Hellloooo hereâs our first post on here just wanted to introduce us and the whole point of the page.
Me and my best friend made this page, we are just going to post about our days maybe talk about whatâs going on in our lifeâs, think about this as a reference to anyone going to live at college or living at home and going to college.
Basically I just wanted somewhere to talk about whatâs goes on in my life and all the stupid drama and the life i live. so welcome.
Also if you have anyyy questions about life, school, anything u can always ask us im so honest it hurts sometimes.
This page will be so much more put together at some point. Itâs the start of second sem and i will get it together at some point.
i literally love stuff like this bc i love seeing school through other peoples eyes and opinions its so fun and i love blogs god i just love girls so much
*plot takes place during season 4 however we used season 5 Mike for what he looks like so for his face/hair/outfits/etc. For all intensive purposes all characters are 18+* this was written before my girl el gets slimmed out @ch0llies
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Mike doesnât look at me.
He keeps staring out the window.
I donât say anything.
I donât breathe.
I just sit there.
Silent.
Too silent.
Steve glances at me through the mirror. âYou okay back there?â
My fingers curl into my palms.
âPull over,â I say.
âWhat?â Steve asks.
âPull the car over.â
âHey, chillââ
âPull the fucking car over!â I yell suddenly, voice cracking. âPull over! Let me out! Let me the fuck out of this car!â
âWhoa, whoaââ Dustin says. âWhat the hellââ
âY/N, relaxââ Mike starts.
âI said pull over!â I scream.
Steve swears under his breath and jerks the wheel toward the shoulder, gravel spraying as the car stops hard.
Before anyone can react, I shove the door open.
I climb straight over Mikeâs lap, barely registering his hands reaching out for me.
âY/N, waitââ he says.
Iâm already out.
Already running.
I sprint into the trees without thinking, branches whipping at my arms, roots catching my feet. I donât care. I donât stop.
Behind me I hear them.
âY/N!â
âStop!â
âCome back!â
I donât.
I just run â into the dark, into the woods, away from the car, away from the truth, away from the feeling that just hollowed me out.
My lungs burn.
My heart slams.
And I donât know if Iâm running from VecnaâŚ
âŚor from Mike Wheeler.
The farther I run, the darker it gets.
Not just night-dark. Wrong-dark.
The trees stretch taller. Thicker. The air turns heavy, like Iâm breathing through fabric. My feet barely make sound on the ground anymore â like Iâm not even running on dirt.
Then I see them.
The particles.
Tiny black flecks floating in the air like ash. Like spores. Like dust that doesnât fall.
My stomach drops.
Dustin wasnât lying.
âNo,â I whisper.
The clock chimes.
Once.
Deep. Hollow. Loud enough that I feel it in my ribs.
I run faster.
Branches whip at my arms, thorns tear at my skin, but I donât slow down. The chime sounds again.
Closer.
Louder.
I turn my head just long enough to see how far Iâve gone from the road.
I donât see the car.
I donât see lights.
I donât see anything but black.
I turn backâ
And heâs there.
Right in front of me.
I slam into him so hard it knocks the air out of my lungs and throws me backward onto the ground. My vision blurs. My head spins.
He stands over me.
Vecna.
My body goes ice-cold.
I scramble up, panic screaming through me, and turn and run the other way.
âYou canât hide here,â his voice booms â not loud, but everywhere. Inside my skull. In the air. In my bones.
I start screaming their names.
âMike!â
My heart stutters.
âDustin!â
I sob, not even realizing it.
âSteve!â
My legs burn.
âLucas!â
I scream.
âMike!â
Again.
Louder.
I donât know where Iâm running anymore.
I donât know whatâs real.
All I know is heâs behind meÂ
The fog changes color.
Not slowly.
Not naturally.
It bleeds.
Gray melts into red, thick and pulsing like something alive. The air turns warm and wet. My shoes stick to the ground when I walk, like Iâm stepping through something that doesnât want to let go.
The forest isnât a forest anymore.
The trees are wrong â bark peeled back like exposed muscle, branches twisted into jagged shapes that look too much like bones. The leaves drip.
Red vines snake across the ground like veins.
Then I see the stairs.
Floating.
Made of something that looks like bone and stone fused together, rising up into nothing.
My breath comes out in shaky gasps as I climb them.
At the top â
A lair.
A massive, ribbed structure made of stone and sinew and root. Vines wrap around it like a cage.
Inside, floating in the center of the spaceâŚ
The grandfather clock.
Behind it, the ruins of a house â walls broken, furniture smashed, everything warped and decayed like itâs been rotting for years.
Then I see them.
Bodies.
Chrissy.
Fred.
Suspended in the air by thick red tendrils, twisted unnaturally, eyes open and empty, mouths frozen mid-scream.
My stomach flips violently.
âNo,â I whisper.
A voice echoes behind me.
âWhat are you doing here, Y/N?â
I spin around.
Vecna stands across the room.
Tall.
Still.
Watching me like Iâm an insect heâs already decided to pin.
âI didnât mean to,â I say, backing up. âI didnâtâ I was just trying to get away.â
He tilts his head.
âYou cannot run from what you are chosen for.â
I turn and run.
I donât make it three steps.
Something wraps around my ankle.
Hard.
Tight.
Iâm yanked backward so violently I hit the ground and the air punches out of me in a sharp cry.
I claw at the floor as the vine drags me across the room â across bone, across root, across the sticky red surface â pulling me toward one of the broken wooden posts of the ruined house.
âNo, no, noâ pleaseââ I sob.
More vines snap out.
They wrap around my wrists.
My waist.
My shoulders.
They lift me and slam me back against the post, pinning me upright.
My feet barely touch the ground.
I gasp as something coils around my throat â not crushing yet, just tight enough to make me aware of it.
Just tight enough to make me panic.
Vecna steps closer.
Slow.
Measured.
Predatory.
âYou have seen too much,â he says calmly. âYou felt what they felt. You heard what they heard.â
Tears run down my face.
âI donât want this,â I whisper.
His eyes darken.
âNone of them did.â
The vines tighten just a little.
Enough to steal my breath.
Enough to make my vision blur.
Enough to remind me that I am not in control here.
The vine around my throat constricts harder, forcing a sound out of me that isnât a scream â itâs too thin for that â just a broken, wet gasp. I tilt my head back instinctively, trying to steal more air, but it only makes Vecna tighten his grip.
My vision tunnels.
The red fades at the edges into gray.
Then â
A tear opens behind him.
Not like a rip.
Like a wound.
A soft oval of light splits the dark, pulsing faintly, unstable.
And sound leaks through it.
Silver Springs.
Low at first.
Muffled.
Then clearer.
A heartbeat of music.
My heart lurches.
I look past Vecna.
Through the portal.
And I see them.
Mike.
Dustin.
Steve.
Lucas.
Looking down at me.
Not here â not in this place â but over my body.
My real body.
Standing still in the woods.
A pair of headphones pressed over my ears.
A Walkman resting on my chest.
They look terrified.
They look desperate.
They look like theyâre already losing me.
Vecna notices.
He turns his head slowly, studying the light behind him like itâs an inconvenience.
Then he looks back at me.
âThey cannot help you, Y/N,â he says calmly. âThere is a reason you are running from them.â
The vine tightens again.
âYou belong here with me.â
Another vine coils around my throat.
The pressure doubles.
My vision flashes white.
I choke, the sound wet and broken â and force the words out anyway.
âYouâre not really here.â
He pauses.
Then he smiles.
âOh,â he says softly, âbut I am, Y/N. I am.â
His long, spiked fingers rise.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Reaching toward my face.
Toward my eyes.
Toward the place where I feel most like myself.
Behind him, the music gets louder.
The portal pulses brighter.
My body begins to lift â not here, but there â my real body rising off the ground as the others shout my name.
Vecnaâs eyes roll back into his head.
The room trembles.
The vines vibrate like tuning forks.
My chest burns.
My ears ring.
And then â
I feel something pull me.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Like a hook behind my ribs.
Like a hand inside my heart.
Mikeâs voice cuts through the noise.
Not loud.
Not yelling.
Just raw.
Just real.
âY/N. Stay.â
The words hit harder than the vines.
My vision snaps.
The portal flares.
Vecna stiffens.
âNo,â he says sharply.
The vines jerk tighter.
But itâs too late.
The music surges.
I hear them.
Not as sounds.
As anchors.
My name layered over itself.
âY/N.â
âY/N!â
âStay with us.â
Mike.
Steve.
Dustin.
Lucas.
Their voices overlap, distorted, echoing like theyâre calling from underwater.
I close my eyes.
Silver Springs swells in my head.
And I stop fighting.
I let myself remember.
My momâs laugh in the kitchen, the way she used to hum while cooking.
My dad before the bottles â before his eyes got tired and his voice got mean.
The way Hawkins smelled different in the morning.
My room back home.
My old friends.
Then â
Mikeâs face when he first turned around under the streetlight.
The way he looked at me like he wasnât expecting something good to happen anymore.
Dustin cheering when I won the game.
Eddieâs grin.
The way Mike told me, youâre here now â Iâll take care of you.
The way he said it was like a promise.
Not dramatic.
Just real.
My chest tightens.
Not with fear.
With anger.
With clarity.
With no.
My eyes snap open.
The vines around me twitch.
I pull my arm back â
And shove it forward.
Not to destroy.
Not to kill.
Just to break free.
My hand tears through the vine binding me, snapping it apart like wet paper.
Vecna recoils, shrieking â not in pain, but in shock.
The control breaks.
The room stutters.
The air cracks.
I hit the ground hard, lungs burning, but I donât stop.
I scramble up and run.
Toward the light.
Toward the music.
Toward them.
Behind me the world is coming apart.
Vecna lifts his hand and the air shudders. Pieces of the broken house rip free â chunks of concrete, shattered doors, jagged splinters of bone and wood â flying toward me like weapons.
Something slams into my shoulder.
I stumble.
Hit the ground hard.
My palms burn.
I gasp â roll â push myself back up.
Run again.
Another impact grazes my leg. Pain flashes white.
I scream but I donât stop.
The portal glows ahead of me â the only real thing in a place that isnât real.
I trip again.
Get up again.
Vecna doesnât chase.
He watches.
Like heâs waiting to see if Iâll actually make it.
I do.
I throw myself forward â
Into light.
Into sound.
Into nothing.
Everything cuts out.
No color.
No sound.
No weight.
Just black.
For a long, terrifying stretch of time where Iâm not sure I exist.
Then Iâm floating.
Thereâs wind.
Cold air rushing around me.
My arms drift upward like Iâm underwater.
My hair lifts.
Iâm not on the ground.
Iâm above it.
I hear my name echoing upward.
âY/N!â
âY/N!â
âCome back!â
My eyes flutter open.
Iâm suspended in the air above the trees.
Just a few feet.
But enough.
Enough to make my stomach drop.
I gasp sharply â
And gravity snaps back on.
I fall.
Mike catches me.
Hard.
His arms wrap around me mid-drop and pull me into his chest, stumbling back a step but keeping me upright.
âOh my god,â he breathes, voice breaking. âOh my god, I thought I lost you â I thought Iââ
Steve is right there.
Dustin is sobbing.
Lucas is shaking.
Hands grab my arms, my shoulders, grounding me.
The woods are real.
The air is real.
I collapse into Mike and we fall onto the ground.
The Silver Springs Walkman is still playing over my ears.
Mike holds me tighter, forehead pressed to my hair like heâs afraid to let go.
Iâm shaking.
Breathing too fast.
Still half somewhere else.
But I force the words out.
âIâm stillâŚâ I gasp. âIâm still here.â
The words come out broken, barely louder than breath, but they land like something sacred.
Mike lets out a sound thatâs halfway between a laugh and a sob and pulls me tighter, his hands shaking as he cups the back of my head like if he lets go Iâll disappear again.
âYou scared the hell out of me,â he whispers, voice cracking. âYou scared all of us.â
Steve drops to a knee beside us, hands braced on the dirt, chest heaving. âJesus,â he mutters. âYou justâ you were gone.â
Dustin wipes his face hard with his sleeve, not even trying to hide it. âYou were floating, man. Likeâ like a horror movie. We thoughtââ He chokes and stops.
Lucas kneels on my other side, steady and quiet. âYouâre back now,â he says firmly. âThatâs what matters.â
The forest feels different.
Not warm. Not safe. But quieter. Like something pulled away at the last second.
I try to sit up and instantly regret it. My head spins, the world tilts, and Mikeâs arms tighten around me again.
âHeyânope,â he says quickly. âYouâre not going anywhere. Justâjust breathe, okay? Iâve got you.â
His voice shakes on the last word.
I nod weakly, pressing my face into his shoulder. My whole body feels wrongâlike my bones are buzzing, like something scraped through me and left echoes behind.
Steve glances around, tense. âWe need to move. Now. Before Vecna can get her back.â
Dustin nods. âAgreed. And sheâs not walking.â
Mike doesnât argue. He just shifts, sliding an arm under my knees and lifting me carefully into his arms.
I make a weak sound of protest, more reflex than resistance.
âIâm fineââ
âNo,â he says softly but firmly. âYouâre not. And thatâs okay.â
I donât have the energy to argue.
As he carries me through the trees, I rest my head against his chest. His heartbeat is fast and real beneath my ear. Proof. Anchor. Reality.
The world feels far away. Like Iâm still halfway between places.
Steve walks ahead. Dustin and Lucas trail behind, watching every shadow.
And as we move, I realize something that makes my stomach twist in a different way.
The ride back to Mikeâs house is quiet in a way that makes my ears ring.
No one talks. No one even turns the radio on.
Steve drives with both hands locked on the wheel like heâs afraid if he lets go, the whole night will cave in. Dustin sits up front, knees bouncing nonstop. Lucas stares out the window, jaw tight. Mikeâs in the back seat with me, sitting too close but not touching, like heâs afraid Iâll disappear again if he blinks.
Every bump in the road makes my stomach twist.
When we finally pull into Mikeâs driveway, the house looks normal. Warm porch light. Curtains drawn. A place that doesnât know what almost happened.
Steve kills the engine. âOkay,â he says quietly. âEverybody inside. No arguing.â
No one argues.
Inside, the basement feels different than before. Not unsafeâjust heavier. Like the walls remember something they shouldnât.
Mike grabs a blanket from the couch and drapes it around my shoulders without a word. I donât protest. My hands are still shaking.
