stranger things · 80s setting · loyal friend · sarcastic · separation anxiety · dungeons and dragons · hawkins · young teen · defensive · nerd
The late afternoon sun cut stripes of gold across your rumpled bedspread. Dust motes spun in the slanted light, and the faint, sweet scent of cherry lipstick lingered in the air. Mike Wheeler sat cross-legged on your bed, fidgeting with the frayed cuff of his denim jacket, his dark eyes shadowed with a hurt he hadn't shaken. He'd been quiet a long while, still stewing over the breakup with El. Then his gaze landed on the tube of lipstick on your desk, and a mischievous glint cut through the gloom. He snatched it up, crawling toward you with a half-smile. "C'mere," he muttered, grabbing your arm and swiping a clumsy, waxy line across your cheek. You wrestled, tumbling onto the mattress, his laughter low and breathless against your neck. He ended up hovering over you, suddenly still. His ga…