Tuesday didn't feel important when it started.
That was the problem.
It came in soft, gray skies holding back rain - the sort of morning in Hawkins that slipped by unnoticed. Eli paid attention when things stayed still. When noise made its entrance, it never hid. Silence showed up while you looked away.
He opened his eyes ahead of the alarm, fixed on the ceiling like it held an answer. A beat passed - then another - without the usual weight behind his ribs. Stillness sat close, unhurried. Not peace exactly, but near enough. Some unnamed shift lingered in the air, just out of reach.
Just stillness. A quiet pause instead of panic.
Decision.
He tumbled from bed, pulled clothes on, shuffled through the motions like muscle memory taking over. Below, Marcy sat at the kitchen table, pages turning slow while static hummed under her fingers.
"You're up early," she said.
Cold sheets. Wide eyes. Eli said he'd been awake - truth bent at the edges.
She watched him - just a beat - then dipped her chin. "Ten minutes till the bus."
Eli dumped cereal into a bowl, ears caught by the hushed mumbles crackling through the radio. Another search update crawled by - familiar lines, worn down now, like fabric rubbed raw from too much washing.
Normal had edges.
He finished eating, wiped the dish clean, then pulled on his coat.
"Have a good day," Marcy said.
I'll try, Eli said - really meant it this time.
⸻
School carried that same in-between feeling.
Not tight. Yet not loose either. Simply still.
Mike stood by his locker, Lucas beside him, when Eli walked up. Dustin launched into complaints about a math quiz - hadn't even paused for breath. One thought tumbled into the next, loud and messy.
"I'm telling you, there was no way we covered that," he said.
"We did," Lucas replied. "You just weren't listening."
"That's not the same thing."
Eli propped himself by the metal cubby next to theirs, sinking into the rhythm of voices bouncing around.
Mike looked his way. "Everything alright?"
"Yeah," Eli said. "Just tired."
Mike gave a small nod, letting it rest there - no pressure, just space. This felt unfamiliar. Back then, he would have pushed, probed deeper. But now? He waited, quiet, sure Eli would find his voice when the moment came.
They got through class without much fuss. When his name was called, Eli spoke up, though he paid no mind to the sideways glances from classmates still puzzling him out. Over time, he slipped into the rhythm of the day, there but unseen, like a hum beneath louder voices.
Over lunch, by the window seats, he waved his hands while spilling stories about some arcade legend - supposed top score flying through town. One bite in, eyes lit, words tumbled faster than forks.
"No way it's real," Lucas said. "That machine glitches."
"Or," Dustin countered, "the guy's just built different."
Eli smirked. "I heard he sold his soul."
Dustin gasped. "See? That's the kind of info you lead with."
They burst into laughter - actual, unfiltered laughter. Not the sort that comes with a silent apology trailing behind it.
There was this flicker - like they'd slipped back into childhood. Not pretend. Real small hands, real scraped knees. Laughter without angles. A pause where nothing heavy showed up yet.
Almost.
⸻
They hadn't meant to look once classes ended.
That marked the second issue to surface.
Mike brought it up anyway, halfway through the walk home. "We could check the creek path. Not deep woods. Just… look."
Lucas hesitated. "We said we'd take today off."
"Yeah," Mike said. "But it's been days."
Eli observed their conversation, saw how the usual rhythm took shape - steady, not wild, not frantic, yet never still.
He held the weight in silence.
The creek path didn't carry danger by itself - near town, open views. Yet it led toward spots that did. Links to elsewhere made the difference.
"We go," Eli said finally, "we keep it short. And we turn back before it gets dark. No exceptions."
Dustin blinked. "Wow. That sounded very authoritative."
"I'm serious," Eli said. "This isn't about bravery. It's about not making things worse."
Mike looked his way, gave a slow nod. "Alright."
Lucas let out a breath. Alright then. Brief
Decision made.
That was the way it unfolded this time. No jump. Simply a move forward.
⸻
The trail along the creek clung to mud after the last freeze, water creeping over rocks with quiet transparency. A sharp wetness hung in the air, laced with iron, while brittle foliage cracked beneath each step.