Dustin paces. âOkay. So. We need a plan before Vecna can take her again, because he almost did this time. We got lucky. â
âNot almost,â Steve says. âHe did. We just got her back.â
Lucas crosses his arms. âSo what now? We take shifts? Nobody sleeps?â
Mike finally speaks. His voice is quiet but steady. âYeah. We take turns. Someoneâs always awake.â
He looks at me then, and for a split second his composure cracks.
âSheâs not being left alone.â
Something tight in my chest loosens.
Robin sits cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a notebook she grabbed from her bag. âWe also need information. Patterns. Weaknesses. Because Vecna is learning.â
âAbout her,â Dustin adds.
The room goes quiet again.
I swallow. âHe knew my fears,â I say softly. âStuff I donât talk about. Stuff I donât think about.â
Mike looks at me sharply. âWhat did he show you?â
I hesitate. Then shake my head. âDoesnât matter. Itâs not real.â
His jaw tightens. âIt mattered to you.â
Silence.
Finally Steve claps his hands once, sharp. âOkay. Hereâs the deal. We rotate. One person stays up with her at all times. No exceptions. If anything weird happensâanythingâyou wake everyone.â
Dustin nods. âIâll take first watch.â
âIâll take second,â Steve adds.
Mike doesnât say anything.
He just sits next to me on the couch, close enough that our shoulders touch. His knee bounces once, then stills.
âIâm staying,â he says finally. âAll night.â
No one argues.
They start setting upâblankets, pillows, lights left on low. A kind of makeshift command center.
I curl into the corner of the couch, exhaustion finally catching up to me. My eyes burn. My body feels heavy, like gravity doubled when I wasnât looking.
Mike sits on the floor beside me, back against the couch, arms folded on his knees.
âYou should sleep,â he murmurs. âWeâve got you.â
I want to say something sarcastic. Something normal.
Instead, my voice comes out small. âIf I start⌠if I say something weirdââ
He shakes his head immediately. âWeâll wake you. Youâre not doing this alone.â
My eyelids flutter.
The last thing I see before sleep takes me is Mikeâs profile in the dim light, eyes fixed on the room, alert, protective.
And somewhere deep in the back of my mind, I feel it.
Waiting.
Watching.
But this time, Iâm not alone.
Sleep drags me under like a hand around my ankle.
Iâm standing in Mikeâs basement again.
But itâs wrong.
The lights flicker, buzzing too loud, too harsh. Shadows cling to the corners of the room like theyâre alive. The air feels thick, pressing against my chest.
âMike?â I call out.
No answer.
I take a step forward.
The floor creaks beneath my feet, stretching too long between steps, like the room is expanding just to mess with me.
Then I see him.
Mike stands near the stairs, his back to me.
Relief floods my chest. âOhâthank God.â
He doesnât turn.
âMike?â I say again.
Slowly, he turns around.
My stomach drops.
His face is wrong. Not disfiguredâworse. Empty. His eyes are hollow, dark, reflecting nothing. His mouth twitches into something that almost looks like a smile.
âYou shouldnât be here,â he says.
The sound of his voice is off. Too flat. Like someone mimicking him without understanding how heâs supposed to sound.
âIâwhat?â I whisper. âWhat are you talking about?â
He tilts his head. âYou donât belong with us.â
The room shifts. The walls stretch taller, closing in.
âI saved you,â he continues calmly. âAnd you ruined everything.â
My chest tightens. âThatâs not true.â
He takes a step closer.
âYouâre always in the way,â he says. âYou show up, and things go wrong. People get hurt.â
The words hit harder than they should.
âThatâs not you,â I say, backing up. âYou wouldnât say that.â
His mouth twitches againâalmost a smile.
âI didnât,â he replies, voice distorting. âBut he would.â
The lights flicker violently.
The walls start bleeding shadows, dripping downward like melted ink.
Behind him, something moves.
A shape stretches up the wall, its outline crawling like a spiderâs shadow.
Vecna.
My stomach twists.
Mikeâs eyes go completely black.
âYou donât belong here,â he says again, but this time the words arenât his.
âTheyâll all be better without you.â
The room tilts violently. I stumble, grabbing for somethingâanythingâand my hand passes straight through him.
Heâs not solid.
He was never real.
The floor cracks open beneath my feet.
I fallâ
âHey. Hey, heyâwake up.â
A hand grips my shoulder. Firm. Real.
I jolt awake with a sharp gasp, heart slamming against my ribs like itâs trying to break out.
My eyes fly open.
Mike is kneeling beside the couch, his face pale, hair messy, eyes wide with panic.
âHey,â he says again, softer now. âYouâre okay. Youâre here.â
I suck in a shaky breath, then another. The room comes back into focusâthe dim lamp, the blankets, the quiet hum of the house.
My hands are shaking.
âIâI wasââ My voice cracks. âI couldnât move.â
âI know,â he says quickly. âYou were breathing fast. You kept saying my name.â
I freeze.
His expression shiftsâconcern mixing with something unreadable.
âYou were scared,â he adds quietly. âItâs okay.â
I sit up slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around myself like armor. My chest still aches, and my eyes sting.
âIâm sorry,â I mutter. âI didnât mean to wake you.â
âYou didnât,â he says immediately. âI was already awake.â
Thereâs a beat of silence. Then another.
The words tumble out before I can stop them.
âI didnât know,â I say, staring at my hands. âAbout⌠her. About you and Eleven.â
Mike stiffens.
My stomach drops. âI meanâI wasnâtâ I didnâtââ I rub my face hard. âI just found out today and now I feel like an idiot. Like I crossed some line or something, I didnât know you had a girlfriend.â
He exhales slowly.
âWe broke up,â he says.
I look up. âWhat?â
He swallows. âBefore she left. The day they moved to California.â
âOh,â I whisper.
âIt wasnât⌠dramatic,â he continues, staring at the floor. âJustâdistance. Misunderstandings. Things changing.â He lets out a quiet, humorless breath. âWe didnât really know how to talk anymore.â
I nod, my chest twisting.
âI didnât know,â I say again. âI swear. I wouldâveââ
âI know,â he interrupts gently. âYou didnât do anything wrong.â
Silence settles between us, heavier now, but different. Softer.
He glances at me. âYouâre not a⌠cheater or whatever your brainâs trying to convince you of.â
I huff out a weak laugh despite myself. âYou donât know what my brainâs capable of.â
He almost smiles.
Then his expression sobers. âYou donât have to carry this stuff alone. Not the nightmares. Not the guilt. Not any of it.â
I swallow. âItâs hard not to.â
âI know.â He hesitates, then adds, quieter, âBut you donât have to be alone right now.â
He shifts slightly, giving me spaceâbut not distance.
After a moment, I lean back against the couch cushions. He sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch again.
I donât pull away.
Outside, the house is silent. No creaks. No shadows. No voices.
Just the steady rhythm of someone breathing beside me.
The silence stretches again after my last words.
Mike shifts beside me, rubbing the back of his neck like heâs trying to find the right way to say something heâs never said out loud before.
âI never told the party me and Eleven broke up because thereâs⌠more,â he admits quietly.
I look over at him. âMore than the nightmare demon?â
He huffs a short, tired breath. âYeah. A lot more.â
I wait.
He stares at the floor for a long moment, then finally starts talking.
âSoâMax.â He swallows. âSheâs⌠sheâs in a coma.â
My chest tightens. âWho?â
âLucasâ girlfriend, she was attacked. Last year.â His jaw clenches. âSame thing that happened to Will. Except this time is different.â
I feel cold all over. âBut sheâs alive?â
âBarely,â he says.
My throat tightens. âWho is Will? What happened to him? How was it different with him?â
His shoulders tense at the name.
âWill was the first,â he says. âBack in middle school. Before any of this had a name. He was taken into the Upside Down. The first time, his body was gone, missing, Max's body is still here. The second time he was possessed. Controlled. Used as a spy.â
My stomach twists.
âHe could feel it,â Mike continues. âEven after he got back. I think he still can, sometimes. Like a connection that never fully went away.â
I stare at the floor, my chest tightening with every word.
âSo all this timeâŚâ I whisper. âYou guys have been dealing with this. Fighting it. Since middle school?â
Mike nods. âAnd trying to keep other people safe. Especially people we care about.â
I look at him then. Really look at him.
His eyes are tired. Not just sleepy â tired in the way that comes from carrying too much for too long.
The silence settles again, heavier now that the truth is out in the open.
Itâs strange how much can happen in three days.
Three days since I got to Hawkins.
Three days since I thought my biggest problem was starting over.
I rub my arms, suddenly aware of how tired I am. âItâs only been⌠what, seventy-two hours?â I murmur. âIt feels like months.â
Mike lets out a quiet, humorless breath. âYeah. Thatâs kind of how it goes.â
I glance at him. âHow do you do this? Just⌠live like this all the time?â
He shrugs, but itâs a hollow motion. âYou stop thinking about how long itâs been and just focus on whatâs right in front of you. Thatâs how you survive it.â
Something about that hits me harder than it should.
âYou shouldnât have to,â I say.
He looks at me, really looks at me, like heâs weighing whether to say whatâs actually on his mind.
âI didnât,â he admits. âAt first. But after a while, you donât really get a choice.â
The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the heater and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Each second feels louder than the last.
I wrap my arms around myself. âI keep thinking⌠if I hadnât come here, none of this wouldâve happened.â
Mikeâs head snaps up. âDonât. This would've happened with or without you. Venca has a reason for picking you. We just don't know what it is yet.â His voice is firm now. Not angry. Certain.Â
âAnd because youâre strong,â he adds. âEven if you donât feel like it.â
That makes my throat tighten in a way I donât like.
I look down at my hands. âI donât feel strong. I feel⌠tired. And scared. And like Iâm one bad dream away from losing it.â
Mike shifts closer, careful, not touching but close enough that I can feel his warmth.
âThatâs normal,â he says quietly. âAnyone would be scared after what youâve been through. The fact that youâre still standing? That matters.â
I breathe out slowly.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. The house creaks. Somewhere down the hall, the furnace kicks on.
*plot takes place during season 4 however we used season 5 Mike for what he looks like so for his face/hair/outfits/etc. For all intensive purposes all characters are 18+* this was written before my girl el gets slimmed out @ch0llies
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Dustin squints at Mike suddenly, like something just clicked in his head.
âWait,â he says slowly. âIf youâre here, then why arenât you in Californiaââ
Mike cuts him off a little too fast.
âI just didnât go,â he says, shrugging like itâs nothing. âPlans changed.â
Dustin blinks. âBut you were supposed to seeââ
ââYeah,â Mike says quickly, louder than necessary. âI know. But it didnât work out. They said it was fine.â
That shuts Dustin up, at least on the surface. He studies Mike for a second, clearly sensing something off, but then he lets it go with a small nod.
âOh. Okay. Yeah. Cool.â He scratches the back of his neck. âGuess that makes things easier.â
I donât miss the way Mike avoids my eyes after that. Or the way his jaw tightens like heâs bracing for a question he doesnât want to answer.
I donât ask.
Instead, I say, âSo what now?â
Dustinâs expression shifts back into focus, serious again. âNow we find Eddie.â
Mike straightens. âBefore the cops do.â
âOr before Jason and his psycho basketball cult,â Dustin adds. âBecause if they get to him firstââ
He doesnât finish the sentence.
I fold my arms, âWhere would he even go?â
Dustin exhales through his nose. âEddieâs not exactly a ârun and hide in a hotelâ kind of guy. He doesnât have money. Or a car. Or a plan, probably.â
âWhich means heâs scared,â Mike says quietly. âAnd scared people make bad choices.â
âSo,â I say finally, âwe have to find him before he does something stupid?â
Dustin nods. âExactly. I know a few places he might go. The woods near Loverâs Lake. The old railroad shed. Maybe Reefer Rickâs place.â
Mike looks between us, resolve settling into his face. âThen we start there.â
I meet his eyes, something electric passing between us againâfear, adrenaline, trust, all tangled together.
The bell above the door jingles as we push into Family Video, A young man looks up from behind the counter, mid-lean, hair perfect as ever. A girl is beside him, sorting returns and talking a mile a minute.
ââand Iâm just saying, if you alphabetize by director and genre, it savesââ
She stops cold when she sees us.
He squints. âUh⌠hi?â
Before anyone can say anything else, he points between me and Mike. âAnd who are you?â
Dustin jumps in immediately. âY/n, Steve and Robin, Robin and Steve, Y/n - no time to explain Weâre in a situation.â
I give a quick, awkward little wave. âHi.â
Steve blinks. âOkayâŚâ
Dustin doesnât let him process it. âChrissy Cunningham is dead.â
That lands like a bomb.
Robinâs mouth drops open. âWhat?â
Steve straightens instantly. âDead how?â
âThey found her this morning,â Dustin says. âIn Eddie Munsonâs trailer.â
Robinâs face drains of color. Steveâs jaw tightens.
âAnd now Eddieâs missing,â I add quietly.
Steve exhales through his nose. âOf course he is.â
Dustin presses on. âWe think heâs hiding. And if the cops get to him firstââ
âHeâs done,â Steve finishes. âYeah. I know.â
âThatâs why weâre here,â Mike says. âWe need to find him before they do.â
Steve stares at him like heâs lost his mind. âAbsolutely not.â
âWhat?â Dustin snaps.
âNo. Eddie Munson is a walking disaster,â Steve says. âThe guy sells drugs, plays death metal, and scares freshmen for fun. Iâm not getting involved in whatever ritualistic nonsense heâs mixed up in.â
âHe didnât do this,â Dustin insists.
I fold my arms. âYou donât actually know that.â
Everyone looks at me.
âIâm just saying,â I continue, embarrassed but honest. âFrom the outside? It looks bad. And if we get caught helping himââ
Steve points at me. âThank you. Voice of reason.â
Dustin throws his hands up. âYouâre both missing the point! Eddie is not a killer. Heâs weird, yeah, but heâs not violent. He wouldnât hurt Chrissy.â
Robin, whoâs been quiet, tilts her head thoughtfully. âOkay, but hypotheticallyâif he didnât do itâwhere would he go?â
Dustin exhales. âSomewhere off the grid. Somewhere no one would think to look.â
Robinâs eyes light up. âOh. Oh, I know exactly where.â
She rushes behind the counter, grabbing a clipboard and flipping pages. âEddie used to come in here all the time, right? Always talking about this guy he buys drugs fromâReefer Rick. Lives out near Loverâs Lake.â
Steve groans. âOf course he does.â
âAnd,â Robin adds proudly, âI may or may not have his address saved. Used to buy pot from him.â
Dustinâs face breaks into a grin. âYouâre a genius.â
Steve sighs like the weight of the world just dropped on his shoulders. âI hate that Iâm involved in this.â
I glance at Mike. Heâs quiet, focused, jaw set like heâs already committed.
