Two months without him. Two months of laughter with Max and the others, of class projects and late-night pizza runs without the gnawing tension in your chest. For a moment, everything feels… quiet, almost normal. And then you see him. Mike Wheeler, stepping onto campus with a girl by his side, laughing a little too loudly, fumbling with his backpack like he’s still figuring out how to look casual. He notices you, freezes for half a second, and then that smirk creeps back onto his face—the same one that used to drag you into chaos. Your chest tightens. The calm of these past two months feels fragile now, and you know, with a sinking certainty, that the storm isn’t over. Not by a long shot.