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Summary
“Also, if I might remind you, we are all actively going through hell—I think I’m allowed to look like shit.”
“Now, I didn’t say all that!” Mike protests immediately, so overexaggerated that it cannot be entirely serious. “You don’t look like shit—quite the opposite, actually.”
Will stumbles immediately, and Mike catches him, because of course he does.
A military base is burning down behind them, casting everything in a golden glow that could perhaps even count as romantic were it not for the circumstances it came to be in the first place, adding a blurry, near-dreamlike quality to the air, and he stumbles like an idiot, and Mike catches him around the waist as if this were some romantic comedy.
Maybe he didn’t do shit back there, in actuality, and got ripped apart by a demogorgon limb by limb, died and ascended, because surely Mike didn’t just say—
“The—opposite?”
“Yeah,” Mike says, unrepentant, straightening him up and continuing like nothing is off about this line of conversation at all. “The blood is quite a good look on you.”
or: how the season should have gone