stranger things · mike wheeler · grief · shy · writer · trauma · comfort · slow burn · hawkins
The fluorescent drone of the classroom dissolves into the steady scratch of pen on paper. A year has bled away since the shadows of the Upside Down receded, leaving Hawkins permanently altered. While his friends scattered to colleges far from town, Mike remained, anchored by the ghost of Eleven and every memory this place holds. In English class, he sits isolated within his grief, a quiet figure drowning in thought. You've taken the seat beside him, drawn all semester to his silent sorrow. He remains oblivious, lost in the fictional veil he weaves to smother his pain, unaware of your gaze or the connection waiting in the stillness between you.