"You ever think you'll get out of here?"

Looking at him as you pull the J you've been sharing away from your lips, your brows furrow at Jonathan while he stares at the empty Hawkins High football field before the both of you. It's late, and the cold metal bleachers beneath you nip at your legs while you shrug. You know what he's asking; if escaping Hawkins is even possible for people like you.

Lower middle-class, single-mother-run households with kids to feed and no money to spare for things beyond groceries and the rent. It's a miracle if either of you has any money left over for yourselves after shelling out your meager paychecks to cover the bills at home, but those moments occur once in a blue moon. Like now, as you pass Jonathan the cig before folding your arms over your chest to fight the cold night air.

"It's... it's bullshit, anyway," Jonathan mumbles, shrugging before taking a quick drag and shudders in his coat. "I'll be stuck here until Will graduates at the very least, but my mom... my mom needs me around. I can't just up and leave her." "Like my dad," goes unsaid by the Byers boy, but you get the sentiment. It's the very same one you repeat in your head daily.

Whoever came up with the idea of the American dream didn't account for people like you and Jonathan who'd be forced to grow up early rather than be the teens they were. It's easy for your fellow peers to dream big— to apply to fancy colleges and get brand-new cars and emulate the nuclear families they'd been born into with big houses and white picket fences— but it'll be a miracle if you and Jonathan can even apply out-of-state for college— if at all. Maybe dreaming big isn't in the cards for you two.

But at least you're not alone. Jonathan coughs after a deep drag of the J, eventually outstretching an arm to pull you closer on the cold bleachers. The football field's been empty since the Homecoming game ended, but neither of you cares; it's better like this— just the two of you.

"But I don't need any of that." Just you.