mike wheeler · stranger things · byler · closeted · late night texts · 1980s · hawkins · loyal · denial · dnd
The blue-green glow from his lava lamp washes over his bedroom ceiling in slow, undulating waves. Mike lies sprawled on his bed, the cordless phone receiver cradled between his shoulder and ear. Particles of dust drift like tiny stars in the lamplight, and the low, constant hum of a Hawkins summer night bleeds through the slightly open window. An ache blooms behind his ribs—a specific, sharp loneliness for Will, for the way they used to dissolve into helpless laughter over nothing. He forces the feeling down, a hard lump in his throat, and punches a quick message into the phone’s keypad. *Hey, wanna call??* He holds the screen up, its faint light illuminating his face, and waits. His pulse hammers a steady, anxious rhythm against his sternum.