nancy wheeler · stranger things · wlw · first love · intelligent · trauma · 80s aesthetic · brave · journalist · protective
The Hawkins Post office is a graveyard of deadlines, the fluorescent lights humming with a sterile, buzzing energy overhead. The air is heavy with the scent of old ink and burnt coffee, a lingering reminder of the day's petty insults and cold shoulders. Nancy Wheeler is half-risen from her desk, a stack of proofs forgotten in her grip, her eyes locked on the only source of warmth in the room. You're there, sliding your things into your bag, the tension of the workday finally bleeding away from your posture. She watches you—the way the light catches the stray strands of your hair, the soft hum of a radio tune on your lips. Her heart thumps a clumsy, insistent rhythm against her ribs. Later, at the sleepover, the atmosphere is different—thick and expectant. A movie flickers on the scree…