𝔻𝕚𝕖 𝕋𝕣𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 ༺ Max Mayfield ༒ Male OC ༻

M༙A༙D༙M༙A༙X༙

Harry's POV.

My body ached, a dull, numb ache that wouldn't leave. My gaze was fixed on the weird ceiling of my room – that ghastly yellow, like a smoker's cough had stained it a sickly hue. I'd always hated it. Though, I hated a lot of things.

I shifted sluggishly, my eyes falling on the door. Muffled voices drifted from the outside, Mom's and my brothers', likely at dinner or just chatting. Had they excluded me? I didn't know, and honestly, I couldn't blame them if they had. Mom was probably getting weary of my constant mood swings – those unpredictable, uncontrollable storms that raged within me.

I'm sorry for yelling, a silent apology echoed in my mind. Jonathan was probably worn out from our frequent arguments.

My mouth sometimes talks faster than my brain. I'm sorry if I've ever hurt you. A pang of regret pierced me.

And Will's getting tired of my lack of interest in the things we used to share. Those hobbies, once beloved, now felt utterly pointless, boring. I'm sorry for waving you off.

I didn't blame them, not really. I didn't blame anyone who didn't like me. Because the truth was, I didn't like myself either. Lost in this melancholic self-reflection, I was jolted back to reality by the creak of the door opening.

"Oh, sweetie, Will's waiting. We have to go," Mom said, her voice laced with her usual sweetness. Her hand gently stroked my hair, a tender gesture that never failed to surprise me. She was so kind, so warm, as if our near-daily arguments never happened.

I simply nodded, pushing myself up from the bed. "Uh, yeah..." I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper. I grabbed my worn-out Nike Blazers and slipped them on, then followed Mom out of the room.

We said a quick goodbye to Jonathan and piled into Mom's car. My head leaned against the window, my eyes drinking in the passing trees. Sometimes, I felt like something was hidden within them, watching me, dissecting me. The doctors called it the anniversary effect, but I didn't believe them. I knew something was out there, watching, waiting.

Lost in thought once more, I barely noticed the car pulling up outside the arcade.

Mom handed Will and me some coins, her voice laced with a familiar warning. "Don't bike or walk alone again." It was annoying, the constant worry. I was perfectly capable of looking after myself and Will, had proven it for almost a week. But arguing with Mom was the last thing I wanted; I was too tired to fight.

I stepped out of the car alongside Will and joined the others at the arcade – Mike, Lucas, and Dustin.

I handed all my quarters to Will, my enthusiasm for the games long gone. I wasn't very good, not like I was at Cheyenne thanks to Hopper.

The group huddled around Dustin as he wrestled with Dragons' Lair, a notoriously difficult game, full of unpredictable twists and turns. Dustin's frustration boiled over when he finally lost, and Lucas, with his infuriating smirk, couldn't resist making fun of him. "Not nimble enough," he chuckled, the sound grating on my nerves.

Dustin shrugged it off, quickly boasting about his high score on Dig Dug.

"You sure about that?" a voice drawled from behind us. Keith, the arcade manager. I didn't really know him, didn't care much for him, honestly. He was awkward and kind of gross, but somehow, we got along. 'Freaks get along with freaks,' he'd once said, a statement I found strangely fitting.

"Sure about what?" Dustin asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. Keith simply crunched on a Cheeto, his gaze flicking towards the Dig Dug machine – a silent, yet potent message: someone had stolen Dustin's top score. My curiosity was piqued.