Chapter Text
Mike never really liked skating. Sure, it's nice to see El after half a year, but California feels just too performative. It isn't Mike, he never really cared what others thought of him, yet here he is, in ridiculous new clothes he has just bought at the airport. As the two are having fun, Mike feels the urge to turn around and check on...nobody? Weirdly, there isn't a soul behind him.
All of a sudden, he finds himself in his garage, in the middle of the night in the pouring rain. His heart is racing, as if he had been fighting with someone. This stream of events starts to pick up the pace. He is suddenly in a room full of around ten to eleven other people, feeling soul crushing guilt. Then in the backseat of a van, then on a field in the sunset, and so on. However, the emotions keep changing gradually. Anger and confusion replaced by grief and longing. Something is missing, something is not quite adding up.
Finally, it's over. Mike is back in his homely basement. He lets out a quick short sigh, reminiscing about his childhood, all those hours spent playing DnD with his friends. Even though growin apart from them has been painful, he knows it's the way life goes. The -less and less- occasional encounters with Lucas and Dustin are sufficient to keep him afloat in life. But of course, he can't forget El. Oh, El, his hero, his superman who vanished after sacrificing herself saving the world. It hurts, but Mike knows this is for the best. He never treated her right, poor El, after a life so full of pain and suffering, she deserved so much more than what Mike had ever given to her. He doesn't even understand why, why was he such a douche in his early-mid teens? Probably doesn't matter, no use beating a dead horse.
Life is okay. Not only in the sense that it's neither good nor bad, but also that it's completely ordinary. Mike spends most of his time writing DnD stories, but it gets lonely pretty quickly. He goes for a walk in the neighborhood to get some fresh air. Subconsciously, he starts to ponder about his life, where it's all headed. Well, this isn't really a question of choice, but still. He's wondering who his wife will be, how many kids they will have, what their names will be...it doesn't sound thrilling, but that's life. Not just for him, but for everybody as well. He can see familes enjoy the last hours of sunshine spending quality time together, a hopeful reminder of what Mike's life will look like in an ideal, or more precisely, realistic future.
They aren't complaining, just making the best of a bad hand. It is statistically impossible for every single person to find their other half, their soulmate. Tough indeed, but life is about attempting to be halfway happy, essentially a C-O-M-promise.
Mike has always been a rational person, he will always find a way to make sense of his emotions and anything happening to him. Losing his father really did a number on his mental health, as not only was he his role model, but his best friend as well. To an outsider, Ted Wheeler might have looked like a miserable old man, but now Mike finally understands that he was acting with his family's best interest in mind. This really solidified Mike's purpose in life, he wanted to do anything possible to follow in his hero's footsteps. Being tough is not a weakness, but a virtue.
Time has been funny lately. Mike didn't even realize that it was already dark, as he made his way back home. He can sure get lost in his own mind quite easily. Another day spent doing what, exactly? Hopefully, tomorrow will be more interesting, maybe unlike the others, maybe something interesting can happen. He knows it's a foolish assumption, there is little logic in expecting a different outcome, and this cruel irony is exactly why Mike hates hope.
Dreams are ridiculous. What's the point in in seeing such colorful, both beautiful and tragic images only to wake up in a bleak reality? One can only hope that in such worst case scenarios they're forgotten as soon as possible. Good thing the human mind handles it efficiently.
Waking up in the morning is the worst part of the day. Not that Mike is depressed or anything, this is a universal experience. He feels content seeing his family every morning, getting together for breakfast provides an innately desired sense of normalcy and structure. He adjusts his glasses sitting on top of his nose and buries his face in today's newspaper. He overhears a few words exchanged between Holly and Karen, and in an attempt to contribute to their conversation, he adds a few remarks. Obviously, he is a lot more interested in the recently opened Starcourt Mall that should attract more tourists to Hawkins. Now, this is awesome new! The country is flourishing, God bless America. Mike's rigid face finally shows an emotion as he raises his eyebrows and his mouth curls up a bit. It's these small joys in life you need to appreciate.
Having wasted enough time, Mike returns to his room to keep working on his book. Writing is no easy feat, especially lately. He keeps staring at his typewriter, trying to come up with the most adequate words for his next story, all to no avail. Maybe he just needs to take a step back, gather inspiration, anything at this point. He considers consulting one of his friends, at least someone sure must be free. No luck there, no one even answers the phone. What else...maybe he could listen to some music? No, he has grown disgusted of music. It only causes emotional turmoil he doesn't wish to deal with, and Mike knows that an incoherent mess of a person cannot contribute to society, not when a writer needs to be be in the sharpest state of mind. So he keeps sitting in fron of his desk, time passing by as he just...exists.