It was taking so much concentration that Max placed the rock on the tray table, letting both her palms rest over it, fingers tracing the edges and planes.

After a few seconds, she angled her head toward Mike.

“Color is…gray?” She inquired.

“Black,” he corrected her. “And it’s shiny.”

Max nodded, her brow furrowing again.

“Black. And shiny,” she murmured, her fingers examining it once more.

She didn’t have much to say after that. Max continued to roll the rock over in her hand, seemingly determined to memorize every corner.

“Lucas, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Mike’s question surprised him, but he nodded.

“Sure,” Lucas shrugged. He turned toward Max.

“I’ll be right back,” he reassured her.

She nodded, still preoccupied by the obsidian. Lucas followed Mike out of the room, feeling his lungs expand as they entered the hallway. That room seemed to grow smaller and stuffier every time he entered it. It was nice to exist in a part of the world that wasn’t Max’s little prison.

“She can’t keep staying here.”

Mike’s tone was almost exasperated. Lucas frowned at him in astonishment as Mike tapped his foot, his arms folded, his lips pursed.

“She’s still fragile, Mike. We can’t move her.”

“You’re not bothered by how she looks? Max has been here for months, and she doesn’t look better, she looks worse. Today she can’t even sit up.”

“Brain damage takes a long time to heal,” Lucas explained, still a little thrown by the suddenness of Mike’s confrontation. “They’ve always told me she’ll get worse before she gets better.”

“This place is what’s killing her. I mean, think about it. Shouldn’t Max be close to getting out of here? It’s been months, Lucas. Why isn’t she better by now?”

Lucas hadn’t really thought of it like that, but now that Mike mentioned it, Max had been here for quite a long time, and with almost no talk of when she could go home. Perhaps the doctors felt she didn’t have a safe home to go to since her mother was – as far as they knew – still in rehab. Lucas was certain that her presence in the void was a big part of it too. But Will and El also had bits of themselves in the void, and were able to function normally. So why was it taking Max so much longer?

“She’s made a lot of progress,” he said finally, but it sounded lame even coming out of his own mouth.

Mike shook his head. “But not enough that she’s up walking around again. I know things won’t ever be the same, after…well, after that night. But I just think it’s strange that it’s taking so long.”

Mike ran a hand through his black mop of hair, which had grown shaggier and steadily more unkempt over these last few months.

“And Vecna. Will and El said they’ve been able to feel him more. He has to know she’s here by now, right? What if she’s just a sitting duck, there in that room?”

Lucas hadn’t considered this either. Hospitals were supposed to be the pinnacle of safety and security, though Lucas felt a little silly thinking this in their current climate. Horror filled him as he realized that perhaps Max was more vulnerable than he’d allowed himself to consider. Maybe Mike was right. Vecna wasn’t fully back to health yet, but he must know where Max was. And he could be plotting his attack at this very moment.

“I just don’t know if moving her is safe,” Lucas finally said to Mike, trying to keep his voice from quavering. “She looks bad now, I know, but without all the hospital shit she might get even worse.”

“I know, I know. There are no good answers,” Mike acknowledged, looking just as troubled. “But I just think she’s been here too long. And they aren’t helping her enough.”

He ran his hand through his hair again before giving a deep sigh, offering Lucas a curt nod.

“Just think about it.”

Lucas gave a jerk of his head in Mike’s direction, and he watched as his friend trudged away, his hands in his pockets.

Anyone who still had doubts that Mike cared about Max should be swiftly silenced, Lucas thought. He hadn’t given any thought to the idea of how Max’s current condition was impacting any of his other friends. But the more he thought on it, the more small moments resurfaced in his mind. Dustin sitting outside her room, his head in his hands. The puffy, freckly shadows that had formed under Robin’s eyes. And the persistent melancholy that El seemed to hold in every corner of her frame. Perhaps Mike was just voicing what the rest of his friends couldn’t: Max being here wasn’t just hurting her. It was hurting her friends too.

As Lucas walked back into the room, he surveyed Max, who was staring rather wistfully in the direction of the window. Lucas noticed the rain had stopped, but the sky stayed gray and rumbling. The sun was fighting to illuminate whatever parts of the sky were uninhabited by the Upside Down.

Lucas felt a certain disquiet as he watched her. Maybe Mike was right. When was the last time she inhaled real air through her lungs?

“Hey,” he spoke, and she jumped a little, her head snapping toward him.

“Sorry, it’s me. I, um…it’s not raining anymore, and the hospital here has a courtyard. Would you want to walk a little outside?”

Max seemed to ponder this for a moment, her cloudy eyes blinking slowly.

“Walk?” She inquired, almost distantly.

“Yeah. You’ve been getting better and better. In fact, Cynthia thinks you might not need the walker at all soon.”

He had totally fabricated this, but it was worth it to see her weary face light up a little.

“Yes,” she told him.

“Okay, hang on. Let me ask the nurse.”

Lucas managed to track down Cynthia after several minutes searching for her. She seemed delighted at the idea of them going outside, and told him she needed to go find something. Cynthia rejoined him in Max’s room a short while later, holding a pair of dark glasses.

“I’m so glad you’re going outside today, Max!” she chirped, and Max blinked in her direction. “Whenever you do, I need you to wear these.”

She pressed the dark glasses into Max’s hands.

“Even though you can’t see, your eyes may still respond to some light, and that might make things harder to navigate. These glasses will help so the light won’t bother you.”

Max’s fingers curled around them for a brief moment, then she let them fall from her hands onto her lap.

“Not these,” she said. “My red ones.”

