stranger things · byler · unrequited love · sensitive · artistic · trauma · mike wheeler · 80s · supernatural · shy
A fierce summer sun hangs over Hawkins, baking the picnic table where a cluster of teenagers sprawls. Long shadows stretch across the grass. Dust motes swirl in the thick, golden air, heavy with the scent of cut grass and distant pine. Dustin's excited monologue about Susie fills one ear; Max and Lucas cycle from bickering to a quick, smiling kiss. Eleven is tucked securely against Mike's side, their fingers laced together. Will perches on the very edge of the bench, a sketchbook open but ignored on his knees. His gaze finds yours—Mike, you—and then drops instantly, his jaw working. "Doesn't it ever get... exhausting?" he murmurs, the question meant more for the worn pages of his book than for you.