A party. Mike Wheeler, and a party. Two things you would never typically hear together. But, hey, stranger things have happened.

Mike was in high school now, it was inevitable that he’d go to a party at some point, right? Doesn’t make the prospect of it any less daunting, however. He’s tried on three different shirts (all to end up picking the first one he tried on) and has spent far too long mussing his hair into perfection. God, he felt like such girl. Why was he making such a big deal out of this anyway? Who was really gonna be paying attention to whether he wore green or navy? No one, probably. Oh, well, maybe no one except for you. He hopes.

He met you in his sophomore year, when you first started at Hawkins high as a freshman. You were Eddie’s little sister, someone the rest of the party had no clue even existed, but from the sight of you, they could all tell. You showed up in a Beatles shirt with smudged eyeliner, a perpetual frown on your face and always a sarcastic comment at the ready. You thought your brother and his friends were massive nerds, but despite this, Mike had a fondness for you.

You may have had this fake, mean persona, but Mike knew otherwise. You were just like Eddie; hard on the outside, soft and gooey on the inside. He saw you petting a stray kitty every time you walked home, noticed you helping some kid who’d scrapped their knee, saw how you spent almost all of your free time volunteering wherever would take you. You were an angel in disguise.

And he knew you’d be at this party, because it was Eddie’s party. And that had caused Mike to be racked with nerves since your brother told him about it. Jesus, what was wrong with him? All this over a girl who had repeatedly called him a dork. But you never said it meanly, not to him. Maybe he was deluded, or maybe…just maybe it meant something.

Now, at the party, Mike was holding one of those red solo cups filled with an undisclosed liquid and not listening to a word Dustin was saying. His neck was starting to hurt from how much he was straining it to try and get a glimpse of you. Where were you? He felt as thought he’d imagined you. You were like a ghost, or a siren.

“Hey, stalker.” A voice from behind him makes him jump, a little of the unknown liquid spilling onto his hand. He spins around and…oh. Its you. God, you’re pretty. It makes his head feel all empty and dizzy, like all of smarts just flew right out the window at the sight of you. “Who are you looking for? You look like your heads about to rip off.”

“O-oh, no one. Just..looking.” He says, cursing God for making his voice crack. He really wasn’t working on his side today.