“Red ones?” asked Cynthia, but Lucas knew immediately what she was talking about.

“Max, are your red ones here with you somewhere?”

“At home,” she said sadly.

Lucas looked at her nurse.

“Can she wear regular ones?”

Cynthia shrugged. “They’re about the same, so, sure.”

They all jumped when suddenly the door creaked open.

It was Steve, by himself. Lucas almost wanted to laugh at how out of place he looked: Steve Harrington, the king of Hawkins High, dressed in an old shirt and jeans full of holes. His hair even looked less voluminous as he shuffled on the spot.

“Hey,” he said, addressing all of their startled faces. “Sorry, I was just – ”

He gestured at a pint of ice cream and a spoon in his hand.

“I can come back if it’s a bad time – ”

“Max, it looks like this is another one of your friends,” Cynthia said in her direction, then she addressed Steve. “I think they were about to go outside –”

Lucas jumped to his feet.

“Actually, you have perfect timing. Stay here, okay?”

“Wha – Sinclair – ”

Lucas dipped out into the hallway, and took off down the hall. If Max wanted her red sunglasses, he was going to get her those red sunglasses if it was the last thing he did.

Max could hear the slight bewilderment in Steve’s voice as his footsteps slowly drew closer.

“Where did he go?”

“Glasses,” she told him.

“Oh. O-okay.” Max wanted to giggle at little at Steve’s confusion.

Cynthia spoke from nearby.

“I’m going to check on my other patients, Max. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Her footsteps trailed away, and soon Max knew Steve was the only other person in the room with her.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey. Um, I brought you something. Be careful though, it’s cold.”

Max reached out her hand and felt something long and cold. She gripped it. It felt like the handle of a piece of silverware. Max traced it with her thumb, felt the curvature of the metal. A spoon.

“Here,” Steve murmured, and he guided the spoon to something soft. Max moved the spoon around within the mystery substance, trying to figure out what it was.

She turned her head slightly toward Steve.

“Food?” She asked.

“It’s ice cream. Strawberry. Robin said it was your favorite.”

It was so much better than Max had dared to dream. Immediately she dug the spoon in, trying to get a sense of where it was within the small tub. It was harder to operate a spoon since she couldn’t see it, and she’d had one too many situations where she ended up flinging most of its contents all over whomever had brought her the food.

Max lifted the spoon carefully to her mouth and immediately savored the sweet, cold cream, with that slight tang from the strawberries. A smile grew on her face before she could stop it.

“Thanks,” she said in Steve’s direction.

“Hold that,” Steve said, and he guided her other hand to the rim of the cup, and Max clasped it between her thumb and forefinger as she buried the spoon in and scooped more up. She had to keep herself from shoving in mouthful after mouthful of the ice cream because it tasted just as familiar as it ever did, and it sang of summer, and it was so damn good to eat something normal for once.

After she reached the point where she was starting to feel a little sick, she placed the spoon on the tray.

“Done,” she informed Steve.

“Yeah? Okay.” Max felt the spoon and ice cream tub lift from the tray. The slight disappointment at being done with the ice cream was overpowered by the elation it had inspired in her. She was pleased enough to get up and walk a lap. In fact, she wanted to.

“Walk,” She requested.

Steve sounded unsure.

“You want to walk? Okay, um…what do we need to do for that?”

“Walker,” she informed him. “Then walk. You and me. In the hall.”

“Okay. And you can walk all that way?”

“Yes.”

Max heard him get up, heard the clunk of the walker’s wheels against the floor as he pushed it closer to the bed.

“Bar,” Max tapped it with her hand.

Steve had to fiddle with the bar a moment, but she finally felt it lower. She slowly let her feet dangle over the side of the bed.

“Do I need to help you?”

“No,” Max told him, reaching out her hands. “Walker.”

Max heard the walker’s wheels roll toward her, felt the handles hit her palms. She wrapped her hands around them and hoisted herself up.

“IV,” she said. “It rolls.”

“Oh, okay. I roll that behind you?”

“Yes.”

“And…do you know where you’re going?”

“No,” Max smirked a little cheekily. “Can’t see.”

“Yes I know that, thank you. So…what? Do I tell you where you’re going?”

“Yes.”

Max started moving, the walker moving steadily forward. She heard Steve start to roll the rickety IV pole from behind her. Max didn’t mind placing her bare feet against the cold floor. It almost felt good after being in that uncomfortably warm bed for so long. Her legs were cooperating today too, she noticed with some encouragement. Maybe Lucas was right. Maybe she’d be able to ditch the walker soon. The thought energized her, and she nearly missed Steve saying suddenly “whoa, watch the wall. Here.”

Max permitted Steve to steer her out of the doorway, but once they reached the hall, she insisted “I can walk,” and set off down the hallway.

Steve’s solitary presence wasn’t as sure and steady as Lucas’ or Cynthia’s, and Max found she felt a little less secure without them behind her. But it was the same hallway, she told herself. She’d walked it before. As Max steered her walker down the hall, she could hear overlapping voices of the staff and other patients. She tried to gauge it by ear, turning the walker according to how close voices sounded. She could hear the nervousness in Steve’s voice as he attempted to direct her.

“Not there…whoa, Max. You’re going to hit that door.”

Max jumped as she felt Steve grab the walker.

“Max, stop. Let’s go this way.”

She allowed him to help her again, annoyed as she was by his methods. Lucas would have been much gentler. Steve just seemed anxious, and it was putting her on edge. Steve turned her walker completely around and said “we can walk out in the lobby. There’s more room over there.”

