How Am I Supposed to Feel?

★

It was a stormy night in Hawkins; rain pelted the window, collecting in droplets against the glass. Michael Wheeler's basement walls echoed a combination of some sort of action sequence soundtrack and Will Byer's voice. Mike wasn't really listening to either, though. Earlier in the day, his girlfriend, Eleven, or ex-girlfriend now, broke up with him. Her voice bounced off his empty skull.

"I dump your ass."

She had said it with a tone that rubbed Mike the wrong way, hence the displeasure that was evident on his face in that moment. The more he thought about it, though, the more he realized how much he actually cared. Admittedly, Mike didn't feel as bad as he should, or at least, as bad as he thought he should. Lucas Sinclair looked noticeably agitated about Max "dumping" him, and Mike just copied the motion because he knew what he was supposed to do. That's how he was supposed to feel. Will's determined voice abruptly cut through his thoughts.

"Sir Mike, your action!"

Mike didn't know what to do, and truly, he didn't care. He had much more important things to think about other than how he should kill the horde of Juju Zombies.

He sighed and looked to Lucas; he seemed just as interested in this as Mike was.

"What should I do?" Mike tilted his head in question. Lucas only shrugged in reply.

"Attack?"

And Mike did just that. Will continued talking, trying his very best to lighten the mood and actually get them to have some sort of fun with this campaign. Mike appreciated it, really, he did, but he just didn't think now was the time for games. Will turned to Lucas and asked him a question, but Mike was too absorbed in his wandering mind to hear what he'd said. Before Lucas could get a chance to answer, the phone rang. Mike and Lucas's heads shot up quicker than a bullet at the deafening chime jumping through the air.

"No! It's a distraction, a trap. Do not answer it." Will pleaded.

Mike and Lucas didn't even acknowledge his begging. They stood and paced over to the landline.

"El?" Mike asked as he picked up the device.

"Are you interested in a new couch? Sales are-" a different voice that he didn't recognize spoke back to him. It wasn't El, but had he even hoped it was? Had he just said that to fit into the standard of how he was supposed to feel?

"No, sorry, not interested," he replied, slamming the receiver back onto its holder.

He spun around and faced the two boys standing in front of him.

"Telemarketers," he groaned.

"Maybe," Lucas said flatly, "we should just call them."

"We can do that?"

Lucas nodded, "Yeah, I think so."

"Yeah, but what would we say?" Mike didn't realize it then, but he was secretly trying to avoid calling them. He didn't even want to even think about a girl right then, and maybe not ever.

"We'll say nothing!" Will interrupted, the tone of his voice still in role-playing mode, "The Kouazard tribe still needs your help."

Mike wasn't very interested in the Kouazard tribe, and he didn't wanna keep going with this game anymore. He quickly thought of a solution to try to end the campaign.

"Alright then, I'll use my torch to set fire to the chamber, sacrificing ourselves, killing the Juju's and saving the Kouazard. We all live on as heroes in the memories of the Kalamare."

The corners of Lucas's mouth twitched up in agreement. "Victory."

Both boys high-fived somewhat happily, but Will was the opposite of that.