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Eight in the morning, the perfect time to wake up on a Monday morning during summer break.
Ethan quickly gets dressed, brushes his teeth, and gets a quick, cold shower. He goes downstairs to grab some breakfast, just a snack, really. He didn't have the patience to cook, nor was he all that hungry, even though he'd barely eaten the past day. He didn't really care, in all honesty.
He walks back up the stairs to his room, holding a small pack of M&M's, a cup of yogurt, and a spoon. Upon reentering his bedroom, he sets the food down on his desk and turns on his radio, playing Monday Morning by Fleetwood Mac. He turned the volume up, to where he could at least not hear the neighbors dogs bark as loud as they could. He sat down at his desk, snacking on the sweetened yogurt, holding a pencil in his hand.
He was writing in his green notebook, about life. The Upside Down, the lab, the party, all of it. Trauma dumping, basically.
The radio turned onto the next song, Atomic by Blondie. Ethan hummed the tune, tapping his leg to the beat. The writing and time to himself faded quickly as he finished the yogurt in his hand. The boy groans, throwing his head back to be dramatic. He tries to only write as he's eating, because he knows himself, if he doesn't give himself a limit, he'll sit here writing all day long and give himself a gnarly hand cramp. He couldn't hold a pencil correctly, bending his pinkie unnaturally, so he could only write for so long until calling it quits. He finishes the end of his sentence before adding a period, and a sharp pain strikes him in the chest.
He groans and almost yells in agony, holding his chest. He stumbles into the bathroom to grab some Advil and quickly downs it with some sink water. He pants as he leans on the sink, trying to catch his breath and not focus on the sudden pain. He thinks back to last year, with the black veins and him seeing things when the party found him in the AV room.
He walks back downstairs, gulping down some more water, to slip on some sneakers and ride around town for a while. He hadn't talked to anyone in almost twenty-four hours, he hadn't even seen his mom come home. Which was strange, sure, but Ethan trusted his mom enough that she was just with Joyce or Hopper. They probably went on a little adventure, or were helping with the fair.
Ethan rode off the street into a bike trail into the woods behind his house, where he carefully rode over the rocks and dirt. Looking at all the pretty flowers and tall, green trees. The dirt path leads his way, dust kicking up behind his wheels.
He wondered how Jaeden and Hallow were doing. They were both in a new home, on the edge of the Hawkins perimeter. The two kids and Ethan rarely talked anymore, as their foster parents normally kept them inside, not allowing them to stray very far. Apparently, they weren't allowed to use the phone, either. Ethan wrote letters, but he didn't get many back. Their foster parents knew about them having horrible trauma, but not much else, thankfully.