Max hadn’t ventured down that part of the hallway yet. But she refused to look helpless in front of Steve.

“Okay,” she said, and started to walk. She shuffled down the familiar hallway until she felt the air change, until she felt the linoleum turn into tile. Max stopped short, allowing herself to drink in the new noises, smell the new scents. Intermittent footsteps sounded around them. There weren’t many people here, she noted. That made it seem a little less daunting. The new sensations were nerve-wracking, though. She took a cautious few steps forward, and her head turned sharply toward a whoosh from nearby.

Sliding doors. She wasn’t standing on the mat – the soles of her feet were still pressed against the tile – but she must be close to it. Either that, or someone must have walked through it. Max took a few more steps forward, and stopped, waiting to hear the sound again. Sure enough, after a few minutes, Max heard the door slide open once more.

This time, however, Max felt a cool breeze wash over her face. She opened her mouth, trying to taste the air before it faded away. Tears filled her eyes. She’d almost forgotten what outdoor air felt like. She was so thirsty for it, and she almost wanted to reach out and grab it, hold the feeling close to her.

“Max?”

Max jumped. She’d forgotten Steve was behind her. Without turning her head toward him, she pointed.

“Let’s go.”

“Go?” Steve sounded confused. He didn’t understand. “Go where?”

“Out,” Max demanded. “Go home.”

“You mean…leave the hospital?”

Idiot. “Yes,” she confirmed.

Max swore she could hear Steve put his hands on his hips. “We’re not doing that.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because you’re still healing, Max. And it’s not safe, either. You think Hawkins has just been all fine and dandy out there? It’s getting worse.”

“Friends,” Max asserted.

“Yes, we’re here,” said Steve. “But that’s not enough. Your mom’s still in Indianapolis. Are you gonna hunker down in your trailer by yourself?”

Max trudged stubbornly forward, but a seed of doubt was starting to grow roots within her. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought about what being home would mean for her now. Max had known where things were when she could see them. But now…how would she be able to find anything? Her friends had been so wonderful, but she couldn’t ask any of them to stay with her – practically live with her – to help her figure things out. Suddenly the thought of being home was much more daunting than it had been a few seconds ago.

Max shook her head.

“Home,” she insisted again, despite the now growing sense of uncertainty curling within the pit of her stomach. “I want…to go home.”

“I know, Max. I’m sorry.”

Irritated by his refusal, Max stopped short in the hallway.

“My room,” she requested.

She heard Steve sigh, but he dutifully guided her back to her room without saying much more.

Max heard Cynthia’s chipper voice the moment they walked through her doorway.

“Ah, Max! Just came by to check on you. Will Lucas be back soon, to take you outside?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then let’s get you dressed.”

Steve’s voice sounded from near the door. “Do you…I mean, can I help with anything?”

“No,” Max said a little shortly, still irked by their earlier conversation. “You can go.”

She was sure his facial expression was a little put off, and as she heard Steve’s footsteps trail away, a mixture of regret and irritation crossed paths inside her. He didn’t understand what it was like, being here day after day. She just wanted to leave.

Max reached out her hand.

“Cindy?” she inquired. “Chair. Help me.”

Cynthia’s warm hand met hers, and Max started to move her walker forward.

“Okay, stop there,” Cynthia’s voice sounded after a moment. “I’m just going to untie your gown.”

As the gown strings slithered away, Max felt the chilly air of her room hit her bare back, almost down to her ribs as the gown slid off her. She shivered. Cynthia pressed a bra into her hand, and she slipped it on, her mind elsewhere. This place had become her unwilling home, whatever it looked like. She wasn’t entirely sure it looked the way she pictured it in her head. But she knew its corners, knew its smells and the feel of the air. Her comfortable little prison, with all the tubes and wires and medicines and bullshit.

A certain bitterness simmered in the pit of her stomach at the thought. All of this was bullshit. Max knew it was all to buy time before the Upside Down swallowed Hawkins whole. That was what Steve didn’t get. Why did he feel the need to keep up the pomp and circumstance? Couldn’t he see how close they all were to death, even more than she could?

Cynthia’s arms slipped underneath her own.

“Okay, Max, I got you. Let’s sit in the chair.”

With Cynthia fully supporting her, Max sank slowly into the chair. It felt good to sit in a chair, Max thought. She gripped the handles in her hands, felt her feet against the cool floor. She almost felt normal again. Almost.

Max felt her eyes grow slightly misty again as Cynthia pulled a shirt over her head. She just wanted to be home in her shitty, musty trailer. To get one last feel of the grainy carpet, to inhale one last breath of the smelly old walls, stained with tar and cigarette ash. If they were all going to die, then she’d like one last chance to remember her home in Hawkins with her mother before leaving this world in Lucas’ arms. Surrounded by her friends. That was how she wanted to go, whenever the time came. Exactly how she went the first time.

Cynthia had her stand again, to put on some pants. Max allowed Cynthia to dress her, as much as she hated feeling dependent. It occurred to Max that this might be all Cynthia had left. She knew Cindy was smart; she had to sense that the apocalypse was near. Perhaps Max would be her last patient before the world imploded.

Once Max felt that her pants were on, Cynthia murmured “there we go. Once Lucas returns with your sunglasses, we can get you outside!”

Max allowed herself to lean back a little, letting her head drop to the back of the chair. Thank God. She couldn’t wait to breathe fresh, clean air.

Max was waiting for Lucas as he entered.