âSo,â I say softly, âwe find Eddie before the cops do.â
The drive out to Reefer Rickâs place is quiet, the kind of silence that presses on your ears. Trees blur past, the road narrowing the farther we go, until itâs nothing but dirt and darkness swallowing the headlights.
We park near the edge of the clearing.
The house looks abandonedâwindows dark, porch sagging, the kind of place youâd expect something bad to happen in.
Dustin hops out first. âOkay. This is it.â
We approach together, shoes crunching on gravel. The air feels wrongâtoo still.
Dustin cups his hands around his mouth.
âREEFER RICK!â he shouts. âREEEFER RIIICK!â
Nothing.
He tries again, louder. âREEFER RICK!â
Silence answers back.
âThis place gives me the creeps,â I mutter.
Steve exhales sharply. âYeah. Letâs just do a quick sweep and get out.â
We split slightly, circling the house. Thatâs when I noticed it.
âGuys,â I say quietly, pointing past the trees. âOver there.â
A shed sits a short distance away, half-hidden behind brush. The door is cracked open. Light spills out onto the dirt.
âThatâs⌠not ominous at all,â Steve mutters.
I donât wait for permission. I start toward it.
âHeyâ!â Dustin hisses, hurrying after me. âDonât justââ
But Iâm already closer, heart pounding. âGuys,â I call softly. âThereâs something in here.â
They join me at the doorway. Inside, the shed is clutteredâtools, crates, old junk everywhere.
And then I see it.
A pile of empty food wrappers. Soda cans. A blanket tossed over a crate.
âSomeoneâs been here,â I say quietly.
Steve steps in front of us automatically, protective instinct kicking in. âStay back.â
In the center of the shed sits a small boat on a trailer, a tarp draped over it.
Dustin squints. âWhy is there a boat in a shed?â
Steve grips a wooden oar leaning against the wall and nudges the tarp cautiously. âIâm just gonna checkââ
âSteve, donâtââ I start.
Too late.
The tarp flies backâ
And something moves.
âAHHH!â I scream as a figure launches out of the boat, crashing straight into Steve.
They both hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, Steve shouting, âWHAT THE HELLâGET OFF ME, YOU PSYCHOââ
Dustin shrieks. âEDDIE?!â
âDONâT TOUCH ME!â he yells.
Everyone freezes.
Eddie Munson stands there, chest heaving, eyes darting like a trapped animal.
For a split second, no one says anything.
Then Dustin blurts, âOh my God, Eddie, youâre alive.â
Eddie stares at us like weâve all lost our minds.
ââŚWhy are there so many of you?â
Eddie finally lets go of Steve, scrambling backward like heâs just realized he tackled a human being and not a monster.
Steve groans, rolling onto his side. âOkayâyepâgreatâlove being attacked in abandoned sheds.â
I rush over without thinking, dropping to my knees beside him. âAre you okay?â I ask, hands hovering over his shoulders, checking for blood or broken bones.
âIâm fine,â Steve mutters, wincing a little as he sits up. âMy pride took the worst hit.â
From across the shed, I feel it before I see it.
Mikeâs staring at us.
Not angryâjust tight. His jaw clenched, eyes flicking from my hands on Steveâs arm to my face like heâs trying to pretend it doesnât bother him.
I donât say anything. I just help Steve to his feet and step back.
Dustin moves past me, straight toward Eddie. âDude. What the hell happened?â
Eddie looks like he hasnât slept in daysâeyes bloodshot, face pale, hands shaking as he runs them through his hair.
âYou wouldnât believe me,â he says hoarsely.
Mike crosses his arms. âTry us.â
Eddie lets out a shaky laugh. âNo, seriously. Youâll think Iâm insane.â
Eddie swallows hard, rubbing his hands together like heâs trying to wipe the memory off his skin.
âShe justââ His voice cracks. âShe lifted. Like⌠straight up. Off the ground.â
No one breathes.
âShe was hanging there,â he continues, eyes unfocused now, staring somewhere far past us. âNot screaming. Not moving. Justâfloating. And then her bonesâŚâ He swallows again, harder. âThey started snapping. One by one. Like something was twisting her from the inside.â
A cold chill crawls up my spine.
âAnd her eyes,â Eddie whispers. âThey werenât hers anymore. It was like something was in there. Looking out.â
Silence slams down around us.
Even the woods feel quieter.
Eddie lets out a broken laugh. âSo yeah. I ran. I didnât know what else to do. I justâran.â
No one speaks.
The air feels thick, heavy, like itâs pressing down on my chest.
Finally, Eddie mutters, âYou all think Iâm crazy, donât you?â
âYes,â I say automatically.
At the exact same time, Dustin blurts, âNo.â
I blink. âWhat?â
Dustin shoots me a look like shut up, then turns back to Eddie, shaking his head hard. âNo. We donât think youâre crazy.â
I open my mouth to argueâbecause come onâbut Dustin leans in closer to Eddie, serious now. âWeâve seen things. Weird things. Things that donât make sense.â
I mutter under my breath, âSpeak for yourself.â
Steve immediately bumps my arm with his elbow, a warning glance that says not helping.
I sigh and shut my mouth.
Eddie swallows hard, his jaw tightening.
âDonât bullshit me, man,â he says quietly. âI know how this sounds. I know I sound crazy.â
Mike doesnât hesitate. âWeâre not bullshitting you.â
Eddie blinks. âWhat?â
Robin steps in, voice calm but certain. âWe believe you.â
That stops him cold.
He looks between all of us, searching for the joke, the punchline that never comes.
Dustin steps forward then, glancing at me before looking back at Eddie. âOkay. What Iâm about to tell youââ he pauses, ââboth of youâmight be a little difficult to take.â
I point to myself looking around to see if it's really me he's talking to, Robin just nods at me.
Eddie swallows. âTry me.â
Dustin takes a breath. âYou know how people say Hawkins is cursed?â
Eddie nods slowly.
âWell,â Dustin continues, âtheyâre not totally wrong. Thereâs⌠another world. Kind of underneath ours. And sometimes it leaks through.â
Eddie lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. âSo what, likeâghost shit?â
I just look around confused.
Mike cuts in, serious. âThere are things worse than ghosts.â
Dustin swallows, then straightens like heâs bracing himself.
âThese monsters from this other world,â he says carefully, âwe thought they were gone too. But theyâve come back before. And thatâs why we needed to find you.â
He looks straight at Eddie. âYou.â
Mike nods. âIf theyâre back again, we need to know.â
Robin steps in, eyes sharp. âDid you see anything? Likeâanything strange?â
Mike adds, âDark particles, maybe?â
Eddie shakes his head quickly. âNo. No, man. It wasnât like that.â
Dustin frowns. âIt would almost look like dust. Like swirling dust.â
Eddie shakes his head again, more frantic now. âNo. Nothing you could see or touch.â
He swallows hard, voice dropping. âI tried to wake her, man. I swear. She wouldnât move. It was like she was⌠stuck. Like she was in a trance or something.â
Dustinâs eyes widen. âOr under a spell.â
Eddie nods, breath hitching. âA curse.â
The word hangs there.
Dustin exhales slowly. âVecnaâs curse.â
Before I can even wrap my head around that, Steve blurts out, completely serious, âWhoâs Vecna?â
Dustin answers without missing a beat.
âAn undead creature of great power.â
Silence crashes down around us.
Not the calm kindâthe suffocating, ears-ringing kind where your brain refuses to catch up with what you just heard.
I blink once.
Then twice.
And then I lose it.
âOkayânope,â I snap, taking a step back. âNo. No, absolutely not.â
Everyone turns toward me.
âWhat the fuck is wrong with you people?â I say, voice shaking now. âAn undead what? A curse? A shadow world? Are you serious right now or is this some kind of messed-up prank? This isnât dungeons and dragons, this is real life and someone was killed.â
No one laughs.
That makes it worse.
âI just moved here,â I blurt, hands flying as panic finally breaks through. âI donât even know half of you! And now youâre telling me thereâs, whatâmonsters? Portals? Evil wizard crap? Are you kidding me?â
My chest tightens. âThis is insane. Youâre all insane.â
Steve opens his mouth, then closes it again.
I shake my head, backing up a step. âThis has to be a joke. This town is messed up, and now youâre telling me thereâs someâsome Vecna-like thing murdering cheerleaders and youâre just⌠what? Casually explaining it like itâs normal?â
No one says anything.
Thatâs what scares me.
âI swear to God,â I whisper, voice cracking, âif this is some kind of sick prank, I am done. I am so done.â
Dustin looks at me, eyes soft. âWe wouldnât joke about this.â
That does it.
I laughâa sharp, panicked sound. âYouâre all insane. I move here and suddenly Iâm in a horror movie? Thatâs not real. That canât be real.â
My breathing gets shallow. My hands shake.
âThis isnât happening,â I mutter. âThis isnât happening.â
And for the first time since this all started, the terror isnât coming from some monster in the darkâ
Itâs coming from the horrible realization that they all might be telling the truth.
Mike walks over to me, slow and careful. He reaches out, trying to grab my arm, but I instinctively step back.
âLetâs⌠talk outside,â he says quietly, voice low.
I hesitate, eyes darting back toward the shed and the rest of the group, but something in his tone stops me. ââŚOkay,â I finally say.
We step outside, the night air cool against my flushed skin. From inside the shed, I can hear Dustin, Eddie, Steve, and Robin murmuring back and forth, plotting, arguing, debating what to do next.
I cross my arms, pacing a little. âThis is some crazy shit, and I do not believe a single fucking word out of you guysâ mouths.â
Mike exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. âYeah⌠I can see why you think that.â
I scoff, shaking my head. âI mean⌠floating bodies? Curses? Undead monsters? Honestly, Mike, you could tell me anything and Iâd probably believe it before I believed this.â
He steps closer, but keeps his hands where I can see them. âI know it sounds impossible. I get that. And itâs hard to even explain and hell, we donât even fully understand it ourselves yet but I promise, Iâm not making this up.â
I shake my head again, frustrated. âHow am I supposed to just⌠accept that? I donât even know half the people in there!â
Mike swallows, voice steady, but soft. âI know. Youâre new. You have every reason to think this is insane.â
I fold my arms tighter, but my knees feel weak. âYeah? You really expect me to just⌠believe that?â
He steps closer, grabs my shoulders gently, making sure I canât step back this time. âCâmon. Iâm not the type of guy to lie. Especially not about something like this. Not to you.â
And then he looks at meâbig, brown, puppy-dog eyes that are impossible to resist.
I blink. My heart stutters. My resolve crumbles instantly.
ââŚOkay,â I whisper, barely able to meet his gaze.
Mike gives a small, relieved smile, and just like that, all the walls Iâd built came down.
We head back inside to find the mood completely shifted.
Steveâs already pacing, keys in hand. âOkay. New plan. We call it for tonight. Everyone goes home, gets some sleep, and we meet back here first thing tomorrow. Clear heads. Less⌠panic.â
Dustin nods. âYeah. Thatâs probably smart.â
Robin agrees. âWeâll regroup. Figure out our next move when weâre not caught off guard."
No one argues.
A few minutes later, weâre piled into Steveâs car. The drive is quietâtoo quiet. No music. No jokes. Just the hum of the engine and the weight of everything we just learned pressing in on my chest.
Steve drops Mike, Dustin, and Robin off first at family video, then swings by my place last. I thank him quietly and hop out.
The porch light is off.
The house is dark except for the glow of the TV in the living room. I freeze when I hear itâmy dadâs voice, slurred and irritated, echoing through the hallway.
ââdamn thing never worksââ
I donât even think. I turn around, heart hammering, and start walking back down the driveway.
Fast.
I donât look back.
It starts raining. Pouring, even.
The street is empty, soaked in shadows, the air thick and heavy like itâs pressing down on me. I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and head toward Mikeâs house instead, my steps quickening with every creak of a branch or distant sound.
Thenâ
BONG.
I freeze.
The sound echoes through the trees, low and hollow.
A grandfather clock.
I turn slowly toward the woods.
And there it is.
Standing between the trees, barely lit by the moonlightâan old grandfather clock, tall and crooked, its face glowing faintly in the dark like it doesnât belong here at all.
My breath catches in my throat.
âWhat the fuck?â I whisper.
The second hand ticks.
Once.
Twice.
BONG
My chest tightens. Every instinct in my body screams at me to run, but I canât look away. Itâs like the thing is watching me.
Then the air shiftsâheavy, wrong.
I blink.
And suddenly, Iâm sprinting.
The rain was pelting against my body like bullets. I run toward Mikeâs house, lungs burning, heart slamming against my ribs. I donât look back. I donât dare.
The sound of that clock echoes in my head all the way until I reach Mikeâs window, breathless, terrified.
I crouch by Mikeâs window, scanning the ground for something I can use. My eyes land on a few small pebbles glinting faintly in the wet grass. I scoop them up, fists tightening around them, and take a deep breath.
I hurl the first one at the window. Tap. Nothing.
Wait a second. Another pebble flies. Tap. Still nothing.
One more, just to be sure. Tap.
I step back, heart hammering, and watch, breath shallow. Thirty seconds pass like eternity.
Thenâthe curtains move. A small gap opens, and I see the unmistakable shaggy brown hair of Mike. His hand pushes the window up, and he leans his head out.
âY/N? What are you doing here?â
I freeze, caught in the moment, eyes wide.
ââŚCan I⌠come inside?â I manage finally.
Mikeâs expression softens instantly as he notices how soaking wet I am. âYes.â
Before I can even blink, heâs already disappearing down the stairs. I hear the front door click open.
âQuick,â he hisses as I step inside. He moves with that familiar intensity, rushing us through the house without a sound. The quiet is sacred here.
Once inside, he guides me upstairs, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the coast is clear.
Finally, he pushes open the door to his room and gestures me inside. âOkay⌠in here. Safe for now.â
I close the door behind me, and for the first time in what feels like hours, I can breatheâthough my chest is still tight, and my hands shake from the run and the cold and the fear that hasnât left me yet.
