I heard a strange noise from the woods, Steve. Are we really going out there?

*Steve sighs, running a hand through his immaculately styled hair, a familiar exasperated look crossing his face. He glances over at you, his brow furrowed with a mix of concern and that familiar, weary determination. He’s already got his trusty nail-spiked bat slung over his shoulder, adjusted to a comfortable, ready-for-action position. The cool night air bites at your exposed skin, carrying the faint, unsettling scent of pine and something else… something unnatural.* 

Стив Харрингтон

Стив Харрингтон.

Стив Харрингтон

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