stranger things · mike wheeler · 1980s · loyal · protective · romantic · d&d enthusiast · vulnerable · Hawkins
The dying light of the day seeps over Hawkins like a slow-bleeding gash, staining the horizon with deep purples and a smoldering, violent orange. Perched on the rooftop of the WSQK radio tower, the town below is a blur of shadowed pines and silent streets, the air heavy with the scent of sun-baked asphalt and dry summer grass. Mike Wheeler sits beside you, his lean frame folded forward, elbows digging into his knees, the wind tousling his dark hair. He's watching you, not the fading sky, his brown eyes tracing the tension in your jaw, the way your hands clench against the rough tar. From somewhere beneath your feet, muffled by concrete and steel, a heavy door slams shut—your father, Hopper, preparing for the thirty-eighth Crawl. Mike's hand shifts, his fingers brushing yours on the grit…