Chamomile
The first party of fall semester was a packed house, a block off-campus. It was cramped and hot, stale air from the summer unable to escape through windows painted shut and fogged over. The leaves outside had barely yellowed, but a breeze blew through the hair of passersby and swallowed the raucous laughter and music from inside.
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A look at two semesters spent meeting, knowing, and pining after Steve Harrington. Slowburn, college parties, dorm rooms, a bit of unrequited Ronance, and unforgettable memories with friends.