Lethobenthos || Mike Hanlon x Reader [PREVIEW]
𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨 // n. the habit of forgetting how important someone is to you until you see them again in person
- dictionary of obscure sorrows
I hope you enjoy this sneak peek of Lethosbenthos, [Mike x Reader Rewrite] coming soon! Please let me know if you'd like to added to the future taglist!
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"Mike! Party of eight!"
Mike casts one last sweep across the waiting area, no sign of anyone yet. Eagerly, he pushes himself off the wall - he had given up his seat to a little boy, his parents grateful but truthfully he was restless. He soon falls in line with the waitress, and as she rounds a few corners, Mike subconsciously takes note of the route to his table. For a moment he allows himself the distraction of the savory smells wafting into his nose, though the distraction is quickly replaced by thoughts. Thoughts of her.
Would she actually come? Would she be happy to see him again? And just how much would she remember? She was very distant and quiet when he called her. It nearly broke his heart when she said those two words. He could still hear them bouncing around his skull, echoing in the farthest corners of his mind.
Mike who?
"Here is your table, sir, and your menus" the waitress makes a quick round about the table dealing the folders quickly. "Now will the rest of your party be arriving shortly?"
Mike's eyes flickered past the waitress and where they had just arrived from, and he smiled nervously.
"I hope so," he mumbled, a nervous chuckle vibrating through his chest.
The waitress frowned a little at this, tilting her head and Mike was quick to correct his mistake.
"They should be, yes. Yes, thank you,"
The waitress smiled and nodded her head slightly in relief. Without another word, she disappeared around the corner. Mike found himself pacing, his hands, he realized, were sweating. Anxiously, he wipes his palms on his jeans and begins drumming his fingers on his legs as he walks.
His mind returns to the Losers, and he begins to picture how they might have aged. Not so much physically, but emotionally. Morally. Most of them sounded quite uncertain, though he couldn't really blame them. But the question was, would they still be willing to fight? And what would he do if they weren't? Mike really didn't want to think of such a thing. Not only because the task of defending the town would fall to him, but he refused to believe his friends would abandon him. Leave him to fend for himself.
No. No, that wasn't them. Hell, they didn't even know him and they all put their asses on the line to protect him from Bowers. The infamous rock fight. Mike thought about that day a lot. He had lived in Derry all his life and that was the first time he could remember feeling truly at home since his parents had passed. That very day, Ben had taken them all to the clubhouse he had refurbished, a place they could all call their own. This was another detail that warmed Mike's heart. The fact that not only had these six strangers saved him and his best friend, but had welcomed them in with open arms, without even a second thought. From the moment the first rock was cast across the Barrens, he was a Loser, through and through.
Mike takes note of the dull ache blossoming at the bottom of his heels where they dug into the worn-out souls of his shoes. He shifted on his feet, shaking out each shoe just enough to readjust before he resumes his pacing. Though he thinks better of it and does his best to remain in one place. He is still much too restless and uneasy to take a seat, so he glides across the carpeted floor and directs all his attention to the extravagant fish tank extending along the wall.
His eyes scan the water, searching desperately for another distraction. Unable to go much longer thinking about the wait and stomach much too upset to focus on anything his phone might provide. Finally, his eyes catch sight of a strikingly beautiful fish, with brilliant stripes and colors. It weaves in and out throughout the many planted ornaments of synthetic seaweed and ceramic rocks, only to glance up at Mike.
The fish continues to stare at Mike, mouth opening and closing, but eyes never faltering and it's body - apart from its slim fins - hardly moves, it seemed unnatural to him. Mike tenses, he can feel his jaw grow tight and sore from clenching - he had made an awful habit of that as of late, what with everything going on. He attempts to steady his breathing, preparing himself for the worst. But the fish merely turns away, disinterested and retreats into its rather luxurious ceramic palace in the corner of the tank.
Mike sighs, rubbing the strain from his eyes and that is when he hears it. That captivating voice. The voice that haunted him for twenty-seven years. I'll call you. The last three words she had spoken to him since their departure at the train station that woeful evening. Of course it wasn't her fault as Mike would later come to learn, everyone who left Derry seemed to forget everything of the small town.
But that voice, he could never forget her voice, no matter how hard he tried. The voice of his best friend, the butcher's daughter that had greeted him eagerly with a smile and portions of food she would smuggle from her father's shop for him on his deliveries because she knew he never had time for breakfast. The girl who stole his heart with every laugh, every passion-fueled rant, every sarcastic remark, and every spitfire response when she had been pushed just far enough. And the girl who broke his heart when she disappeared from his life so suddenly.
"Mike?"
His heart pounding so violently against his ribs he fears it will break them, Mike turns around to face her. Like the fish in the tank just moments ago, he finds his mouth opening and closing sporadically and he attempts to close it to the best of his ability. There she stood, the waitress retreating around the corner behind her but Mike could only register the woman before him. Mike noticed several things about her at once, a great overwhelming deal the moment he laid eyes on her.
He noticed that despite the inevitable physical toll of time, she looked the same. Hauntingly similar, in fact. Even her choice of clothes was strikingly close to what he last saw on her. It almost looked as if she had never gotten off the train until tonight, never changing, but waiting. For this moment. For this stop.
Her eyes said different, they were still a brilliant shade of E/C but now they held experience and knowledge. They had seen many places. Her S/C skin only proved this theory, it seemed slightly darker than he remembered, she looked as if she had spent many years in the sun. She held herself the same, still tall and striving for confidence but this time he could sense it. The confidence was stronger, more concentrated, she had certainly found it somewhere along the way. But her smile. It was the same broken smile she had given him the day they were forced to say goodbye.
The smile that said, I'm sorry. She wore it even now. It was hauntingly beautiful but it didn't help his aching heart. She did though. Her being there was enough to make it stronger again. For when Mike looked at her now, he didn't see the years lost between them like assumed he would, nor did he see a stranger as he feared despite the clear displacement she showed. But he saw his long lost love, the girl he could never quite shake from his mind, the girl whose words and actions bled through his conscience and into his own everyday life.
He saw his best friend.
"Y/n."