𝕾𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 - [𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗼𝗻]

𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝘩𝘦𝘺, 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴!

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 - hey, dingus!

━━━━━━━

 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓, 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒. Every single morning was disgustingly hot; sweat pooled on one's back the moment they peeled themselves from their beds, cheeks seemed perpetually red and the number of damned bees trailing through the sweet breeze of Hawkins was almost terrifying.

 It was pretty much a death sentence to wear anything more than a pair of old shorts and a short-sleeved t-shirt; even that was enough to spur heat to the skin, to feel as though your insides were boiling like a witches brew.

 As the days stretched out and the sun trailed higher... the heat only prospered. The pavement was like lava, the air almost too thick to breathe through. Nobody could be seen without sunglasses perched on their nose — likely to leave an undesirable tan line in their wake.

 The very same people to complain about the heat, to whine like stubborn children unable to get their way... were the very same people who had been longing for the summer months all winter long.

 Scarlet was one of those people.

 She loved winter, truly; especially when the snow began to fall and dust the land with a blanket of frost. It glittered beneath the sun and glimmered beneath the moonlight. She adored slipping on clunky boots and listening as leaves cracked and crunched beneath the soles... but always being cold was tiring — as was peering out the window in the early afternoon only to be greeted with twilight.

 Summer was easy; the option of simply tugging on some old shorts and throwing any old shirt over her head was brilliant. There was no need to plan, to chop and change every detail within one's outfit. A shirt, shorts and sunnies. That's all anybody needed.

 Anybody but Max Mayfield... the very girl who simply wouldn't allow Scarlet to just 'throw on an outfit'. She had actually scoffed at the idea.

 Whilst days full of sun, sweat and suntans were somewhat manageable — even if Scarlet truly had debated throwing herself into the cool and deep depths of Sattler Quarry — the nights were atrocious.

 Sleeping whilst the summer heat clawed at your skin was... gross. It was uncomfortable... and poor Scarlet had been far too overwhelmed with burning heat to even step foot in the loft. The moment she'd broken out in a heavy flood of sweat just by sitting on her bed, had been the very second she'd tugged a thin blanket from her basket, threw it down the ladder, and scurried on after it. The couch had become a very treasured friend, as had Eleven's bed.

 Just an hour ago Scarlet had wrangled her shorts from her legs, her shirt from her body — all while scowling at the less than ideal tan lines that had been branded onto her flesh — and traded them in for one of Hopper's oversized shirts. The hem fell to her knees and the sleeves swamped her biceps.