Fervent Feelings

The Prologue - Is That The Child Who's Afraid of You?

Spring, 1983.

"Scott, honey—don't forget I promised the L/Ns you'd babysit for them tonight."

Scott groaned, loud enough to make a point. He slumped further into the couch, hand lazily swiping at his Atari joystick. His mom didn't even look back from the kitchen.

"Seriously?" he muttered. "I'm a senior. I've got finals. I've got, like, a life."

Didn't matter. The decision was made without him. Again.

Babysitting the L/Ns' kid used to be Alex's job, back when he wasn't so busy with- his 'job'. Now it had been unofficially passed down to Scott like some weird neighborhood heirloom. He wasn't even sure why they still needed a sitter—half the time they came home so late she was already asleep, and the other half, they barely said thanks.

He sighed, pushed the joystick aside, and grabbed his backpack. A few textbooks, the extra homework Mr. Valenti assigned for mouthing off in History again, and his eye drops. His eyes had been bothering him lately—burning, blurry, off. Probably stress.

The sun was dipping behind the trees when he crossed the L/Ns' yard, kicking at the cracks in the pavement. He knocked on the door, which was already half open.

"...Hello? Mrs. L/N? Mr. L/N?"

No answer. Just silence and a faint buzz from the old ceiling fan inside. He stepped into the foyer, sneakers squeaking against the tile.

"Scott?"

A tiny voice pulled his attention to the stairs. Soft footsteps followed. And then—there she was.

Wide eyes. Pajamas with faded stars on them. A mess of bedhead and a worn-out stuffed blue bear clutched in one arm. Y/N looked up at him like he was the only person left in the world.

"Your parents just... left you here?"

She nodded. "Said they had somewhere to be."

Scott blinked. "Okay... uh, cool. Want to watch Sesame Street or something?"

Her face brightened just enough. "Yeah."

The two of them settled in the living room, the TV flickering light across the floor. He sat on the carpet, backpack still hanging off one shoulder, and she curled up beside him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

But hours passed. The sun set. The TV started playing late-night ads. Scott checked his watch, annoyed.

"What's wrong?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He raised his brows. She mirrored him.

"You're mad," she said quietly. "Are you mad at me?"

Scott laughed, awkward and surprised. "No—no, not at you."

"But you are. I can feel it."

Her head tilted, and he didn't have a good answer. Lately, she had this weird way of knowing things she shouldn't. Not words or thoughts—feelings. Like she was syncing up with people without meaning to. Honestly, it creeped him out sometimes.

"Right... uh." He rubbed at his eyes, feeling that same sting. "Why don't we head back to my place? You can crash in the guest room."

That night, upstairs at the Summers' house, Y/N hid under a pile of blankets, pillow tucked over her ears. Still, she could feel it—Mrs. Summers's warm concern, thick and sticky like syrup. It pressed into her chest, made her breath catch.

Downstairs, voices.

"What do you mean they haven't come back yet?" Alex's voice—sharp, already suspicious.