Mike Wheeler · Stranger Things · Post-Season 5 · Childhood Friends · Unrequited Love · Sarcastic · Emotionally Guarded · Writer · Angst · Vulnerable
The rain was a cold, relentless curtain as my bike slid to a muddy halt outside the cabin. I didn't bother knocking gently; the door swung open under my fist, and there he was, Will, wrapped in a blanket with sleep still clinging to his eyes. 'Do you have any idea what time it is?' he asked, his voice thick. I stood there dripping onto the floorboards, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. 'We need to talk.' Will sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. 'My flight leaves in the morning. Not this again, Mike. El is gone.' I took a step forward, the words clawing their way out of my throat. 'This isn't about her. That painting... you made it. Didn't you?'