Mike wheeler x reader~~Returning to Hawkins

Chapter eighteen

The Day That Follows

Mike wakes up before you do.

He doesn't mean to.

It just... happens.

The basement is still dim, early light filtering faintly through the small window near the ceiling. The rain has stopped, leaving everything quiet in that post-storm way that feels almost too still.

He blinks, disoriented, then remembers.

Couch.
Basement.
You.

His gaze shifts before he can stop it.

You're still asleep on the couch, curled slightly onto your side, one arm tucked under the pillow. You're wearing his clothes — the sweatshirt sleeves pushed up just enough to expose your wrists, the fabric hanging loose on you like it belongs there.

It looks... wrong.

And right.

Mike swallows and looks away immediately, heart thudding harder than it should.

Get it together.

He pushes himself up quietly, careful not to wake you, and sits on the edge of the coffee table instead. His knee bounces once. Then twice. He presses his foot flat to the floor to stop it.

This is fine.
You're friends.
You said so.

Still, his eyes flick back to you without permission.

You shift slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, and his breath catches before he can stop it.

Then your eyes open.

You squint up at the ceiling, confused for exactly two seconds before reality settles in.

"Oh," you mumble. "Basement."

"Morning," Mike says, a little too fast.

You turn your head toward him. Your hair is a mess. His sweatshirt collar is crooked on you.

You blink at him. Then smile.

"Did we survive the night?" you ask.

He huffs. "Barely."

You stretch, arms over your head, the sweatshirt riding up just enough that Mike looks away again.

"So," you say, sitting up. "On a scale from one to ten, how bad is my morning breath?"

Mike grimaces. "Unclear. You haven't spoken long enough yet."

"Rude."

"Honest."

You swing your legs off the couch, yawning. "You were awake before me."

"Yeah," he shrugs. "Couldn't sleep."

"Leader problems?"

"Something like that."

You glance around. "Is everyone gone?"

"Yeah. Dustin left early. Lucas too."

"Good," you say lightly. "Less witnesses."

Mike snorts despite himself. "To what?"

You gesture vaguely at yourself. "This."

He looks at you again — really looks — then clears his throat. "You want... breakfast? My mom's making waffles."

Your eyes light up. "Mrs. Wheeler waffles?"

He smiles without thinking. "Yeah."

"Absolutely."