Eli opened his eyes, confused by a strange sensation. Yet something felt off from the start.
He froze for a second, scared that moving at all might break the thin peace around him. Not once did his heart pound. No pressure sat on his ribs. Breathing came without effort.
It hit me after a moment - why that feeling seemed strange.
He'd dozed off. For real. Just drifted away.
The blanket felt cozy, while the mattress gave way beneath his weight. Not a cot - this time it's an actual bed. His own, sort of, at least until things change. Light sneaked past thin curtains, painting everything in pale yellow tones. No noise around except that constant fridge sound from another room, along with occasional groans from old floorboards adjusting.
His mind jumped toward fear like it always did.
What's making everything so silent?
Are they mad?
Did I do something wrong?
So is this the part where she says I have to leave?
Yet rather than looping tight, they floated off - like smoke thinning into air.
Not wiped out - more like shifted. Toned down.
A system kick-in. Quiet. Soft - kinda like someone touching his shoulder.
He sat up, wiping his eyes. Then saw his old clothes - folded by the foot of the bed. That stopped him cold. Nobody'd ever done something like this before. Most times, if he didn't watch his things, they just vanished.
A tap came at the door - two quick hits.
"Hey… you up?" Marcy's words came in slow, gentle - kinda like sunlight on carpet - he hadn't felt anything like it before.
Eli swallowed. "Yeah."
The door shifted slightly. Marcy slipped her head inside, flashing a sorry-looking grin. "Hey, morning - didn't mean to crash in here; just wondering if you felt like eating."
Hungry.
The reply? Always a nod.
Yet craving stuff could get you into trouble.
"I'm okay," he muttered.
Marcy blinked, then her smile softened. "Okay. Breakfast is on the table whenever you want it. No rush. Today's all about settling in."
She began shutting the door, paused briefly, then said in a low voice:
"And Eli? I'm glad you're here."
He wasn't sure how to handle those words. They hit his heart like something sinking fast through liquid - cold, slow, dragging. Way too much weight. Felt way too real.
Marcy walked off - no reply needed, anyway. He had air to catch.
Eli got up from bed, slow and careful. His feet touched the carpet - that was new. No chill, no grit, nothing rough underfoot. The place had been cleaned lately. Maybe someone actually looked after things here.
He ran his fingers along the windowsill, following the cracked paint, keeping steady.
He stayed still. Nobody shouted. Nothing dangerous happened.
Just a morning.
A real morning.
Downstairs, the noise of plates clinking mixed with a distant radio voice - someone yammering on about nothing special. Just everyday stuff. Yet it hit him oddly, like a dull ache from something he'd forgotten how to recognize.
He moved into the hall. Under his foot, the wood groaned. Right then, he stopped - no breath, eyes wide open.
He's just sitting there, expecting a yell 'cause he's making noise.
Nothing happened.
A hush slid through the system again, brushing past him. Stillness followed - his body eased up without thinking.
He made his way down the stairs, holding tight to the rail. When he got to the last step, Marcy looked up from cooking - her expression brightened, like she genuinely cared he was there.
"Good timing," she said. "I just made eggs."
He settled down slow, kind of deliberate-like. As if worried the seat would crack or someone'd yell at him for slouching. Still, Marcy didn't gawk, size him up, or act strange. Just slid a plate his way like it happened every day.
He glanced at it, sort of paused. Seemed... alright - clean, maybe even cozy.
"Keep going," she said softly.
Eli grabbed the fork. Right away, that first bite brought a jolt - salty, rich with butter, plus another flavor he couldn't pin down. Actual home-cooked meals just never seemed real when you started eating.
Marcy saw his response yet stayed quiet about it - she understood when to step back. While some might push, she chose patience instead.
Midway through eating, the phone beeped. She muttered sorry, then stepped away to reply. He caught bits by accident.
"Oh, hi, Jim… Mm-hm… Yes, he's doing just fine… Slept through the night. He's quiet, but that's normal, right? … Of course. Swing by whenever."
Hopper.
Eli's chest felt tight - though not as much as it normally did.
The system didn't block the feeling - just stopped it from spreading out. It held back the overflow without killing the spark.
When Marcy came back, she didn't bring up the call at all - instead, she said:
"Got any plans today?"
Eli gave a quick no with his head.
"Well," she said softly, "how about we get you some clothes? If you're comfortable with that."
Clothes. Not someone else's - his.
He glanced at the big shirt they'd handed him back at the station.
He glanced over his shoulder toward her.
Marcy stayed back. She held off instead. Quietly, she paused - patience he couldn't grasp anyway.
"...Alright," he said softly at last.
Her grin felt cozy - never too much. Not flashy, just honest. A little warmth went a long way.
"Alright then," she said. "Finish eating, sweetheart. We've got a big day."
Eli gave a small nod, eyes fixed on his plate, while the cozy heat from the room slowly soaked in.
At last, after getting to Hawkins, tomorrow seemed less scary.
It seemed doable.