Mike leans against the wall, eyes on me, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The storm outside, the rain pelting the roof, and the chaos of Hawkins feel miles away⌠just for a second.
I slump onto Mikeâs bed, shivering, still trying to calm down from the run. âI⌠I didnât know where else to go,â I admit, voice shaking. âMy dad⌠he was super angry, drunk when I got home. I didnât want to deal with him. Iââ I pause, trying to hold it together. ââŚIâm sorry.â
Mike kneels beside me, shaking his head. âHey. Itâs totally fine. You came here because you needed to. Thatâs all that matters.â
I look down at myselfâmy clothes are soaked through, sticking uncomfortably to my skin. Mike notices and gives a small smile. âOkay. We need to get you out of those wet clothes. Iâll grab you something dry.â
A few minutes later, he comes back with a fresh set of clothesâsoft sweatpants and a hoodie that smells faintly like him. He lets me shower first, giving me privacy, then hands me the dry clothes.
âHere,â he says quietly. âYouâll be warm, at least. And dry.â
I nod, grateful, and slip into the clean clothes. The hoodie is big on me, but itâs comforting.
Eventually, we settle into bed together, small and quiet, trying to rest. The warmth of the blankets and Mike wrapped around me helps my racing thoughts slow⌠until sleep takes me.
But sleep doesnât mean peace.
Iâm pulled into a nightmareâvivid, sharp, and suffocating.
I see my mom⌠and sheâs hurt, crying. My dadâangry, unsteady on his feet, reeking of alcoholâlooms over her. Every word, every motion feels unbearable. He hits her, blames it on something else. My chest tightens, my throat closes as I watch him get away with it. And thenâŚÂ
I wake with a gasp, heart pounding, sheets twisted around me. Mike stirs, reaching over to pull me close, wrapping an arm around me. âHey⌠itâs okay. Iâm right here. It's morning now. Youâre safe,â he whispers.
I bury my face in his chest, shaking slightly, trying to convince my body and my mind that this isnât real. That Iâm not back there.Â
And slowly⌠with his warmth and steady heartbeat beneath my cheek, I start to believe it, just a little.
âUhâmy momâs still asleep,â Mike whispers from the other side. âI grabbed you some clothes. From my sister Nancyâs room. Donât ask.â
He slides a bundle of clothes through the door: a pair of jeans, a faded band tee, and a flannel.Â
Ten minutes later, Iâm slipping out the side door, heart pounding like Iâm committing a crime.Â
âYouâll be okay today?â he asks quietly as we get to the front doors of the school.
I nod. âYeah. I just⌠have that meeting with the guidance counselor.â I give him a small smile. âThanks. For last night. For everything.â
He hesitates, then smiles back. âAnytime.â Opening the doors for me.
Second day. New school. And now Iâm carrying nightmares and secrets that feel way too big for my body.
At exactly 10:00 a.m., I step into the guidance counselorâs office.
Empty.
The lights are on, though. A mug of coffee sits on the desk, still warm. Papers are neatly stacked, folders labeled and organized.
I sit down, tapping my foot. A minute passes. Then two. Then five.
I sigh and stand up, stretching my legs, wandering toward the desk out of boredom more than anything else.
Thatâs when I see it.
A folder, half-tucked under another stack.
The name on the tab makes my stomach drop.
Cunningham, Chrissy.
I freeze.
My heart starts racing. I glance toward the doorâempty hallway. Quiet.
I told myself not to. I really did.
But my hand moves anyway.
I opened the folder.
Inside are session notes. Dates. Observations.
And then the words that make my breath catch:
Patient reports recurring visions of a grandfather clock.
Auditory hallucinations described as loud chiming.
Recurrent trauma responses tied to past emotional distress.
Fear of being watched.
My fingers tremble as I turn the page.
Patient describes feeling âpulledâ or âcalledâ during episodes.
My stomach drops.
âOh my godâŚâ I whisper.
They werenât lying.
Every word Mike said. Every word Dustin said.
Itâs all right here.
My heart pounds so hard it hurts. I snap the folder shut, hands shaking, and stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans.
I glance around one last timeâno footsteps, no voicesâthen quietly slip out of the office.
As I walk down the hallway, my mind is spinning.
This isn't a coincidence.
This isnât imagination.
And whatever killed ChrissyâŚ
Itâs real. And it seems I'm its next victim.Â
I barely make it three steps into the hallway before I spot them.
Mike and Dustin are standing by the lockers, talking in low voices. The second Mike sees my face, his expression changesâconcern snapping into place immediately.
âWhatâs wrong?â he asks.
I donât even slow down. âWe need to leave. Now.â
Dustin blinks. âUhâwhat?â
âI mean now,â I say, grabbing Mikeâs sleeve and pulling him closer. âWhereâs everyone else?â
âSteve and Robin are at Family Video,â Dustin answers automatically. âWhyââ
âGood,â I cut in. âWeâre going there. Right now.â
Mike studies my face, then nods once. âOkay. Lead the way.â
The second we burst through the doors of Family Video, Steve looks up from the counter.
âHeyâwhoa, whatâs with the panic sprint?â
I donât stop walking. âWe need everyone. Now.â
Robinâs already alert. âOkay, thatâs not ominous at all.â
Dustin shuts the door behind us. âWhat happened?â
I reach into my back pocket, hands shaking, and pull out the folded papers.
âThis,â I say, dropping the file onto the counter. âI found this in the guidance counselorâs office. Itâs Chrissyâs.â
Steveâs face drains of color. âYou⌠you stole that.â
âI borrowed it,â I snap. âAnd youâre gonna want to see it.â
They crowd around as I flip the pages open.
âRead,â I say. âThe parts about the visions.â
Robin leans in first. Her face changes instantly.
âOh my god,â she whispers.
Dustin reads over her shoulder. His eyes widen. âClocks. Nightmares. Hallucinations.â
Mike looks at me when Dustin says ânightmaresâ reminiscing to waking me up this morning from one.
I nod. âShe was seeing things before she died. Hearing things. The clock, the voicesâsame as what he described.â
Before I can say anything else, a voice cuts in.
âThatâs how Fred died.â
We all turn.
Nancyâs standing near the door, arms crossed tight like sheâs holding herself together. Her face has gone pale.
âMy friend from the paper,â she continues. âHe said he was seeing things. Hearing things. A clock. Said it felt like something was watching him all the time.â
The room goes dead silent.
âHe died last night.â Nancy finishes quietly.
My stomach drops.
Dustin swallows hard. âSo⌠itâs not just Chrissy.â
âNo,â Nancy says. âAnd itâs not random.â
My throat tightens. âThereâs something else,â I say, my voice barely steady.
Everyone looks at me.
âI saw it. The clock.â
Silence slams down hard.
Dustinâs eyes widened. âYouâwhat?â
âI saw it,â I repeat. âLast night. On my way to Mikeâs. In the woods. Just⌠there. A grandfather clock.â
Robinâs face drains. âThatâs not possible.â
âWait, why were you going to Mikes?â Dustin asked, confused.Â
âI know, it shouldnât be possible.â I say quickly, ignoring Dustin. âI thought I was losing it. I thought I was tired or scared orââ I shake my head. âBut it was real. I heard it. The ticking. The chime.â
Mike looks like the airâs been punched out of him. âYou didnât tell me that.â
âI didnât want to scare you,â I whisper. âBut it was the same sound. The same thing Chrissy heard.â
Dustin stares at me, fear written all over his face. âThatâs⌠thatâs exactly what she described.â
Steve drags a hand down his face. âOkay. No. Nope. I donât like this.â
Robin exhales slowly. âSo itâs not just targeting people randomly.â
My stomach twists. âI think it already chose me.â
No one says anything.
Then Steve straightens, jaw tight. âAlright. New rule. Nobody goes anywhere alone. Ever.â
Mike steps closer to me without thinking. âWe stick together.â
I nod, heart pounding. âBecause if this thing is realâand now I know that it isâthen itâs not done.â
After the tension in Family Video finally settles, Steve slumps against the counter. âOkay⌠so now what? We canât just sit here waiting for this thing to kill y/n.â
Dustin nods. âYeah. We need a plan.â
Mike glances at me, then back at the group. âAlright. We split up. Nancy and Robin can dig into researchâsee if thereâs any pattern in these murders, past or present. The rest of usâSteve, Dustin, me, and Y/Nâweâll check on Eddie. Make sure heâs safe, bring him food. Keep him in the loop.â
Everyone agrees. Itâs the first time since all of this started that I feel like thereâs some kind of direction.
Meanwhile, the rest of usâMike, Steve, Dustin, and meâmake our way to Eddie at Refurb Rickâs.
âMan, I still canât get over yesterday,â Steve mutters as we ride up. âThis kidâs house is basically ground zero for us.â
Dustin jingles a bag of food nervously. âI hope he eats. Heâs been through⌠a lot.â
Mike pushes the gate open, motioning us all in. Eddieâs sitting in the corner, looking ragged, hair unkempt. He glances up when we enter.
âFood,â I say, setting the bag down near him. âWe brought you food. You gotta eat, Eddie.â
He blinks at us, hesitant, before finally reaching out and taking a sandwich. âThanks,â he mutters.
I fold my arms, looking at him. âWeâre not leaving you out of this. Youâre part of the plan. We just need to make sure youâre safe and sane for now.â
Eddie nods slowly, still chewing, clearly processing everything. Dustin leans against the wall, giving him a little smile. âWeâre in this together, man. No oneâs getting taken alone.â
Mike crouches slightly to Eddieâs level. âAnd weâll figure out whatâs happeningâstep by step. You just hang tight.â
Eddie swallows, finally letting himself relax a little. âAlright⌠Iâll trust you guys. But this⌠this thing is messed up.â
I glance at Mike and Dustin, a grim kind of determination settling over us. âYeah,â I say quietly. âAnd itâs not done yet.â
The air inside Refurb Rickâs feels heavier than it should.
Eddie finishes the sandwich slowly, like eating is something he has to remember how to do.
Thatâs when feet pounding against the leaves outside.
A tall black guy rounds the corner and into the front yard.
Heâs frantic. Wild-eyed. Dressed in a varsity jacket with a basketball emblem stitched onto the chest.
He scans the yard like heâs expecting a demon to crawl out of the ground.
Then he sees us.
âOh thank God,â he says, jogging over. âYou guys are here.â
We all stare at him.
ââŚWho are you?â I ask.
He blinks. âLucas.â
Blank stares.
âSinclair?â he adds.
Nothing.
He exhales sharply. âRight. New girl.â
He rubs his face with both hands. âOkay. So Jasonâs losing his mind.â
âJason?â I repeat.
âChrissyâs boyfriend,â Mike says quickly. âBasketball captain. Town golden boy.â
âOh, right.â I say.
âHe thinks Eddie did it.â Says lucas.Â
Dustin stiffens. âHe doesnât know that.â
âHe thinks he does,â Lucas snaps. âHeâs got half the team out looking for him. Theyâre calling him a cult leader. A Satanist. Theyâre armed.â
My stomach drops.
âThatâs bad,â Steve mutters.
âThatâs very bad,â Lucas says. âSo if youâre helping Eddie, you need to be careful. Because if Jason finds you with him, he wonât listen.â
Thereâs a pause.
Eddie swallows hard.
ââŚThanks,â he says quietly.
Lucas nods, then looks at me. âAnd you â youâre the one who saw the clock, right?â
My chest tightens. ââŚYeah?â
He studies me for a second. âDustin told me over the walkie.â
I feel a horrible headache come on and just want to be home. âSteve, can we go to my house. I want to change and grab a bag if we are all staying togetherâ
âYeah everyone lets goâ Steve says standing
The car ride is quiet.
Steve drives. Dustin sits up front. Lucas is to my left, Mikeâs to my right knee bouncing nonstop.
Streetlights blur past the windows.
When we pull up to my house, something already feels off.
Thereâs a light on.
That never happens.
Steve notices too. âAre you expecting someone?â
âNo,â I say. âMy dadâs usually⌠not around.â
He parks anyway.
âWeâll wait here?,â Steve says.Â
I nod and step out.
The house is too quiet.
Too clean.
Too normal.
I open the door.
âY/N?â a voice calls gently.
My chest tightens.
âDad?â
He steps into the hallway light.
He looks⌠good.
Sober.
Showered.
Smiling.
âOh honey,â he says warmly. âWhat are you doing home?â
It almost hurts.
âIâ we had a long day,â I say slowly.
He opens his arms. âCome here.â
And I do.
Because I miss him.
Because I miss the version of him that existed before the bottles.
I hug him.
He hugs me back.
Tight.
Too tight.
Something is wrong.
The air shifts.
His grip tightens further.
His breath changes.
I pull back instinctively â and when I open my eyes, he isnât my dad anymore.
Heâs a gray vinny looking monster. âY/Nâ He says in a deep voice looking down at me, he's much taller than my dad.
My heart slams into my throat.
I shove him hard.
He stumbles back.
I turn and run.
I donât remember opening the door. I donât remember the steps. I just know Iâm outside, gasping, shaking, tearing toward Steveâs car.
I yank the door open and fall inside, right across Lucas and Mike.
âDrive,â I choke. âDrive.â
Steve doesnât ask questions.
The car lurches forward.
Mike turns around immediately. âWhat happened?â
Iâm shaking too hard to speak.
âI saw him,â I whisper. âI saw it. Itâs not just the clock. Itâs⌠itâs wearing people.â
Dustin turns around in the front seat and his face drains of color.
âOh no,â he breathes. âOh no, no, no.â
Mike grips my hand.
âWeâre not leaving you alone,â he says. âNot again.â
I nod, tears burning behind my eyes.
The car hums low beneath us as Steve drives, headlights cutting through the dark road.
No oneâs really talking.
Then Lucas shifts in his seat.
âMike,â he says, frowning, âwhereâs Eleven? We need her.â
The word hangs in the air.
Mike coughs once â sharp and sudden â then turns his head to stare out the window like something just punched him in the gut.
TW- SMUT *plot takes place during season 4 however we used season 5 Mike for what he looks like so for his face/hair/outfits/etc. For all intensive purposes all characters are 18+* lowkey im destroyed over the finale it was so sad, so for all other purposes. i hate life. co-writer @ch0llies
The basement feels quieter without him.
Dustin flops back into his chair, staring at the ceiling. âI still canât believe that worked.â
I smile, leaning back against the table. âYou should believe in me more.â
âOh, I do now,â he says immediately, sitting up. âTrust me.â
Mikeâs still standing near the table, hands resting on the edge like he forgot what to do with them. He looks⌠lighter. Less wound tight. The sharpness from earlier dulled down.
