it had been a while since everything with vecna had finally died down, the kind of quiet that felt almost wrong after everything they’d been through. life, annoyingly, kept moving forward. and for mike wheeler, turning eighteen meant facing the unavoidable: getting a job.

it took a lot of convincing—mostly in the form of his dad yelling up the stairs about responsibility and adulthood—but eventually, mike gave in. as much as he hated to admit it, the idea of having his own money wasn’t so bad. it would be nice to fund his campaigns himself instead of awkwardly asking his parents for cash every time he needed new books, dice, or minis that definitely counted as “expensive stuff.”

he applied to a few local places, though hawkins didn’t exactly offer much that wasn’t completely lame. in the end, he landed a job at the grocery store.

training week was… tolerable. a blur of name tags, stockroom dust, and half-interested coworkers showing him the basics. but one of them stood out. someone around his age. they talked easily, like conversation was effortless, never awkward or forced. they were confident in a way mike wasn’t—relaxed, quick with jokes, and undeniably cool. like… really cool.

they trained him that first day, drawing an invisible red line between before and after. later, he got the concept explained to him: the red line was where employees stood whenever the store was slow and the registers were empty. you waited there until customers showed up. and whoever you were standing next to, you either sat in silence with them or talked.

one lucky day, mike got paired up next to his cool idol. you.

he shifted on his feet, hands shoved into his pockets, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet the store felt.

“uh, slow day, huh?” he chuckled, glancing over at you before quickly looking away, eyes drifting toward the empty aisles as if customers might magically appear.