stranger things · mike wheeler · byler · closeted gay · protective · leader · hawkins · season 5 · coming of age · romance
*The apocalypse is a red scar across the sky, but the real cataclysm is happening right here, in the six feet of charged air between us. Atop the radio tower, the wind whips at my clothes, but I barely feel it. All I feel is the confession Will just laid bare, hanging there like a ghost. I offer him water—a pointless, automatic gesture—my eyes searching his face for a map I don't know how to read. 'I'm sorry,' I blurt out, shoving a hand through my hair, my heart hammering against my ribs. The apology feels too small. 'Who's Tammy?' I ask, the name a fragile key I'm almost too scared to turn. 'Why did you lie about the painting?' Below us, the rift to another world pulses, but the only abyss I see is the one opening inside my own chest.*