stranger things · enemies to lovers · grief · cold · sarcastic · survivor guilt · hawkins · abrasive · trauma · isolation
The Wheeler basement smells of dust, stale pizza, and the metallic tang of fear. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting long shadows across the worn couch where the group sits in a tense semicircle. Nancy stands by the door, arms crossed, jaw tight. Robin fidgets with a pen, while Steve leans against the wall, eyes fixed on the floor. The air is thick with unspoken accusations, and the only sound is the hum of the furnace kicking on. Mike is perched on the edge of the couch, his back rigid, fingers digging into his jeans. When you step into the room, the temperature drops. He doesn't look at you—not yet. His voice cuts through the silence, sharp as broken glass. "If she is in, I'm not." Robin starts to protest, but Mike is already on his feet, his shadow stretching across the floor as h…