Cynthia had dressed her, he surmised, as he saw she was wearing a gray shirt and black pants. Her hair was down, flowing over her thin shoulders as she stood in the center of the room, her hands gripping her walker. Cynthia stood slightly behind her, a hand pressed against her back to steady her.

“Lucas is here,” the nurse told Max, and Lucas smiled as Max perked up. “Remember, Max, I’m going to follow behind with a wheelchair, just in case you get tired. Okay?”

“I can walk,” Max told her, not unkindly.

“Of course you can. You get better at it every day. But you had a rough night last night, so I just want to be safe. Okay?”

Max nodded curtly, then turned her head in Lucas’ direction.

“I’m ready,” she told him confidently.

“Then let’s go,” he responded, pressing her red sunglasses into her hands. Lucas remembered when she’d walked out of Starcourt Mall wearing them, clutching a strawberry ice cream cone in her hand. He remembered thinking they clashed with her red hair as they’d been perched atop her head. Even now, they still clashed. Max hadn’t cared then, and, ironically, she had even less reason to care now. In any case, she seemed pleased to have them back, and slipped them onto her face without a hitch.

They walked arm in arm out the sliding doors, and Lucas started to guide her toward the hospital grounds. Max seemed to be walking fine, even a little eagerly as she turned her head side to side, as if trying to drink in all the sounds. He wondered if the sunglasses were helping her walk better. Without the light disturbing her, she seemed to get a better sense of her surroundings. Lucas was impressed to see Max handle her walker like a seasoned pro, almost as if she still had her sight. Perhaps she’d be able to stop using it sooner than even he thought. Once Max no longer needed the walker, the doctors would give her one of those special canes to help her get around. But for now, he still needed to guide her in the right direction.

The hospital grounds at Hawkins Memorial were calm, quiet, and well-kept. Dogwood blossoms lined the borders of the courtyard near the iron fences. Wildflowers were nestled in colorful patches around the walking paths, tiny bugs buzzing in the clear air around them. Such an idyllic scene for a town half-inside the Upside Down.

Certainly it wasn’t the same experience now as it would have been before. But Lucas was determined to help Max find enjoyment in it. One of the new challenges, he found, was figuring out how to describe things to her. He wasn’t creative like Will, didn’t have a way with words like Robin. As they walked along the path through the garden, Lucas accumulated a small collection of different things - a flower, a stone, or anything else he was able to find. As they lumbered along, Lucas wracked his brain to think of descriptive words that would help her paint a picture in her mind’s eye. To give her another way to see.

Lucas looked over at Max as they paused to let her find her footing in this new space. Max inhaled deeply, and exhaled in a slow breath. Lucas was sure the air in her room became stuffy after a while, and the fresh air must be cleansing for her lungs. The sun’s glow made her pallid skin look even more pale, her veins dark underneath. Her flowing red hair and crimson sunglasses were the only things that seemed to color her cheeks a little, even though Lucas surmised it was a trick of the light. And she was so thin. Lucas had an uneasy feeling that if she was wearing a tighter-fitting shirt, he would be able to see her ribs protruding out.

Lucas cursed Vecna in his mind. He cursed the void, the Upside Down…all of this bullshit that was holding Max hostage. Even though she was walking, smiling, talking more…in this light, she looked sick. Frail and ill, like she’d been so many months ago. A deep sense of foreboding made his blood run cold. He knew she was pushing herself to walk as much as she possibly could, to stand on her own two feet. Lucas couldn’t blame her. He was sure it felt good for Max to move her legs. But she was slowing down more quickly than before. Even now, as he looked at her, he knew her walking time would be limited today.

Sure enough, Max started to slow down after about ten minutes, and Cynthia came up behind them with the wheelchair.

“Max, let’s take a break. Then let’s do the rest of it in the wheelchair. Okay? I know you don’t want to, but do your poor nurse a favor.”

Max looked too tired to resist. She allowed them to lower her onto the grass and lean her against a cherry tree. Lucas sat down next to her, and Cynthia gave them a wide berth, standing ready with the wheelchair nearby.

“Hey,” he said, and she turned her head toward him. “I found something while we were walking.”

Max blinked questioningly, then held her hand out.

“It’s a flower,” he explained, placing it delicately into her palm. “A violet. Deep purple, with yellow and black in the middle.”

Max clasped a velvety petal in between her thumb and forefinger, her brow furrowed in concentration. It was Lucas’ new favorite facial expression of hers. As if she was committing the texture and color to her mind’s eye. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a violet before. This was just the closest she could get to seeing it now.

After she seemed satisfied, she pocketed the violet, and reached her hand out again.

“Find more?” she inquired.

“You know I did. Here.”

He pressed his second discovery - a round stone - into her hands.

“It’s a stone. The color’s gray, like…” He searched for something to compare it to.

Max frowned. “Gray…like clouds?”

“Yes. Yeah. Like clouds.”

She nodded, closing her hand around it.

“Smooth,” she said, then quirked her head at him. “Shiny?”

“A little,” said Lucas.

He produced more things he’d found – a twig, a few acorns, and a dandelion. He even pressed a few sassafras leaves into her palm. Max’s fingers traced the veins of each leaf, rubbed her finger against its rougher texture.

“Max,” he said. “Crush the leaves in your hands.”

She turned toward him, her expression bemused.

“Crush?”

“Trust me. Do it.”

After only another second of hesitation, Max closed her hands around the leaves, smiling a little as they crunched between her palms.

“Now smell them,” he told her.

Max frowned in amusement, but followed suit. Her expression quickly became surprised.

“The smell,” she told him. “I think…oranges.”

“I know, right? Sassafras leaves smell like oranges. It’s so weird.”