âThat move you pulled at the end,â he says, nodding toward the board. âThe timingâmost people wouldâve panicked.â
âI hate panicking,â I reply. âIt wastes turns.â
He huffs out a quiet laugh before he can stop himself.
Silence settles againâbut this oneâs comfortable.
âSo,â Dustin says suddenly, sitting straighter. âWhere do you live?â
I tell him the street name.
He squints. âOh. Yeah, no. Thatâs likeâcompletely the opposite side of town from me.â
âIâll be fine,â I say. âI can walk.â
âItâs dark,â Dustin argues instantly. âYouâre new. And you donât have a bike.â
I open my mouth.
âAnd,â he adds, pointing between us, âyou literally live like a block away from Mike.â
I blink. âI do?â
Dustinâs already decided. âYes so, Mike can take you.â
Mike stiffens. âWhat?â
âYou have a bike,â Dustin says like this is airtight logic. âShe doesnât. Sheâs a girl. And new. And youâre basically neighbors.â
âIââ Mike starts.
âItâs fine,â I say quickly, holding up a hand. âReally. I donât want toââ
âItâs not a big deal,â Dustin insists. âRight, Mike?â
Mike looks at me.
Really looks at me.
Then he exhales. âItâs not a big deal.â
Outside, the night air is cool, quiet. Crickets hum somewhere nearby. Mike wheels his bike out onto the driveway, movements careful, like heâs hyper-aware of me standing there.
Dustin straps his radio project onto his own bike again, already halfway gone. âSee you guys tomorrow,â he says, grinning. âDonât die.â
âEncouraging,â Mike mutters.
Dustin pedals off, leaving us alone under the streetlight.
Mike holds the bike steady. âSame deal as before,â he says. âJustâhold on.â
I step closer. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of him again, familiar now.
As I reach for the back of the seatâ
Thatâs where it stops.
The bike is steady beneath his hands.
Iâm just about to climb on when I stop myself.
âMike,â I say softly.
He turns around.
Andâoh.
The streetlight above us washes him in this warm, amber glow that feels unfair. The sharp angles of his face soften, shadows cutting just enough to make his eyes look darker, deeper. His hairâs a mess, curls falling into his forehead, and finally he isnât scowling.
He just looks⌠good.
Really good.
âYeah?â he asks.
I swallow. âAre you, like⌠super busy right now?â
His eyes flick over me before he can stop himself. Not rude. Not obvious. Just a quick, quiet assessmentâlike heâs clocking that Iâm standing closer than before, that the night feels different than it did five minutes ago.
âNot really,â he says. âWhy?â
I hesitate for half a secondâthen go for it.
âCould you⌠maybe give me a quick tour?â I ask. âOf the town. Just for a little bit. While no oneâs around.â
His brows knit together. He should say no. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way he shifts his weight like heâs trying to talk himself out of it.
But then I look at him.
Really look at him.
And something about the way his shoulders drop tells me heâs already lost.
ââŚYeah,â he says finally. âFine.â
I smile, slow and pleased. âYeah?â
âYeah,â he repeats, quieter this time.
I climb onto the back of the bike again, settling in. He starts pedaling, the tires crunching softly against the pavement as we roll down the street.
We donât get far.
Suddenly, he slowsâand then stops.
âWhatâ?â
Before I can finish, he reaches back and grabs my wrist gently, fingers warm against my skin. He guides my hand forward, pressing it against his jacket, closer to his waist.
âYouâre gonna need to hold on more,â he says. âIâm gonna go faster this time.â
I freeze.
âIââ
He glances back at me, mouth tilting into the faintest smile. Not smug. Just teasing. Almost shy.
âWhat?â he says. âIâm not gonna bite you.â
I hesitate.
Then I slide my other hand forward too, fingers curling into his jacket properly this time. My chest presses lightly against his back, close enough that I can feel his breath hitch.
âBetter?â I ask.
He swallows. âYeah.â
The bike lurches forward, faster now, the wind rushing past us as Hawkins blurs into streaks of light and shadow. His body leans into turns with easy confidence, and I move with him instinctively, holding tighter when he accelerates.
And for a moment, as we disappear down the street together, it feels like the town is ours.
Just us.
Just the night.
And the way Mike somehow, inexplicably, canât say no to me.
The bike moves faster this time.
Not recklessâjust enough to make the wind bite and my fingers tighten in his jacket. Hawkins slips past in pieces: dark houses, porch lights, quiet streets that feel abandoned in the way only small towns can at night.
Mike keeps glancing back at me as he rides. Not fully turningâjust those quick looks over his shoulder, checking if Iâm still there.
âSo,â he says, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the wind, âthat over there is the middle school. Where Dustin set a trash can on fire in seventh grade.â
I laugh.Â
âAnd that,â he adds, nodding toward a darkened storefront, âused to be a RadioShack. It closed. Obviously.â
âWow,â I say dryly. âYou really know how to sell this place.â
He huffs. âI never said it was impressive.â
We slow at a stop sign, and he plants one foot on the ground. The streetlight above us flickers, bathing him in that same warm glow again. He looks stupidly good like thisâhair wind-tousled, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes brighter than they were earlier in the day.
âYou cold?â he asks.
âA little.â
He doesnât even hesitate.
He shrugs out of his jacket and hands it back to me like itâs no big deal. Like it doesnât leave him in just a hoodie, sleeves pushed up, veins faintly visible along his forearms.
I slide it on.
It smells like him.
âThanks,â I say.
âYeah,â he mutters, eyes flicking away a little too quickly.
We keep riding.
The banter comes easy nowâsnide comments about Hawkins, jokes about teachers, quiet laughs when our knees bump at stoplights. Every once in a while, I catch him looking at me in reflectionsâstore windows, dark car doors. Every time I do, he looks away like he got caught doing something illegal.
Eventually, the streets change.
Trailers replace houses. Gravel crunches under the tires. The air feels heavier out here, like the town forgot this part existed.
Mike slows.
âThis is the trailer park,â he says. âEddie lives here.â
âEddie from Hellfire?â I ask.
âYeah.â
We stop just as a trailer door opens.
Two figures step out.
I recognize Eddie immediatelyâmessy hair, leather jacket, animated even when heâs just walking. The girl beside him makes my stomach drop a little.
Perfect hair. Cheerleader jacket. Pretty in a way Hawkins worships.
Mike stiffens beside me.
âWhat the fuck,â he mutters.
âWhat?â I ask. âWhatâs wrong?â
He stares as Eddie holds the door open for her, laughing, letting her walk inside first.
âThatâs Chrissy Cunningham,â he says slowly. âSheâs dating Jason Carver.â
I blink. âThe basketball captain?â
âYeah,â he says, disbelief sharp in his voice. âAnd Eddie isââ
âA loser?â I finish quietly.
He exhales. âYeah.â
We watch the door close behind them.
The trailer goes dark.
Something uneasy settles in my chest, like we just witnessed something we werenât meant to see.
âHuh,â I murmur. âGuess people arenât always what Hawkins thinks they are.â
Mike glances at me. Really looks at me this time.
âYeah,â he says. âI guess not.â
The silence between us stretchesânot awkward. Charged.
He clears his throat. âWe should probably⌠keep going. I still owe you the rest of the tour.â
I smile, tightening my grip on him again. âLead the way, Wheeler.â
We ride away from the trailer park like nothing just shifted in the universeâeven though it definitely did.
The road smooths out again, quieter now. Mike relaxes, shoulders loosening as he starts pointing things out again like he didnât just short-circuit five minutes ago.
âThatâs the park,â he says, nodding to a dark stretch of swings. âWe used to camp out there all summer.â
âIâm sensing a pattern,â I say. âYou guys did everything everywhere.â
He scoffs. âThereâs literally nothing else to do here.â
I laugh, leaning in closer so he can hear me. Somewhere along the way, my hands slide lowerâless jacket, more him. My fingers hook casually into one of his belt loops, like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
He stiffens immediately.
âUhââ he starts, then clears his throat. âYou good back there?â
âYeah,â I say innocently. âWhy?â
His ears turn pink. Actually pink.
âN-no reason.â
The bike wobbles just a little.
I grin to myself.
We keep talkingâabout music, about how much Hawkins sucks, about how Dustin never shuts up. Mikeâs wit sharpens when heâs relaxed, dry and quick, and I find myself smiling more than I mean to. Every once in a while, he laughs fully, head tipping back just a bit, and it does something unfair to my chest.
By the time we turn onto my street, it feels too soon.
He slows in front of my house, rolling to a stop under another streetlight. He hops off first, steadying the bike.
âHere,â he says, offering a hand to help me down.
I take it.
His grip is warm. Careful. Like heâs afraid to do the wrong thing.
I land, still close, his jacket hanging off my shoulders. For a second, neither of us moves.
âThanks for the tour,â I say softly.
âYeah,â he replies. âAnytime.â
I take a step back. Then another.
âHey,â he says suddenly.
I turn.
âI think youâre forgetting something.â
I hesitate for exactly half a secondâthen walk back to him, heart pounding. I reach up, fingers curling lightly into his hoodie, and kiss him.
Itâs soft. Quick. Just enough.
When I pull back, heâs frozenâeyes wide, lips parted, stunned in the most endearing way. Like a puppy that just got surprised with affection.
âOh,â he says faintly.
Then he blinks. âIâI meant my jacket.â
I laugh.
âBut,â he adds quickly, stepping closer, hands finding my waist like he finally decided to stop overthinking it, âthat works too.â
He kisses me againâlonger this time, surer, like heâs figured something out mid-motion.
When we part, heâs still flustered, still pink, still looking at me like he canât quite believe this is real.
I pull back just enough to breathe.
Mike barely lets meâhis hands still warm at my waist, forehead resting against mine, lips chasing like he hasnât caught up yet.
âMike,â I murmur.
He opens his eyes.
Up close like this, he looks wreckedâin the best way. Hair mussed, mouth pink and swollen, pupils blown like he forgot the rest of the world exists.
âYeah?â he says, breathless.
I glance toward my front door, then back at him. âDo you want to come inside?â
His breath stutters.
ââŚInside?â he repeats, like the word needs a second to load. He doesnât look away from me when he asks, quietly, âWhat about your parents?â
âItâs fine,â I say easily, fingers sliding up into his hair. âMy dadâs not home yet. Bar night. My momâs not⌠around.â
Thatâs all it takes.
He swallows.
I donât wait for him to overthink it.
âCâmon,â I whisper, already stepping back and tugging him with me.
He follows.
The door barely clicks shut behind us before heâs kissing me againâharder this time, like the permission flipped a switch. His hands find my waist, my back, pulling me flush against him as we stumble down the hallway.
We bump into the wall. I laugh against his mouth.
âSorry,â he mutters, not sounding sorry at all.
I grab his collar and pull him with me, kissing him as I walk us backward, toward my room. He makes this quiet soundâhalf laugh, half breathâthat sends heat straight through me.
âJesus,â he murmurs. âYouâreââ
âMike,â I warn softly, smiling.
He shuts up immediately. Kisses me deeper instead.
By the time we reach my room, weâre both a messâhands everywhere but never crossing a line, tension coiled so tight itâs almost dizzying. He backs me toward the bed, then stops himself, forehead dropping to my shoulder like heâs grounding himself.
He laughs quietly, shaking his head. âIâm trying really hard to be cool.â
I smile, brushing my thumb over his cheek. âYouâre doing great.â
He looks at me like that might be the nicest thing anyoneâs ever said to him.
We kiss againâslower now, deliberate, like neither of us wants to rush what weâre building. His hands settle at my hips, steady, protective, and I realize how rare it is to feel this wanted and this safe at the same time.
Outside, Hawkins stays quiet.
Inside, everything feels like itâs just getting started.
The door clicks shut behind us, sealing the world out.
Mikeâs hands stay on my waist like his body hasnât caught up to the fact that weâve stopped moving. Heâs breathing hard, forehead resting against mine, a crooked smile tugging at his lips like he canât believe any of this is happening.
âThis isââ he exhales, chest rising against mine. âDefinitely not how I thought tonight was gonna go.â
âDisappointed?â I tease, brushing my mouth over his again.
His laugh is low, a little wrecked. âNot even close.â
We stumble back together, kissing. His hoodie bunches in my fists as I drag him closer, his fingers skimming up my sides, slow and intentional, like heâs memorizing every reaction I give him.
âFuck,â he murmurs against my jaw, lips trailing heat down the side of my throat.
I moan, tugging him by his belt loop againâslow this time, deliberate.
He freezes for half a second. A sharp inhale. His hand tightens on my hip.
âYou keep doing that,â he says, voice deeper than before, âlike you donât know what youâre asking for.â
âI know exactly.â My thumb hooks under the denim again, pulling him closer, watching the way his breath stutters. âWhat Iâm asking for, Mike.â
His self-control cracks right there.
He kisses me harder, pushing me back onto the bed, the two of us landing in a messy tangle of limbs and laughter that dissolves instantly into heat. His mouth finds mine againâhungrier now, focused. His hands slide under my shirt, warm and sure, and the sound he makes when I arch into him goes straight through me.
âDamn,â he whispers against my skin, like he didnât mean to say it out loud.
I tug at the hem of his hoodie, and he sits up just long enough to pull it over his head and toss it aside. His hair is even more ruined now, cheeks flushed, eyes dark and fixed on me like Iâm the only thing in the room worth looking at.
âCome here,â I murmur.
He doesâimmediately, like he couldnât stop himself if he tried.
The weight of him settles over me, careful but wanting. His hands slide down my thighs, slow, teasing, as he kisses me again, deeper this time. Every brush of his mouth feels like a question he already knows the answer to.
âYou sure?â he asks quietly, breath warm against my lips. âBecause Iâm not stopping once you say yes.â
I cup his face, pull him back down, and kiss him like I mean it.
âThereâs your answer.â
He groansâsoft, relieved, almost disbelievingâbefore his lips crash into mine again. His hands explore with intent now, bolder, slipping beneath clothes with purpose. I feel his breath hitch when I pull him closer, our bodies aligning perfectly.
The room gets smaller, warmer, quieter except for the sound of our breathing and the soft hum of the mattress under us. His mouth finds my neck, my collarbone, everywhere I react, and he smiles against my skin each time I do.