They moved in a line, one after another, words fading without effort. Close to the front, Eli kept his place - not guiding, yet holding a rhythm that pushed against haste.
He scanned the woods for signs - snapped twigs, footprints out of place, stuff that felt off. No clear clues showed up right away.
"Feels different today," Dustin muttered.
Different how? Mike said, voice tipping sideways.
"Quieter."
Eli nodded. "Because we're listening."
At the curve where the stream tightened, the flow picked up pace. Eli held back, lowering himself by the rim. His gaze dragged along the muck, catching a thin break in the soil - a line that sliced through the bank, vanishing into thick weeds opposite.
Not fresh.
Yet still young enough to care.
"We stop here," he said.
Lucas frowned. "Why?"
"Because whatever made that," Eli replied, nodding toward the mark, "didn't come from town."
Mike held his gaze there, just breathing. His spine lifted, slow but sure. Fine
No doubt about it. Yet questions linger beneath the surface.
They turned back.
Halfway out, Dustin broke the silence. "You ever think about how weird it is that we're listening to you?"
Eli glanced over. "You don't have to."
"I know," Dustin said. "That's why it's weird."
Eli stayed quiet - no reply came. He just stood there, words missing, like they'd vanished mid-thought.
Perhaps he got by without it.
⸻
Training that evening was… different.
Hopper came empty-handed - no pads strapped on, no gloves tucked under his arm.
He just told Eli to stand.
"Close your eyes," Hopper said.
Eli did.
"Don't move unless you have to."
Eli frowned slightly. "That's not how this usually goes."
"Humor me."
Hopper drifted around him, pace measured. Eli tuned into each breath, the faint crunch beneath footsteps, a change in the air when Hopper neared - then slipped back again.
A push against his shoulder, slight yet startling.
Eli tripped - paused - a shift in stance, balance regained. Footsteps recalibrated mid-stride. A breath. Then forward again.
"Again."
This time, the touch landed nearer - low on his side. Eli turned from habit, shifting his balance but holding his stance.
Hopper stopped.
"Good," he said. "You didn't fight it."
They kept doing it again, each time without warning - shoves this way, taps that. Pressure would hit from somewhere unexpected, some angle Eli never saw coming.
It wasn't about defense.
It was about recovery.
By the end, Eli trembled under a slick coat of sweat, each breath ragged and uneven. Not the usual ache from pushing through effort - this felt older, buried beneath bone. His mind frayed at the edges, yet still holding on. A quiet hum ran under his skin, persistent, foreign.
Hopper passed over a bottle of water. He was improving - fewer stumbles now, more balance each time
Eli drained the glass slow. "Huh… never heard that one before."
Hopper shrugged. "Falling's easy. Staying up takes work."
They left without a word, bags already stuffed.
When Eli turned to go, Hopper broke the quiet. "A phone rang earlier - your name was on it."
Eli paused. "What?" "Creek path," Hopper said. "You stopped them."
Eli tensed up a notch. "Where'd you get - "
"Small town," Hopper replied. "I hear things."
Eli waited.
"You did right," Hopper said. "Just remember - every time you decide something for other people, it weighs a little more."
Eli gave a slow nod. I understand, he said without words
"Good," Hopper said. "Then you'll be careful with it."
⸻
That night, Eli lay awake longer than usual.
Still, not fidgety - just caught in thought.
About the creek, its quiet pull. The way the others just fell in line, ears open, voices still - so much trust given on silent terms. Stepping into that space felt lighter each time, like slipping on a coat that already fits.
He didn't want to lead.
Yet staying on the sidelines wasn't his aim.
A gap sat there between the options. Thin, like a crack in dry earth. Not easy to stand in. Yet you had to.
Wind brushed the branches, pulling night whispers from where Hawkins exhaled between breaths. Light crept over soil - sluggish beams hunting nothing, touching only shadow.
The timeline hadn't broken yet.
But it was bending. Quietly. Increment by increment.
Eli shut his eyelids tight.
Tomorrow would ask something of him again.
And when it did, he'd decide—carefully—what to carry, and what to set down.