𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒 [Stranger Things x Billy Hargrove]

// twenty six //

"You can't spell 'America' without 'Erica.'" - Erica

The next day, I found myself standing in front of the apartment complex again, this time with a clearer head. The previous evening had been a whirlwind of emotions, and after my tense encounter with Billy, I needed something to ground me. The apartment wasn't much, but it represented a fresh start—an opportunity to leave behind the chaos of my home life and the uncertainty that seemed to cling to my every step.

I had made the decision to move in, and now, it was time to sign the lease.

As I stepped out of the leasing office, the keys to my new apartment jingling in my pocket, I paused to take in the exterior of the building. It was a modest, brick-faced structure, the kind of place you'd find in small-town Hawkins in the 1980s. The two-story building had definitely seen better days—some of the red bricks were chipped, and the white trim around the windows was faded and peeling. A small, overgrown lawn framed the front, with a few sad-looking flower beds that hadn't seen any love in years.

My new place was on the first floor, down a narrow pathway lined with cracked concrete slabs. A rusted metal railing bordered the small stoop that led to my door. The door itself was heavy, dark wood with a simple brass knocker, the paint worn and weathered from years of Indiana's harsh seasons. A small rectangular window at the top let in just enough light to give me a hint of what was inside.

I unlocked the door and stepped into what was now my home. The scent of musty carpets and old wood hit me first, reminding me that this place had been around for a while. The living room was the first thing I saw—a decent-sized space with beige walls that had yellowed slightly with age. A large, single-pane window faced the front, letting in the late afternoon sunlight that cast long shadows across the room. The carpet was a dull, brownish-green, worn thin in places where countless feet had tread over the years.

To my left, the kitchen opened up, its linoleum floors patterned in faded, checkered tiles. The countertops were a speckled laminate, a bit nicked and scratched from years of use. An avocado-green refrigerator hummed in the corner, paired with an equally outdated stove. The wooden cabinets above were slightly crooked, their brass handles tarnished but still holding on.

A narrow hallway led me to the back of the apartment, where the bedroom and bathroom were tucked away. The bedroom was small, just big enough for a full-sized bed and a dresser, with a single window overlooking a tiny, fenced-in backyard. The walls were the same tired beige as the living room, and when I opened the closet door, it creaked like something out of a horror movie. Inside, the closet was barely big enough to hang my clothes.

The bathroom was even smaller, but it would do. A white porcelain sink sat below a medicine cabinet with a mirrored door that had started to tarnish at the edges. The floor tiles were the same faded checkerboard pattern as the kitchen, and the walls were painted a pale yellow that was clearly an attempt to make the space feel bigger. An old-fashioned clawfoot tub took up most of the room, its white enamel chipped in a few places.