“It’s cool,” she grinned.

“So cool,” he amended quickly. “The coolest.”

Max reached out toward him until her hand met his face. She poked his cheek.

“Dork,” she said.

They both laughed. It felt so good to laugh. Lucas was encouraged that her sense of humor was still intact.

They spent the rest of their outdoor outing sitting under the tree, Max’s head resting on Lucas’ shoulder, while his arm rested securely around her.

They didn’t talk much. They didn’t have to. The world was only theirs today, if just for a moment.

Max knew she’d be sore tomorrow.

As Cynthia and Lucas helped her out of the wheelchair, she could feel the exhaustion sinking heavy into her bones. She sank into the hospital mattress, into her pillow, and could already feel it beckoning toward sleep. Something in her mind told her it would be distressing to sleep, that something would happen, but she couldn’t remember what.

Max could hear Lucas above her, murmuring quietly, but she couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. She was fading fast.

“Lucas?” she mumbled back.

Max felt his gentle hand brush back her hair, and suddenly she felt his lips brush against her ear.

“I’ll call El. So she can be there when you sleep.”

Why did El need to be there? Nothing made much sense to Max anymore as she felt herself losing her grip on consciousness. And moments later, she sank into the abyss that was sleep.

It was better and more terrible today.

Sensations were what enveloped Max today as she sat in the endless darkness – smells, sounds, the feeling of hands on her. As tempting as sin. It felt like a sick joke – a tease from the world she was still separated from.

Whether or not Max wanted to rejoin that world, she still wasn’t sure. Sometimes she still wanted to let herself be enshrouded in the darkness that was now so familiar to her. But the real world always beckoned. Things from her physical body were connecting vaguely to her existence here. A feeling, a scent, a word…these things would seep in as she watched her physical body lay helpless in the hospital bed.

The sharp pain in her skull…that was new, and it made her anxious. It happened when a particularly strong feeling or sensation overtook her. The other thing that startled her was the smell of blood accompanying these events. It was barely a whiff, gone as quickly as it had come, but there was no mistaking it. And these episodes were happening more frequently now. She didn’t know what they meant, but they couldn’t symbolize anything good.

“Max. I am here now.”

Max whirled around as El’s voice sounded from nearby. She’d forgotten the luxury of now having El in here with her. El’s presence was a balm for Max’s weary soul. As El walked steadily toward her, arms outstretched, Max wrapped her arms tightly around her friend. She didn’t want to let her go again. The void was such a horribly lonely place, a place that she didn’t wish on anyone, ever. And El was the only person who could sit in here with her.

She clung tightly to her friend.

“I wish you didn’t have to go again,” she whispered into El’s shoulder.

El squeezed her a little tighter.

“I know,” she said, her voice breaking a little. “I am here right now.”

El pulled back from their hug, placing her hands on Max’s shoulders.

“I am here right now,” she said again. “And I am going to bring you home.”

Max could see in El’s eyes that she truly believed this, and it made her own soul perk up a little.

She took El’s hand.

“Ready?”

El nodded resolutely, and both girls closed their eyes, concentrating.

A wind gust rushed by them, and a seagull cried from far away. As soon as Max took a breath, she knew they’d come to the right place. That sandy, gritty smell of her California bedroom. Max opened her eyes to see the orange-beige wallpaper she had so hated as a child, wallpaper that was strangely welcoming now. A few posters hung unceremoniously on the walls: Blondie, Foreigner, the Endless Summer. Her poster of a teen boy halfway through a half-pipe – the black skateboard blurred in the picture – hung over her small, quilted bed. Every object had a new wave of memories attached, and Max found herself unable to speak momentarily as it all filled her vision. Her patchwork quilt, a hand-me-down from Granny. Her tiny end table, with a few photo frames sitting on it – an infant Max and her mother. Young Max on her father’s shoulders. A group photo of the three of them, smiling, sitting on a sofa.

Max was so ensconced in the bittersweetness of it all that she started a little at El’s question.

“Where are we?”

“My room in California,” Max murmured. “See the palm trees?”

The palms were brushing against the window, patchy green against the darkening sky. The wind was picking up, the clouds moving faster. Immediately, Max felt a rush of excitement before she could stop herself. It was about to storm.

She turned toward El, tugging on her sleeve.

“Here, move away from the door.”

Eleven did so, and mere seconds later, a short redhead came through the doorway. Without preamble, the young girl approached her windows, clicking the locks open and pushing the panes open. Then, the girl climbed up on the sill and sat, her legs dangling over the outdoor side of the window.

El touched Max’s arm.

“She is you,” she said quietly.

Max nodded. She had finally figured out why she remembered this day. She’d just come in from skateboarding because a thunderstorm had been imminent. And her favorite part of a thunderstorm – besides the rain – was the crescendoing rush of wind right before lightning cracked the sky open. Sure enough, Max watched her younger self sit up eagerly as the rumble of thunder started to roll in. The palms near the window rustled louder and louder as the gray shelf of clouds descended upon them. The remaining light of the sun grew dim, the shadows of the palms dancing over younger Max’s face. Max was immediately tempted to close her own eyes as younger Max did so, inhaling the rush of rainy air into her lungs, her red hair fluttering around her face.

“You like rain,” said El.

“Yeah,” Max replied, her eyes still glued to her younger self as dark spots started appearing on her clothing from the rain. Younger Max got down from the sill and closed the windows before going and sitting on her bed, her eyes glued to the rain as it slashed against the glass.

Max heaved a deep sigh.

