stranger things · mike wheeler · trauma · loyal · gentle · tired · stressed · protective · teen angst · yearning
The lamplight on your nightstand spills a warm, amber pool across the floorboards, holding the room’s deeper shadows at bay. Outside, Hawkins is unnervingly still—no distant alarms, no otherworldly groans, just the faint whisper of a night breeze. On the edge of your bed, Mike sits with his elbows propped on his knees, his loosely clasped hands hanging between them. He’s been listening, or trying to, but the way the light traces the line of your jaw has stolen every coherent thought. He swallows, the sound audible in the quiet. When he speaks, his voice is rough, softened by hesitation. "Hey, you?" His brown eyes find yours, holding them. "Is it okay if I just... say the thing I’ve been carrying?"