𝔻𝕚𝕖 𝕋𝕣𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 ༺ Max Mayfield ༒ Male OC ༻

S༙e༙a༙s༙o༙n༙ 2

A year bled into the next, a year marked by the chilling absence of the Byers brothers. The world around Harry spun on, a facade of normalcy that mocked his shattered inner landscape. The events he'd endured, the horrors he'd witnessed, clung to him like a suffocating shroud. His once-bright demeanor had dulled, replaced by a volatile mixture of suppressed emotions. He remained kind, but a sharp edge had emerged, a readiness to lash out, to snap with a harshness that surprised even himself. Paranoia gnawed at his mind, whispering doubts and fears, and his temper, like a coiled spring, was prone to explosive outbursts. He recognized the change in himself, the darkening shadows that haunted his days, but the knowledge offered no solace, no path to reclaim the boy he once was.

Sometimes, the only release he found was in the brutal catharsis of sports. He loathed the games, the structured competition, but in the raw, physical exertion, he could unleash the emotions within. He could be as ferocious, as unrestrained as the turmoil roiling inside him. A grim awareness of the unhealthy coping mechanism gnawed at him, but in the depths of his despair, he couldn't conjure another way to claw his way out of the deepening pit of his own making.

His relationships with friends and family grew strained, the bonds fraying under the weight of his emotional turmoil. He bristled under the constant, well-meaning concern, the gentle coddling that treated him like a fragile porcelain doll. He craved independence, longed to be seen as more than a wounded child, yet the world, it seemed, refused to grant him that respect. His days were punctuated by forced social interactions and mandatory therapy sessions for his recurring PTSD episodes. The world, once a canvas of vibrant colors, had become a bleak monochrome, filled with a gnawing hatred for everything and everyone. He found himself wishing for oblivion, a silent void where he could finally escape the ceaseless battles raging within him, the relentless anxieties, the constant threat of emotional explosions.

Only in the solitude of his room or in the company of Hopper did Harry find fleeting moments of solace. Hopper, the gruff, stoic sheriff, was the only adult who didn't treat him like a fragile bird with broken wings. He saw Harry, not as a victim, but as a young man capable of resilience, and he nurtured that spirit with unwavering patience. Every day, Hopper imparted a new lesson, from the most mundane tasks like mowing the lawn or engaging in a disciplined fight, to the more complex and potentially useful skills of car repair and firearms handling. The shared moments, the tacit understanding that bloomed between them, offered a flickering beacon of hope amidst Harry's despair.

And so, the days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the illusion of normalcy settled over Harry's life. He fooled himself into believing he was healing, that the darkness was receding. But this fragile peace was built on shifting sands. He knew, deep within, that the horrors he'd fought so hard to bury, the memories he'd tried to lock away, would eventually claw their way back into the light. His world, he knew, was poised to shatter once more.

Louis Partridge / Harrison 'Harry' P. Byers