“Two weeks after this, Neil and my mom would sit me and Billy down and tell us that we were leaving California.”

El’s eyes swiveled onto her, and she continued.

“I had a friend. Nate. We hung out together a lot in California. But one day, Billy and his shithead friends were doing something they shouldn’t, as usual. And Nate stood up to them. So Billy broke his arm. And we had to move before his parents filed charges.”

Max felt a pang as Nate’s face resurfaced in her mind.

“I remember hearing Billy through the wall…cursing, yelling, breaking shit. Telling me it was my fault we were moving. Because Nate poked his nose in where it didn’t belong. So we had to move to Hawkins. Away from Nate. Away from my dad.”

Thinking of her dad brought an unexpected wave of sorrow. Truthfully, Max had not thought of him in a while. It wasn’t like he kept in touch. She wondered where he was now, and if he even had a family. A wife who wasn’t her mother. Children who weren’t her.

Max had momentarily forgotten El was standing next to her until she felt El take her hand.

“Do you miss your dad?”

Max’s shrug didn’t make the ice pick in her heart hurt less, but she didn’t want to worry El.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But he’s got his own life now. So, it doesn’t matter. Every day, I miss him a little less.”

Max listened to El grapple silently with this information. She seemed to be mulling this over for herself.

“I miss Papa sometimes, too,” she said.

You actually miss him? That psychotic asshole? Max wanted to say.

But she bit her tongue. She understood all too well.

Max immediately started thinking of a less painful memory.

As she and El returned to the void, Max felt a little dizzy, a little sick. But she knew they had to keep going, to make the connection to her body stronger. So before El could comment on how Max didn’t look like herself, Max dragged them into her next memory.

It was nighttime in this one. Dark blue sky hung like a blanket over the Hawkins junkyard, with clouds of fog wrapping the night in gauze. She and El sat on the roof of a defunct bus. It was strange to be sitting on the bus roof without feeling the chill of the metal, or the shivery fall breeze.

El was taking everything in, her widened eyes swiveling around the junkyard.

“Why…are we here?” she questioned.

“We were baiting a Demogorgon,” Max replied.

She would have laughed at El’s shocked expression under any other circumstance. But, like everything else, this situation seemed much more dire in hindsight.

“Why would you do that?” Eleven almost sounded angry.

Max shrugged. “Dustin found a baby Demogorgon in his house. It was eating his cats. He kept it like a pet. And then when Dart got older – ”

“Dart?”

“The name he gave it. The full name is even stupider. D’artagnan. Whatever that even means. But Dustin seemed to think he could train it to like chocolate rather than cats. That’s when Dart ran away. So we were here trying to find him.”

Max couldn’t blame El for looking alarmed. Max had considered it to be fool’s errand at the time, and this notion was only solidified at her current age as she watched shadows bend and shift in the junkyard, watched the outlines of Dustin, Steve, and herself move around within the old bus. In the distance, a dark creature slunk through the fog, and another crept around nearby. Demogorgons. Max had to remind herself that they couldn’t hurt her and El in here. But this younger version of their group was undoubtedly vulnerable. Even against Dart, for whom there was not a shred of evidence that domestication could be achieved in any capacity. An errand for a fool indeed. Fools, all.

The metal of the roof door screeched open. Max and El both turned to watch the younger version of Lucas hoist himself up through the hatch, his binoculars clutched in one hand as he used the other to pull himself up onto the roof. Max couldn’t help but smile a little watching him – curious, eager, intelligent Lucas, his youthful face growing serious as he scanned the junkyard through his binoculars. So keen to drink in what was around him. So unaware of what awaited him in this life.

This year felt like an eternity ago, Max thought with some sadness. They’d been so young then. And so naive. The stakes had felt so much lower, their odds of surviving so much more promising. Their madcap foolishness seemed just that – foolish. They had been stupid, impressionable children. Thinking that the world wouldn’t rip them apart at a moment’s notice.

As she watched younger Lucas survey his surroundings, let her eyes rest on that stupid adorable headband she was sure he’d tied himself, Max wanted to pull this Lucas close to her, protect him from everything she knew was coming their way. She didn’t want that sweet, hopeful face to break, to grow weary like she knew it would. She knew some of that was her fault. If Max could go back and change it, she would. But for now, she focused on holding the memory close in her mind. Trying as hard as she could to imprint it into her subconscious.

The hatch creaked open once more, and Max saw a flash of her own red hair as the younger version of herself climbed uncertainly through the roof door. Yes, she remembered this too. The Upside Down and Demogorgons and Eleven herself had all been myths to her back then. She’d thought they were crazy, the whole group of them. Max had thought she’d moved from California into the Twilight Zone. She could almost hear Rod Serling narrating in the background: “These youngsters don’t know it yet, but what they are about to witness is a creature from another dimension. The Demogorgon. A fearsome fellow with a mouth the size of an umbrella, and enough teeth to frighten a dinosaur -”

This was the first day where Max had questioned her own logic. After seeing Dart, an unidentifiable pollywog creature days earlier, and then going on the hunt for a startingly larger version of him – as they were doing at this point in the memory – she remembered that Lucas’ story had started to hold a note of truth in it, as much as she’d refused to admit it.

Max’s thoughts were broken into by her own voice.

“It’s kind of awesome.”

“Huh?”

“The fog, I mean. Looks like the ocean.”

Nice, Max, she thought to herself, cringing. Lucas didn’t seem put off, though. It was much easier to watch Lucas, Max realized. Watching herself was too strange.

