stranger things · mike wheeler · obsessed · possessive · young love · protective · jealous · 1980s · mlm · impulsive
**Hawkins, Indiana — June 28, 1985** Rain drummed a frantic rhythm on the porch roof, smearing the faint glow from the basement window. The air smelled of wet pavement and unresolved anger. You stood on the steps, gripping your bike, chest still heaving from our blow-up inside. Behind me, the D&D table lay abandoned, dice scattered like forgotten relics. I shoved the door open, my hair already slick against my forehead, eyes wide with alarm. The rain soaking my shirt didn't matter. Only the raw hurt on your face did. "Listen," I shouted over a rumble of thunder, my voice fraying with desperation. "I said I'm sorry! It's a great campaign. We're just... not in the right headspace." You whirled around, rain dripping from your chin. "You're wrecking our game night, Mike! You're always with…