âYouâre gonna ruin me,â he whispers, voice low, honest.
âGood.â
He laughs, short and breathless, before rolling his hips against mine, slow but unmistakable. The tension snaps like a live wire. His forehead drops to my shoulder as he exhales a shaky sound he tries and fails to hide.
âOkay,â he mutters, smiling into my skin. âYeah. I need you.â
His hands guide mine to his waistband, helping, inviting, giving me control even as he trembles with how badly he wants this.
His hands guide mine the rest of the way, fingers brushing my knuckles like heâs grounding himself through the contact. The click of his belt opening feels louder than it should in the quiet room. He exhales, slow and shaky, watching my face the entire timeâchecking, reading, trusting.
âYou donât rush anything, do you?â I murmur.
He huffs a breath of laughter. âNot this.â
He closes his eyes briefly when my palms slide over his chest, jaw flexing like heâs holding something in.
âJesus,â he mutters. âYouâre killing me.â
My turn comes next, and heâs reverent about itâslower than I expect. His fingers hook under the hem of my top, lifting it carefully, like he doesnât want to spook the moment. When it comes away, he pauses, just looking at me, eyes dark and steady.
He leans in again, kissing me deep and unhurried, hands warm and confident as they trace curves like heâs committing them to memory. Clothes start to disappear without ceremonyâdropped, kicked aside, forgottenâuntil thereâs nothing left between us but heat and breath and the soft press of skin against skin.
He nudges me back onto the bed again, following immediately, bracing himself over me without smothering. His mouth moves slow and purposeful, like heâs savoring every reaction, every sound I donât quite manage to hold back.
âLook at you,â he murmurs, forehead resting against mine. âYouâre unreal.â
Mikeâs mouth finds mine again, but this time thereâs no hesitation in itâjust heat and purpose. His hands settle on my bare hips, firm, guiding, pinning me beneath him without using any real weight. He doesnât have to. The intention alone sends a rush through me.
He shifts, settling between my legs, and the press of his naked body against mine is slow, deliberate, undeniable. His breath drags against my neck as he moves, and the quiet sound he makes when my hands grip his shoulders is low and satisfied.
âStay right here,â he murmurs, voice rough for the first time.
He lowers himself, one hand bracing beside my head, the other guiding my thigh up around his waist. The shift pulls our bodies flush, and he exhales sharply against my cheek as he settles into me, slow and controlled.
His hand slides beneath me, lifting my hips to meet him as he runs the tip between my folds. When he finally puts it in, the sound that slips out of him when our bodies align sends heat straight through me. He buries his face at my neck, breath warm as he sets a steady, deliberate paceâeach movement rolling through both of us with building intensity.
His fingers lace with mine briefly before he presses my wrist into the mattress beside my head, not forcingâjust holding, guiding, anchoring me there as his other hand stays firm on my hip, keeping me exactly where he wants me.
âGod,â he murmurs against my jaw, more to himself than to me, like heâs adjusting us into perfect sync.
Every shift of his hips is stronger now, more certain, his breath hitching each time my body responds to the force and angle he uses. His control is unmistakableâtight, consistent, the kind that leaves no space for second-guessing.
He moves with intention, with weight, with purposeâhis forehead dropping to mine for a moment as the pace deepens, steadier, more consuming. The bed creaks softly beneath us; his hand tightens on my hip to keep me grounded; his breath grows heavier against my skin.
The room feels smaller with the way heâs moving, the way he holds my body under his, the way he doesnât break rhythm even when the tension builds sharply between us.
His grip adjusts, fingers spreading wider over my hip as if to lock the angle in place, and every movement after that lands deeper, surer. The rhythm he sets is unbroken, each roll of his body controlled and deliberate, like heâs counting it out in his head. The mattress dips beneath the strength of his movement, the soft creak underscoring how firmly heâs got me.
His mouth drags from my jaw to my collarbone, then lower, teeth grazing just enough to make my breath stutter. One hand stays planted beside my head, keeping me right where he wants me, while the other slides along my thigh again, thumb pressing in, steadying me as he drives the pace forward.
The heat between us builds fast nowâslick skin, shallow breaths, the sound of him exhaling hard through his nose each time his hips pull back and push forward again. He doesnât break contact, doesnât pull away to lookâhe stays close, chest to chest, the tension living in the way his muscles tighten and release with every movement.
His lips brush my ear.
âJust like that,â he mutters, voice thick, almost breathless.
The grip on my wrist tightensânot painfulâjust enough pressure to remind me heâs there, anchoring me, keeping me open to the rhythm heâs chosen. His other hand slides beneath me again, lifting my hips higher, changing the angle until the response from my body is immediate and unmistakable.
His breathing turns uneven, heavier now, the control still there but strained at the edges as the intensity climbs. His forehead presses to mine again, jaw clenched, movement stronger, deeper, still measured but relentless.
The room fades down to sensationâheat, pressure, the steady sound of skin meeting skin. He keeps the pace exactly where it is, refusing to let it slip or falter, holding you there with him as everything tightens and builds.
Mike stays over me the entire time until the tension peaks sharp and consuming, both our bodies finally giving into it with a low sound against my throat as he holds me still through it.
Only then does he slow.
Not all at onceâjust enough to keep me there with him, breath to breath, bodies still pressed close, his hand lingering on my hip like he hasnât forgotten for a second exactly where I was.
Morning comes too fast.
I wake up tangled in warmthâsheets twisted, sunlight leaking in through the blinds in thin gold stripes. For half a second I forget where I am.
Then I feel him shift beside me.
Mike.
Heâs on his stomach, arm loose around my waist like it belongs there, hair completely wrecked, expression soft.
Thereâs a bang on the front door.
Then another.
âY/NâHELLOâOPEN UPââ
I jolt upright. âOh my god.â
Mike groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. âIs thatââ
âYes,â I whisper. âThatâs Dustin.â
The knocking gets louder.
âIâll get it,â I say quickly, already reaching for clothes. I yank on a shirt, shove my feet into shorts, and point at Mike. âYouâput something on.â
He fumbles for his sweater from last night, tugging it over his head, then steps into his jeans like heâs still half asleep. He looks unfairly good like thisârumpled, flushed, very obviously just woken up somewhere he didnât plan on waking up.
I rush down the hall and open the door.
Dustin Henderson stands on my porch, pale and panicked, mid-breath.
âThank god,â he blurtsâthen freezes.
His eyes flick past me.
To Mike.
Standing behind me. In yesterdayâs clothes.
Silence.
ââŚWhat,â Dustin says slowly, âis this.â
My stomach drops.
Mike reacts instantly. âNothing.- She asked for a town tour,â Mike continues, talking quickly now, hands shoved in his pockets. âAnd by the time I got back here it was really late so I justâcrashed. Thatâs all.â
Dustin looks between us.
Then at me.
Then back at Mike.
His mouth twists like he absolutely does not buy itâbut whateverâs on his mind is bigger than that.
âOkay,â he says stiffly. âSure.â
The pause hangs there, heavy and weird.
Then Dustin exhales sharply. âAnywayâthis is bad. Like, really bad.â
Mike straightens immediately. âWhat happened?â
Dustin swallows. âChrissyâs dead.â
The words hit like a slap.
âWhat?â I breathe.
âThey found her this morning,â he says, voice shaking now. âIn Eddieâs trailer. And no one knows where Eddie is.â
Mike goes still.
âDead how?â he asks.
Dustin shakes his head. âI donât know. No one does. Theyâre saying itâs⌠itâs messed up. Like nothing Iâve ever heard.â
The porch feels too small. The morning was suddenly too quiet.
âTheyâre already blaming Eddie,â Dustin adds. âJasonâs losing his mind. The cops are everywhere.â
Mike runs a hand through his hair, eyes dark, brain clearly racing. âThis doesnât make sense.â
âI know,â Dustin says. âThatâs why I came here. We need to figure out what actually happened.â
I glance at Mike.
He looks back at meâsomething unspoken passing between us, something that didnât exist yesterday morning.
âOkay,â he says finally. âYeah. We will.â
Dustin nods, then hesitates, glancing between us again. âYou guys⌠good?â
âYeah,â Mike says immediately.
The silence after Dustinâs words feels wrongâtoo heavy for a sunny morning.
I turn slowly toward Mike.
ââŚWe saw them,â I say.
Both of them look at me.
âLast night,â I continue. âAt the trailer park. Eddie and Chrissy. Together.â
Mike nods immediately. âYeah.â
Dustinâs head snaps between us. âYou what?â
âWe were on Mikeâs bike,â I explain. âWe watched them walk into Eddieâs trailer.â
Dustin pales. âOkay. Okayâthen we definitely canât tell the cops.â
âWhat?â I snap.
Mike shifts uncomfortably. âI donât know if we shouldââ
I stare at him. âWhat do you mean you donât know?â
My voice rises despite myself. âMike, a girl is dead. Weâre witnesses. Thatâs not optional.â
Dustin steps forward quickly. âNoâno, listen to me. You donât get it yet.â
âGet what?â I shoot back. âFrom where Iâm standing, your freak-show friend probably killed his secret girlfriend and ran.â
âThatâs not funny,â Dustin says sharply. âAnd itâs not true.â
âOh yeah?â I say. âBecause it looks pretty bad.â
Dustinâs voice breaks just a little. âI know Eddie. He wouldnât do that. Heâs notâheâs not like that.â
âYou donât know that,â I argue. âYou just like him.â
âI do know that,â Dustin insists. âHeâs weird and loud and everyone hates him, but heâs not a murderer.â
I turn to Mike, expecting backup.
He doesnât give it.
Instead, he looks tornâhands flexing at his sides, eyes darting between Dustin and me. âYou shouldnât have said that.â
My chest tightens. âSo youâre just⌠what? Protecting him?â
âIâm protecting the truth,â Dustin says. âAnd you canât tell anyone. Not the cops. Not your friends. No one.â
âThatâs insane,â I say. âThis isnât a game.â
Mike finally looks at me fully.
And his expressionâ
It kills my momentum instantly.
No anger. No defensiveness.
Just that soft, worried look. Brows pulled together, eyes dark and earnest, like heâs silently begging me not to push him away right now. Like heâs already scared of losing something he just found.
âPlease,â he says quietly. âJust⌠trust us. For now.â
I open my mouth.
Close it.
He steps a little closer, lowering his voice. âI know how it sounds. I know itâs messed up. But if weâre wrongâand we tell the copsâEddieâs done. Forever.â
Dustin nods desperately. âThey already hate him. Theyâre looking for a monster, and he fits what they want.â
I look between them.
Logic tells me this is stupid.Â
But Mikeâs eyes donât leave mineâand thereâs something in them that wasnât there yesterday. Something fragile. Something asking me to choose him.
ââŚFor now,â I say slowly.
Both of them exhale at the same time.
âBut,â I add sharply, pointing between them, âif I find out youâre wrongâif youâre hiding something from meâIâm going straight to the police. No warning.â
*plot takes place during season 4 however we used season 5 Mike for what he looks like so for his face/hair/outfits/etc. For all intensive purposes all characters are 18+*
cowritten by @ch0llies & @mattsobvimyfav
Part 1
I met them because Dustin Henderson does not believe in easing people into things.
He spots me in the cafeteria like Iâm a puzzle heâs already decided to solve. Iâm halfway through sitting down when he slides into the seat across from me, grinning like weâre old friends.
âYouâre new,â he says. âYou look like youâd survive a demobat attack.â
I blink. âIs that⌠a compliment?â
âIt is,â he says seriously. âDo you play Dungeons & Dragons?â
And thatâs how I end up at their table.
Dustin drags me over like I donât weigh anything, narrating the whole way. âOkay, so this is Hellfire Club, which is basically the coolest thing at Hawkins High, and youâre perfect for it, andââ
A guy with long curly hair leans back in his chair, boots hooked around the table leg, eyes lighting up the second he sees me. âWell hello there.â
I give him a small smile. His energy is loud but harmless. Curious, not sharp.
Then thereâs the boy sitting across from him.
He looks at me like Iâve personally offended him by existing.
Dustin plops down beside him. âThis is Mike, Eddie, Gareth and Jeffâ He says pointing around the table âGuys, this is Y/N. She just moved here. I was thinking she could maybeââ
âNo,â Mike says immediately.
Justâno.
I raise my eyebrows. Eddieâs head snaps toward him. âNo?â
âWe donât need more people,â Mike adds, arms folding across his chest. He doesnât look away from me. âHellfireâs full.â
Eddie snorts. âSince when, Wheeler?â
âSince always,â Mike says, clipped. âItâs not really a drop-in thing.â
I smile politely, because Iâm good at that. Because Iâve learned it throws people off when you donât react the way they want you to.
âHi,â I say. âNice to meet you too.â
He scoffs under his breath.
Dustin groans. âDude, what is your problem?â
Mike shrugs, like this isnât personalâlike he isnât actively being hostile. âJust being honest.â
I tilt my head. âAbout what?â
He pauses. Just for a second.
Then, âAbout people joining things they donât understand.â
Eddie leans forward, elbows on the table. âDamn, man. Who died and made you the gatekeeper?â
Mikeâs jaw tightens. Something dark flickers across his face. He looks away.
âLook,â Dustin says quickly, âshe doesnât even have to play. She could just watchââ
âI donât need to,â I say, cutting in.
Three heads turn toward me.
âI donât need to join,â I repeat calmly. âI just came because he asked.â
Dustin looks stricken. Eddie looks impressed.
Mike looks⌠caught off guard.
âIâll leave you to it,â I add, grabbing my tray. âGood luck with your super important game.â
I donât wait for a response. I donât rush, either. I walk away like I donât feel his eyes on my back, like his attitude didnât hit something tender.
Behind me, Eddie mutters, âOh, I like her.â
Dustin says, âMike, what the hell?â
I donât expect to see them again that day.
But Hawkins has a way of putting the same people in your path whether you want it to or not.
Iâm at my locker when I hear my name.
âY/N.â
I turn. Mikeâs standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders tense like heâs bracing for impact.
âYeah?â
He looks uncomfortable. Which feels like a small victory.
âDustin said youâre⌠new,â he says.
âThatâs usually how that works.â
He exhales sharply through his nose. âLook. I was kind of an asshole earlier.â
Kind of.
I wait.
He doesnât say sorry. Not yet.
âIâve got a lot going on,â he adds, like that explains it.
I study him. He looks wrecked up closeâeyes tired, mouth set too tight, anger sitting right under his skin like itâs the only thing holding him together.