As Lucas asked younger Max if she missed California, Max watched her own eyes go far away as she told him about leaving, specifically about leaving her father. Even now she felt it squeeze at her heart. But younger Lucas remained engaged, and Max felt warmth in her belly as she watched younger Lucas sit up, focus his attention on her, start to listen.

Max felt her gut clench as she heard herself mention Billy. She could hear the pain in her own voice. The fear. The sadness. Things that looked so different now than before. The fear wasn’t concentrated on Billy so much anymore, he was gone, but had expanded out to everything else around her. The sadness – that was still there. And it would always be there.

“I guess…I’m angry too,” younger Max said, her voice now very quiet. “I’m sorry.”

Lucas’ eyes had grown soft and deep. He wasn’t prying, wasn’t trying to get his hooks in her like everyone else. He looked as if he were trying to see.

Max knew what was coming next. He was about to tell her she was cool, and different, and super smart. Lucas’ eyes were about to soften, a crooked grin about to bloom onto his face as he reassured her.

A high-pitched ringing seared through the peaceful night atmosphere. She gasped a little as the colors became oddly intensified, the sounds became crackly and muffled. Lucas’ youthful face had suddenly turned dark, a far contrast from the soft, gentle look that she remembered. Instead, he opened his mouth, and said in a low, unforgiving voice: “You’ll end up just like him.”

Max felt herself stumble backwards a little as the memory faded away and they became enveloped in darkness once more. Her eyes started filling with tears. Her chest felt like it had been punched out. Watching Lucas say it somehow hurt much worse than she’d thought. She could feel El’s concerned eyes on her, felt El’s hand on her shoulder.

“I’m…don’t worry,” Max muttered half in her direction, waving her hand.

“Lucas really said that?” El questioned. She seemed more confused than anything. Max couldn’t answer her. She felt nauseous. Everything felt off, as if every hair in her pores was bent back the wrong way…

No, something was off. Max willed herself to take a few deep breaths, shaking her head.

“El, that’s not what happened.”

Eleven quirked her head at Max, and Max barreled on.

“This isn’t how I remember it. He didn’t say that.”

“But…we are in your memory,” El reasoned. “If it’s your memory, it is what happened. Right?”

Max couldn’t make sense of this. Something was very, very wrong. But it was her memory. Could she have a different version of it programmed in her mind than what actually occurred? She’d heard Mrs. Kelley mention this before. Sometimes when there’s trauma, we tell ourselves a different story than what actually happened. To help ourselves cope.

Mrs. Kelley only talked to people whose brains were sick. And Max knew her real-world brain wasn’t in great shape. Had she been sick for much longer than she’d realized? Or had Lucas finally seen her for what she truly was – a monster-in-waiting? An eventual perpetrator of pain – exactly as Vecna had always whispered to her during those lonely, sleepless nights back home. The nights she’d wanted to die.

Max’s knees buckled from underneath her, and she felt herself sinking to the ground. She felt terrible all of a sudden. Weak, unsteady. Her hands were trembling, her breathing shallow and uneven.

“El, I don’t feel good.”

“We are leaving now. Going back,” El said at once, seizing Max’s arm and tugging. Max felt herself sway in that direction, falling into El’s arms as they resurfaced.

An earth-shattering gasp startled Lucas out of his stupor.

Max’s cloudy eyes had flown open, her chest heaving for breath. Dark blood was flowing freely from both her nostrils. Her pale arms shot out in front of her, grasping wildly at thin air. Seeking someone. Anyone.

And immediately Lucas was there, grabbing her and sitting her up. She clutched his arms in a death grip, still gasping for breath, her eyes wide. El appeared on her other side, wiping her own nose as she put her hands on Max’s shoulder. Will seemed rooted to the spot as he put his hands on his head, his expression helpless. Mike and Dustin sat nearby, frozen, looking terrified.

Max’s skin was clammy, her face white. She vomited over Lucas’ arm onto the bed, the blood from her nose mixing with the tendrils of gray slime that now hung from her mouth.

“You’re okay,” Lucas said at once, brushing her hair away from her face. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

The door slammed open, and Cynthia, along with two other nurses, entered the room.

“Max,” Cynthia said in a raised voice, drawing up in front of her. “Lay back, I need to get a cuff on you.”

Max buried her face in Lucas’ shirt, shaking her head.

“No,” she gulped out.

“Max – ”

“No!”

“Heart rate’s 160,” one of the nurses said shortly, shooing El away so she could get on Max’s other side.

“Max, please – ” Lucas started, but as he watched two more nurses enter the room he knew he would soon be ushered away. Sure enough, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his friends being shunted from the room. It took all three nurses to pull Max away from Lucas as he was all but shoved toward the door.

“What’s happening to her?” Dustin demanded of the nurse guiding him.

“Her blood pressure’s skyrocketing. Out, all of you. Now.”

Lucas turned back to look, and over the nurse’s shoulder he saw Max struggling weakly against Cynthia and the other nurses as they held down her arms and legs. The needle was in her before he could blink, and the last thing he heard before the door shut was Max cry out “No!” once more, in a long, drawn-out wail.

The metal door clanged behind them as they all poured out into the hallway. Lucas barely heard Mike say “Come on, let’s get some air.”

There were hands pushing him forward down the hallway, out of the sliding doors and into the balmy air. Lucas leaned over, his hands on his knees, feeling like he was going to vomit. Jesus. Watching Max’s emotional distress had been its own torture. But watching her go into physical distress seemed so much more immediate, so much more terrifying. He willed himself not to be sick, taking deep gulps of air as he tried to steady himself.

