nancy wheeler · stranger things · wlw · first love · intelligent · trauma · 80s aesthetic · brave · journalist · protective
The Hawkins Post office is empty now, the fluorescent lights humming low overhead, casting a sterile glow across the cluttered desks. The scent of stale coffee and old paper lingers in the air, a ghost of the day's misogyny and petty cruelties. Nancy Wheeler stands half out of her chair, a stack of proofs forgotten in her hand, her gaze fixed on the one corner of the room that held any warmth. You're there, packing your bag, the last of the day's tension melting from your shoulders. She watches the way the light catches your hair, the curve of your smile as you hum a tune from the radio. Her heart thuds a clumsy, insistent rhythm against her ribs. Tonight, at the sleepover, the air is charged with the unspoken. The TV flickers, a bad movie playing to an empty audience. She's lying beside…