âOkay,â I say. âThat doesnât give you the right to take it out on me, you don't even know me.â
His jaw clenches. But he nods.
âI know.â
The silence stretches.
âI wasnât going to join Hellfire anyway,â I say eventually. âBut you should probably work on how you talk to people.â
He lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. âYeah. Iâve been told.â
I turn back to my locker. When I close it, heâs still standing there.
âSee you around, Wheeler.â
Teachers mispronounce my name. I get handed a map I donât need. People stare in that subtle, Midwest wayâtrying not to look while very obviously looking. Hawkins High feels like itâs permanently holding its breath.
I catch Mike Wheeler once in English. He doesnât look at me, but I can feel him tense when I sit two rows behind him. Like he knows Iâm there. Like he wishes I wasnât.
By the last bell, Iâm tired in a way that has nothing to do with school.
Iâm halfway down the front steps when someone skids to a stop in front of me.
âWAIT.â
Dustin Henderson, again.
I sigh, but itâs not annoyed. Not really. âWhat now?â
âOkay,â he says, breathless, hands on his knees, âI know Mike was being a jerkâheâs been like that lately, itâs a whole thingâbut please donât judge Hellfire based on him.â
I raise an eyebrow. âYouâre very committed.â
âBecause youâre perfect for it,â he insists. âLike, statistically.â
âI didnât even say I wanted to join.â
âI know,â he says, nodding furiously. âBut I need to know something.â
He straightens, suddenly serious.
âDo you⌠know how to play?â
âKinda,â I say.
His eyes widen. âKinda how?â
I shrug. âMy cousin ran a campaign once. I played a rogue for a few months.â
His mouth drops open.
âA rogue?â
âArcane Trickster,â I add, because apparently I canât help myself. âI multiclassed later for utility. High Dex, dumped Strength, focused on Sleight of Hand and Perception. Sneak Attack damage scales fast if you play it right.â
He just stares at me.
âSo,â I continue, âwhatâs the question?â
He fumbles, scrambling for one like his life depends on it. âOkayâuhâif youâre level five and facing a beholder, what do you prioritize?â
âLine of sight,â I say instantly. âYou break it. Blind it if you can. And you do not cluster your party unless you want a total wipe.â
Dustin makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.
âOh my god,â he whispers. Then louder, âOH MY GOD.â
He grabs my shouldersânot aggressively, just overwhelmed. âYouâre perfect. Youâre actually perfect. Eddie is going to lose his mind.â
âI donât know about that,â I say, smiling despite myself.
âNo, you donât understand,â he says, already backing away like heâs planning. âWe need you. Like, narratively.â
From somewhere behind him, I feel it before I see it.
Mike.
Heâs standing a few yards away, backpack slung over one shoulder, watching us with that same guarded expression. Except now thereâs something else there too.
Interest.
Annoyed interest, but still.
Dustin follows my gaze and beams. âSee? Even Mike agrees.â
Mike scowls. âI didnât say anything.â
âYou didnât have to,â Dustin says cheerfully. âYour face did.â
I meet Mikeâs eyes. He looks like he wants to argueâand like he doesnât quite know how.
âWell,â I say, stepping around Dustin, âIâll think about it.â
Dustin lights up like I just saved Christmas. âYes!â
I try to walk away.
Genuinely. I make it maybe ten steps before I hear sneakers scuffing behind me.
âHeyâheyâwait up!â
I donât turn around. âI already said Iâd think about it.â
âThatâs not a no,â Dustin says brightly, immediately matching my pace on my left. âThatâs a maybe. And maybes are just yeses that need encouragement.â
On my rightâannoyingly silentâI can feel him.
Mike Wheeler
Heâs walking with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders tight, like heâs pretending this isnât happening. Like he didnât just argue with me an hour ago. Like he doesnât care.
Which somehow makes it worse.
âIâm going home,â I say.
âSo are we,â Dustin replies. âJust⌠with a quick stop first.â
âNope.â
âWeâre playing tonight,â Dustin presses. âAt Mikeâs.â
I stop. Slowly turn to face them. âAbsolutely not.â
Mike finally speaks. âYou donât have to.â
I look at him. âWow. First reasonable thing youâve said all day.â
His jaw tightens. âIâm serious.â
âAnd Iâm serious too,â I say. âI just moved here. I donât know you. Iâm not going to some guyâs house to play a game.â
Dustin looks personally offended. âFirst of all, rude. Second of all, Mrs. Wheeler is home. Like. Always.â
Mike groans. âDustinââ
âAnd third,â Dustin adds, pointing at me, âyou answered that beholder question faster than I blink. You have to come.â
I hesitate. I hate that I hesitate.
âI said one hour,â I remind him.
âYes!â Dustin pumps a fist. âOkay. Transportation.â
I blink. âTransportation?â
He points behind us.
Two bikes.
I look at them. Then at him. âI donât have a bike.â
âNo problem,â Dustin says instantly. âYou can ride on the back of Mikeâs.â
I laugh. âNo.â
Mike stiffens. âShe doesnât have toââ
âWhy not yours?â I ask Dustin.
He gestures dramatically to the bulky, duct-taped mess strapped to his bike. âBecause I need the back for my science project.â
Mike squints at it. âThatâs a radio.â
âItâs a prototype,â Dustin snaps, then looks back at me. âAlso, thereâs literally no room.â
I glance at Mike.
He avoids my eyes.
âIâm notââ I start.
âPlease,â Dustin says. Not joking now. âJust tonight.â
Thereâs something about the way he says itâlike he really means it. Like this isnât just a game to him. Like they need this night to feel normal.
I sigh.
âFine,â I say. âBut if I die, Iâm haunting both of you.â
Dustin beams. âDeal.â
Mike hands me a helmet, still not looking directly at me. âJustâuhâhold on.â
I climb onto the back of his bike. Itâs closer than I expect. My knees brush his sides. His back goes rigid instantly.
âRelax,â I say lightly. âIâm not going to fall.â
âGood,â he mutters. âBecause Iâm not great at⌠catching people.â
Dustin hops on his bike and starts pedaling ahead. âWheeler! Donât crash the new girl!â
Mike exhales, starts the engine, and the bike lurches forward.
I grab his jacket without thinking.
He freezes for half a secondâthen keeps going.
The bike hums beneath us, low and steady, vibrating up through the soles of my shoes.
I hadnât expected how close it would be.
Thereâs no polite distance on the back of a bike. No room for pretending. My knees press against his hips every time we hit a crack in the road, and my handsâafter hovering awkwardly for a full five secondsâend up clutching the hem of his jacket.
Not his shoulders. That feels too intimate.
Mike sits rigid in front of me, spine straight like heâs afraid to move the wrong way. His shoulders are tense, pulled tight under the fabric, like heâs bracing for impact instead of just riding home.
He smells faintly like laundry detergent and cold air.
I notice stupid things. The way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck. The way his fingers tighten around the handlebars every time Dustin swerves ahead of us. The way he keeps glancing left, then rightâchecking intersections, mirrors, shadowsâlike heâs used to being responsible for more than just himself.
He clears his throat once.
The bike jolts suddenly over a bump, and my grip tightens without thinking. My fingers curl into his jacket, and my chest bumps lightly into his back.
He stiffens.
Not pulling away. Just⌠registering it.
âSorry,â I say, instinctively.
âItâs fine,â he replies quickly. Too quickly. His voice cracks just a little at the end, like he hasnât spoken much today.
We ride in silence after that.
I loosen my grip a little, resting my hands flatter against his sides instead of clutching the fabric. I can feel the warmth through his jacket, steady and real. His breathing evens out as the road smooths, and eventuallyâslowlyâhis shoulders drop a fraction.
Just enough for me to notice.
Dustin whoops ahead of us, pedaling harder, calling something about beating us there. Mike barely reacts, just shakes his head slightly, a fondness he doesnât even seem aware of flickering across his face.
The bike rolls to a stop.
And when I finally let go, my hands feel cold without him.
Mikeâs basement smells like dust, old carpet, and something vaguely metallicâozone, maybe, from too many electronics plugged into one outlet.
Christmas lights snake along the ceiling, casting everything in that familiar warm glow. The folding table is already set up: dice scattered, character sheets stacked, the battle map rolled out like itâs waiting to be activated.
Dustin immediately drops his bag with the radio contraption and launches into talking at full volume.
âShe knows D&D,â he announces, like heâs delivering breaking news.
From behind the DM screen, Eddie Munson looks up.
Slowly.
His eyes flick to me. Then down. Then back up again.
âWell Iâll be damned,â he says, grinning.
The basement goes quiet in that way it only does when something important is about to happen.
Dice stop clattering. Someoneâs foot stops bouncing. Even the Christmas lights seem to hum softer.
Dustin is practically vibrating beside me. âOkayâokayâjust sit here. You can use my backup sheet if you want, or we can make you one real quick, orââ
âIâll make my own,â I say, already pulling a blank sheet toward me.
Mike watches from across the table, expression unreadable. Still guarded. Still skeptical. But he hasnât told me to leave.
Yet.
I roll my shoulders, take in the map, the miniatures, the positioning. The campaign is mid-chaosâparty low on spell slots, terrain working against them, stakes clearly high.
I build fast. Efficient. No wasted stats.
When I slide the sheet forward, Eddieâs brows lift.
âInteresting,â he murmurs. âBold choice.â
âOnly if you donât know how to use it,â I reply lightly.
Dustinâs jaw drops. âOh my god. She min-maxed.â
Mike leans forward despite himself.
The game starts again.
At first, I hang back. Let them play the way theyâre used to. I watch how Dustin strategizes, how Mike tracks everyoneâs health like itâs second nature, how Eddie narrates with dramatic flair.
Then things go south.
Bad roll. Enemy crit. Someoneâs down to two hit points.
Mike swears under his breath. âWeâre screwed.â
âNot yet,â I say.
Everyone looks at me.
I move my piece.
âI disengage, use my bonus action to cast Misty Step to higher ground,â I say calmly, already rolling. âThen I take the shot.â
The dice hit the table.
Natural. Twenty.
The room explodes.
Dustin actually shrieks. âNO WAYââ
âIâm not done,â I add, because apparently I woke up confident today. âSneak Attack damage applies since I have advantage. And Iâm targeting the caster.â
Eddieâs grin stretches wide. âOh, I like you.â
The turn shifts.
I coordinate. I call out positioning. I tell Dustin when to hold, Mike when to push. Itâs seamlessâlike weâve played together for years instead of minutes.
Mike starts listening without even realizing it.
âYou should flank left,â I tell him at one point.
He hesitates. âThat puts me in rangeââ
âTrust me.â
He does.
And it works.
By the final round, the table is dead silent again. Everyone leans in as I roll the last attack. The dice clatter, spin, stop.
Hit.
Eddie slams his hands on the table. âThatâs it. Thatâs game.â
For a second, no one moves.
Then Dustin launches out of his chair and points at me like I just solved world hunger. âSHE WON THE WHOLE THING.â
âI didnât win it,â I say, smiling. âWe did.â
Mike exhales a breath heâs been holding the entire night.
Heâs staring at me now. Really staring.
Not annoyed. Not angry.
Something closer to stunned.
âThat wasâŚâ he starts, then stops, shakes his head. âYouâre⌠really good.â
Itâs the first compliment heâs given me.
It lands harder than it should.
âYeah,â I say lightly. âKinda.â
Dustin grins so hard it looks painful. âYouâre never allowed to leave.â
Mike snorts despite himself.
And when I glance back at him, thereâs something different in his eyes nowâless edge, less armor.
The energy in the basement lingers even after the game endsâlike the air hasnât caught up yet.
Dice are still scattered across the table. Character sheets half-folded. Someone left a mini knocked over on its side, frozen mid-battle.
Eddie stands first.
âWell,â he says, clapping his hands together once, sharp and final, âthat was legendary. But Iâve gotta, uh⌠take care of something.â He grabs his jacket, gives me a two-finger salute. âHellfireâs doors are officially open to you, newcomer.â
Then heâs goneâup the stairs, door closing behind him, like he was never meant to stay too long in the first place.
a/n - alright its been a while but me and @ch0llies are back in the studio cooking again so heres part one, enjoyyy
I met them because Dustin Henderson does not believe in easing people into things.
He spots me in the cafeteria like Iâm a puzzle heâs already decided to solve. Iâm halfway through sitting down when he slides into the seat across from me, grinning like weâre old friends.
âYouâre new,â he says. âYou look like youâd survive a demobat attack.â
I blink. âIs that⌠a compliment?â
âIt is,â he says seriously. âDo you play Dungeons & Dragons?â
And thatâs how I end up at their table.
Dustin drags me over like I donât weigh anything, narrating the whole way. âOkay, so this is Hellfire Club, which is basically the coolest thing at Hawkins High, and youâre perfect for it, andââ
A guy with long curly hair leans back in his chair, boots hooked around the table leg, eyes lighting up the second he sees me. âWell hello there.â
I give him a small smile. His energy is loud but harmless. Curious, not sharp.
Then thereâs the boy sitting across from him.
He looks at me like Iâve personally offended him by existing.
Dustin plops down beside him. âThis is Mike, Eddie, Gareth and Jeffâ He says pointing around the table âGuys, this is Y/N. She just moved here. I was thinking she could maybeââ
âNo,â Mike says immediately.
Justâno.
I raise my eyebrows. Eddieâs head snaps toward him. âNo?â
âWe donât need more people,â Mike adds, arms folding across his chest. He doesnât look away from me. âHellfireâs full.â
Eddie snorts. âSince when, Wheeler?â
âSince always,â Mike says, clipped. âItâs not really a drop-in thing.â
I smile politely, because Iâm good at that. Because Iâve learned it throws people off when you donât react the way they want you to.
âHi,â I say. âNice to meet you too.â
He scoffs under his breath.
Dustin groans. âDude, what is your problem?â
Mike shrugs, like this isnât personalâlike he isnât actively being hostile. âJust being honest.â
I tilt my head. âAbout what?â
He pauses. Just for a second.
Then, âAbout people joining things they donât understand.â
Eddie leans forward, elbows on the table. âDamn, man. Who died and made you the gatekeeper?â
Mikeâs jaw tightens. Something dark flickers across his face. He looks away.
âLook,â Dustin says quickly, âshe doesnât even have to play. She could just watchââ
âI donât need to,â I say, cutting in.