“Easy.” Dustin and Will came up next to him, supporting him on either side. He could feel Will’s hands shaking, could feel how tense Dustin’s usually easy presence was. Mike seemed to be in a daze.

Lucas had half-expected Eleven to have wrapped her arms around Mike for comfort, but she merely stood rooted to the spot. When she finally spoke, she sounded alarmed. “Max has never been like that before.”

Lucas felt okay enough to straighten up, and he addressed her.

“Being in the void hurts her. It has to.”

“Maybe…she cannot be in there for long periods of time,” El responded, looking troubled. “Last time, we walked through three memories. This time, only two.”

“El, you’ve got powers,” reasoned Will. “You can withstand being in there because of that. But maybe for her, since she doesn’t…it hurts her more.”

“But half of her has been in there for months,” argued Dustin, who seemed to still be recovering from what had just occurred. “If it really hurts her, wouldn’t she have gotten worse instead of better?”

“Maybe they’re cancelling each other out,” Mike finally spoke, his voice slightly uneven. “When she’s here, she heals. When she’s there, it hurts her. But now that she’s aware of the connection…maybe that’s starting to hurt her too.”

Lucas gritted his teeth. There seemed to be no way for Max to get out of this without suffering more than she already had. Everything was hurting her.

“How can we get her out of there faster?” he questioned urgently, feeling the knots in his stomach start to tighten. “What can we do?”

They all looked at Eleven, who was frowning.

“Memories,” she said. “Remember? We have been using her memories to bridge the gap.”

“Vecna would use her bad memories against her,” added Lucas. “So maybe for this, she has to face those bad memories and…survive.”

An additional layer of urgency had now settled over their situation. It wasn’t just that they needed to help Max integrate her real-world body and her void self. Now they were on a time limit. And the longer Max was in the void, the more she would suffer. Either leave her in her current state, where she would get worse, or plunge her deeper into her traumatic memories, where she might also get worse. There was no good option in this scenario. His friends all seemed to silently agree, their faces solemn.

Dustin finally spoke. “Lucas…that’s hell. How could anyone get through it?”

“She’ll have us with her,” he said, though it even sounded half-hearted coming out of his own mouth. Another madcap mission that they had no guarantee would work.

But as Lucas looked at his friends, he knew they had no choice.

“She’ll have us,” he repeated.

It wasn’t enough. But it was what they had.

Nighttime felt like another planet.

Lucas edged around the corner, looking for any nurses before he slipped quietly into Max’s room. He couldn’t seem to stay away, no matter how nauseatingly exhausted he was. Upon entering, he saw Max’s slightly tangled red hair on her pillow, her pale face turned toward the window.

“Max,” he said quietly.

Max swiveled her head very slowly in his direction as Lucas drew up next to her bedside. She lay there, slightly propped up, her milky eyes staring vacantly in the direction of the wall behind him. She seemed dazed, and Lucas thought that perhaps the sedative from earlier hadn’t quite worn off yet. She blinked slowly, her eyelids pulling lazily apart.

“Lucas,” she mumbled, reaching out for him. He sat down on her bed, smoothing her hair back from her face.

“You’re a troublemaker, you know,” Lucas smiled quietly.

Max gave a weak laugh without smiling, covering his hand with hers. His thumb moved over her cheek, up and down, caressing her skin.

After a few moments, she turned her cloudy gaze upward toward him.

“Home,” she said. “I want…go home.”

“I know you do,” Lucas said sadly. “I know. You’re getting better every day.”

“No,” Max mumbled, lifting her hand limply and pointing her finger into his chest. “You. Help me. Go home.”

Lucas frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“You help me,” she murmured hazily. “Home.”

Lucas did know, but he had been trying to come off as if he didn’t. She was asking him to break her out of the hospital. And there were so many reasons why that was not a good idea.

“Max. I can’t.”

Max just looked at him.

“Home,” she said again.

“It’s not safe, and I think you know that. What if something happens?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re still on an IV and you can’t walk without your walker yet.” Lucas wouldn’t throw her blindness in her face, though that was the major factor in most of his concerns. “And after today…if we take you out of here, it could make things worse.”

Max’s expression didn’t change. Lucas could tell she’d been ruminating on this all day.

“I’m…b-better,” she managed.

“Yes, you are. But not all the way.”

Lucas smoothed her hair back again, caressing her face.

“I don’t want anything else to happen to you. I can’t lose you again.”

Max’s eyes started to swim with tears, her bottom lip beginning to tremble, and Lucas’ insides crumbled to nothing.

“No, please. Please don’t cry. Max.”

She tugged on his shirt with her weakened grip. Lucas leaned down toward her and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He pulled her up so that she was sitting upright, him holding her steady in his arms. Lucas rocked her slowly, his hand behind her head. More than ever he wished he could just keep her in his arms forever, protect her from all the world’s ills. He knew this would never be possible. Trouble seemed to follow them wherever they went.

Max sobbed a little, pressing her forehead to his temple.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please. Help me.”

Lucas closed his eyes as Max nuzzled into him a little, sniffling. Hearing her cry melted clean away any resolve he’d possessed. Mike’s previous comment echoed in his mind. This place is what’s killing her.

Yes, Mike might have just been emotional. But maybe he had a point. Maybe this place was harming Max more than it was helping her. And maybe she just needed to be home.

Lucas could feel every part of his body telling him not to do it, not to agree to another cockamamie plan. But it was for Max. His girl. And right now, she was begging him to help her.

Lucas placed a small kiss right next to her ear, leaning toward it.

“Okay,” he whispered.

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