Three heads turn toward me.
âI donât need to join,â I repeat calmly. âI just came because he asked.â
Dustin looks stricken. Eddie looks impressed.
Mike looks⌠caught off guard.
âIâll leave you to it,â I add, grabbing my tray. âGood luck with your super important name.â
I donât wait for a response. I donât rush, either. I walk away like I donât feel his eyes on my back, like his attitude didnât hit something tender.
Behind me, Eddie mutters, âOh, sheâs cool.â
Dustin says, âMike, what the hell?â
I donât expect to see them again that day.
But Hawkins has a way of putting the same people in your path whether you want it to or not.
Iâm at my locker when I hear my name.
âY/N.â
I turn. Mikeâs standing a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders tense like heâs bracing for impact.
âYeah?â
He looks uncomfortable. Which feels like a small victory.
âDustin said youâre⌠new,â he says.
âThatâs usually how that works.â
He exhales sharply through his nose. âLook. I was kind of an asshole earlier.â
Kind of.
I wait.
He doesnât say sorry. Not yet.
âIâve got a lot going on,â he adds, like that explains it.
I study him. He looks wrecked up closeâeyes tired, mouth set too tight, anger sitting right under his skin like itâs the only thing holding him together.
âOkay,â I say. âThat doesnât give you the right to take it out on me, you don't even know me.â
His jaw clenches. But he nods.
âI know.â
The silence stretches.
âI wasnât going to join Hellfire anyway,â I say eventually. âBut you should probably work on how you talk to people.â
He lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. âYeah. Iâve been told.â
I turn back to my locker. When I close it, heâs still standing there.
âSee you around, Wheeler.â
Teachers mispronounce my name. I get handed a map I donât need. People stare in that subtle, Midwest wayâtrying not to look while very obviously looking. Hawkins High feels like itâs permanently holding its breath.
I catch Mike Wheeler once in English. He doesnât look at me, but I can feel him tense when I sit two rows behind him. Like he knows Iâm there. Like he wishes I wasnât.
By the last bell, Iâm tired in a way that has nothing to do with school.
Iâm halfway down the front steps when someone skids to a stop in front of me.
âWAIT.â
Dustin Henderson, again.
I sigh, but itâs not annoyed. Not really. âWhat now?â
âOkay,â he says, breathless, hands on his knees, âI know Mike was being a jerkâheâs been like that lately, itâs a whole thingâbut please donât judge Hellfire based on him.â
I raise an eyebrow. âYouâre very committed.â
âBecause youâre perfect for it,â he insists. âLike, statistically.â
âI didnât even say I wanted to join.â
âI know,â he says, nodding furiously. âBut I need to know something.â
He straightens, suddenly serious.
âDo you⌠know how to play?â
âKinda,â I say.
His eyes widen. âKinda how?â
I shrug. âMy cousin ran a campaign once. I played a rogue for a few months.â
His mouth drops open.
âA rogue?â
âArcane Trickster,â I add, because apparently I canât help myself. âI multiclassed later for utility. High Dex, dumped Strength, focused on Sleight of Hand and Perception. Sneak Attack damage scales fast if you play it right.â
He just stares at me.
âSo,â I continue, âwhatâs the question?â
He fumbles, scrambling for one like his life depends on it. âOkayâuhâif youâre level five and facing a beholder, what do you prioritize?â
âLine of sight,â I say instantly. âYou break it. Blind it if you can. And you do not cluster your party unless you want a total wipe.â
Dustin makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.
âOh my god,â he whispers. Then louder, âOH MY GOD.â
He grabs my shouldersânot aggressively, just overwhelmed. âYouâre perfect. Youâre actually perfect. Eddie is going to lose his mind.â
âI donât know about that,â I say, smiling despite myself.
âNo, you donât understand,â he says, already backing away like heâs planning. âWe need you. Like, narratively.â
From somewhere behind him, I feel it before I see it.
Mike.
Heâs standing a few yards away, backpack slung over one shoulder, watching us with that same guarded expression. Except now thereâs something else there too.
Interest.
Annoyed interest, but still.
Dustin follows my gaze and beams. âSee? Even Mike agrees.â
Mike scowls. âI didnât say anything.â
âYou didnât have to,â Dustin says cheerfully. âYour face did.â
I meet Mikeâs eyes. He looks like he wants to argueâand like he doesnât quite know how.
âWell,â I say, stepping around Dustin, âIâll think about it.â
Dustin lights up like I just saved Christmas. âYes!â
I try to walk away.
Genuinely. I make it maybe ten steps before I hear sneakers scuffing behind me.
âHeyâheyâwait up!â
I donât turn around. âI already said Iâd think about it.â
âThatâs not a no,â Dustin says brightly, immediately matching my pace on my left. âThatâs a maybe. And maybes are just yeses that need encouragement.â
On my rightâannoyingly silentâI can feel him.
Mike Wheeler
Heâs walking with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders tight, like heâs pretending this isnât happening. Like he didnât just argue with me an hour ago. Like he doesnât care.
Which somehow makes it worse.
âIâm going home,â I say.
âSo are we,â Dustin replies. âJust⌠with a quick stop first.â
âNope.â
âWeâre playing tonight,â Dustin presses. âAt Mikeâs.â
I stop. Slowly turn to face them. âAbsolutely not.â
Mike finally speaks. âYou donât have to.â
I look at him. âWow. First reasonable thing youâve said all day.â
His jaw tightens. âIâm serious.â
âAnd Iâm serious too,â I say. âI just moved here. I donât know you. Iâm not going to some guyâs house to play a game.â
Dustin looks personally offended. âFirst of all, rude. Second of all, Mrs. Wheeler is home. Like. Always.â
Mike groans. âDustinââ
âAnd third,â Dustin adds, pointing at me, âyou answered that beholder question faster than I blink. You have to come.â
I hesitate. I hate that I hesitate.
âI said one hour,â I remind him.
âYes!â Dustin pumps a fist. âOkay. Transportation.â
I blink. âTransportation?â
He points behind us.
Two bikes.
I look at them. Then at him. âI donât have a bike.â
âNo problem,â Dustin says instantly. âYou can ride on the back of Mikeâs.â
I laugh. âNo.â
Mike stiffens. âShe doesnât have toââ
âWhy not yours?â I ask Dustin.
He gestures dramatically to the bulky, duct-taped mess strapped to his bike. âBecause I need the back for my science project.â
Mike squints at it. âThatâs a radio.â
âItâs a prototype,â Dustin snaps, then looks back at me. âAlso, thereâs literally no room.â
I glance at Mike.
He avoids my eyes.
âIâm notââ I start.
âPlease,â Dustin says. Not joking now. âJust tonight.â
Thereâs something about the way he says itâlike he really means it. Like this isnât just a game to him. Like they need this night to feel normal.
I sigh.
âFine,â I say. âBut if I die, Iâm haunting both of you.â
Dustin beams. âDeal.â
Mike hands me a helmet, still not looking directly at me. âJustâuhâhold on.â
I climb onto the back of his bike. Itâs closer than I expect. My knees brush his sides. His back goes rigid instantly.
âRelax,â I say lightly. âIâm not going to fall.â
âGood,â he mutters. âBecause Iâm not great at⌠catching people.â
Dustin hops on his bike and starts pedaling ahead. âWheeler! Donât crash the new girl!â
Mike exhales, starts the engine, and the bike lurches forward.
I grab his jacket without thinking.
He freezes for half a secondâthen keeps going.
The bike hums beneath us, low and steady, vibrating up through the soles of my shoes.
I hadnât expected how close it would be.
Thereâs no polite distance on the back of a bike. No room for pretending. My knees press against his hips every time we hit a crack in the road, and my handsâafter hovering awkwardly for a full five secondsâend up clutching the hem of his jacket.
Not his shoulders. That feels too intimate.
Mike sits rigid in front of me, spine straight like heâs afraid to move the wrong way. His shoulders are tense, pulled tight under the fabric, like heâs bracing for impact instead of just riding home.
He smells faintly like laundry detergent and cold air.
I notice stupid things. The way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck. The way his fingers tighten around the handlebars every time Dustin swerves ahead of us. The way he keeps glancing left, then rightâchecking intersections, mirrors, shadowsâlike heâs used to being responsible for more than just himself.
He clears his throat once.
The bike jolts suddenly over a bump, and my grip tightens without thinking. My fingers curl into his jacket, and my chest bumps lightly into his back.
He stiffens.
Not pulling away. Just⌠registering it.
âSorry,â I say, instinctively.
âItâs fine,â he replies quickly. Too quickly. His voice cracks just a little at the end, like he hasnât spoken much today.
We ride in silence after that.
I loosen my grip a little, resting my hands flatter against his sides instead of clutching the fabric. I can feel the warmth through his jacket, steady and real. His breathing evens out as the road smooths, and eventuallyâslowlyâhis shoulders drop a fraction.
Just enough for me to notice.
Dustin whoops ahead of us, pedaling harder, calling something about beating us there. Mike barely reacts, just shakes his head slightly, a fondness he doesnât even seem aware of flickering across his face.
The bike rolls to a stop.
And when I finally let go, my hands feel cold without him.
Mikeâs basement smells like dust, old carpet, and something vaguely metallicâozone, maybe, from too many electronics plugged into one outlet.
Christmas lights snake along the ceiling, casting everything in that familiar warm glow. The folding table is already set up: dice scattered, character sheets stacked, the battle map rolled out like itâs waiting to be activated.
Dustin immediately drops his bag with the radio contraption and launches into talking at full volume.
âShe knows D&D,â he announces, like heâs delivering breaking news.
From behind the DM screen, Eddie Munson looks up.
Slowly.
His eyes flick to me. Then down. Then back up again.
âWell Iâll be damned,â he says, grinning.Â
The basement goes quiet in that way it only does when something important is about to happen.
Dice stop clattering. Someoneâs foot stops bouncing. Even the Christmas lights seem to hum softer.
Dustin is practically vibrating beside me. âOkayâokayâjust sit here. You can use my backup sheet if you want, or we can make you one real quick, orââ
âIâll make my own,â I say, already pulling a blank sheet toward me.
Mike watches from across the table, expression unreadable. Still guarded. Still skeptical. But he hasnât told me to leave.
Yet.
I roll my shoulders, take in the map, the miniatures, the positioning. The campaign is mid-chaosâparty low on spell slots, terrain working against them, stakes clearly high.
I build fast. Efficient. No wasted stats.
When I slide the sheet forward, Eddieâs brows lift.
âInteresting,â he murmurs. âBold choice.â
âOnly if you donât know how to use it,â I reply lightly.
Dustinâs jaw drops. âOh my god. She min-maxed.â
Mike leans forward despite himself.
The game starts again.
At first, I hang back. Let them play the way theyâre used to. I watch how Dustin strategizes, how Mike tracks everyoneâs health like itâs second nature, how Eddie narrates with dramatic flair.
Then things go south.
Bad roll. Enemy crit. Someoneâs down to two hit points.
Mike swears under his breath. âWeâre screwed.â
âNot yet,â I say.
Everyone looks at me.
I move my piece.
âI disengage, use my bonus action to cast Misty Step to higher ground,â I say calmly, already rolling. âThen I take the shot.â
The dice hit the table.
Natural. Twenty.
The room explodes.
Dustin actually shrieks. âNO WAYââ
âIâm not done,â I add, because apparently I woke up confident today. âSneak Attack damage applies since I have advantage. And Iâm targeting the caster.â
Eddieâs grin stretches wide. âOh, I like you.â
The turn shifts.
I coordinate. I call out positioning. I tell Dustin when to hold, Mike when to push. Itâs seamlessâlike weâve played together for years instead of minutes.
Mike starts listening without even realizing it.
âYou should flank left,â I tell him at one point.
He hesitates. âThat puts me in rangeââ
âTrust me.â
He does.
And it works.
By the final round, the table is dead silent again. Everyone leans in as I roll the last attack. The dice clatter, spin, stop.
Hit.
Eddie slams his hands on the table. âThatâs it. Thatâs game.â
For a second, no one moves.
Then Dustin launches out of his chair and points at me like I just solved world hunger. âSHE WON THE WHOLE THING.â
âI didnât win it,â I say, smiling. âWe did.â
Mike exhales a breath heâs been holding the entire night.
Heâs staring at me now. Really staring.
Not annoyed. Not angry.
Something closer to stunned.
âThat wasâŚâ he starts, then stops, shakes his head. âYouâre⌠really good.â
Itâs the first compliment heâs given me.
It lands harder than it should.
âYeah,â I say lightly. âKinda.â
Dustin grins so hard it looks painful. âYouâre never allowed to leave.â
Mike snorts despite himself.
And when I glance back at him, thereâs something different in his eyes nowâless edge, less armor.
The energy in the basement lingers even after the game endsâlike the air hasnât caught up yet.
Dice are still scattered across the table. Character sheets half-folded. Someone left a mini knocked over on its side, frozen mid-battle.
Eddie stands first.
âWell,â he says, clapping his hands together once, sharp and final, âthat was legendary. But Iâve gotta, uh⌠take care of something.â He grabs his jacket, gives me a two-finger salute. âHellfireâs doors are officially open to you, newcomer.â
Then heâs goneâup the stairs, door closing behind him, like he was never meant to stay too long in the first place.
and i think that if madisyn left because of chrises commitment issues there wouldnât be tea (since on the stream they were like they wanna know the tea) and they wouldnât have unfollowed her EVERYWHERE and wouldve understood, and chris would not have been heartbroken from that he wouldâve understood đđ im pretty sure he was also with madisyn when he was rly young like in 2020-2021 so i think that was also before he was even scared because seemingly from the pics of them tg they were rllly close, he wouldâve said from the start if he didnât want all of that with her. thereâs literally vids and pics of them cuddling and holding hands from 2020-2021 AND nick def wouldnât have talked about it publicly if they didnt know for sure AND theres literally no evidence of them saying there was a misunderstanding because nick wasnt actually talking he was mouthing đđ but i just had to say this because none of this is a coincidence he def was played hes talked about being heartbroken nick mouthed it on the stream and they never addressed it after its def real he def was played
THANK YOU
fuck the people who side with that hoe who dated another dude while with chris đđ
i also think we should chill on a girl who maybe made a mistake when she was what 15? idk strange to me nobody actually knows what happened & nobody should be rude about stuff thatâs not ur business & you actually donât know what happened. just bc thatâs ur favđ¤ˇđťââď¸