Stranger Things One-shots (Requests Closed)

Seven Days

(I am so obsessed with Mileven, I personally think I come up with good ideas for it, and I really wanted to write this one REALLY BADLY. Because IT'S FREAKING MILEVEN AKDMEKEKNDNDNSLALALWLDNCN)

One week.

One-fourth of a month.

Seven days.

One hundred sixty-eight hours.

Ten thousand and eighty minutes.

Six hundred and four thousand, eight hundred seconds.

One week.

That's all it took. In that considerably small increment of time, everything changed. Everything, every detail about my inner perspective and his outlook changed, molded into something anew. It was horrifying, in all honesty, yet it was a serene and rather mild change. One week, that's all it took. This proves a lot about what, time itself? Think about it. Everything that happened occured from the evening of November 6th, 1983 to the evening of November 14th, 1983. One year. Twelve months. One month. One fourth of a month. One week. Seven days. One hundred sixty-eight hours, ten thousand and eighty minutes, six hundred and four thousand, eight hundred seconds. Not a lot, huh? Giver take a few seconds, of course.

Dustin held a small pang of regret, the almost loss and legitimate suffering of his friend wounded him, as did the churning conversation of the weirdo that saved them. Still his one-lined and reasonable self, he seldom shows that deep experience, to show that it had any effect. He hides it well, but... he lied.

Lucas. Lucas, my best friend since first grade. Still as skeptical as ever, such a cynic and still someone who isn't as trusting. But still, he's one of the most loyal friends I could ever ask for. He shows, and maybe even obtains, less remorse for what happened to... her. Will, he was a deathly worried about, just like me, just like Dustin, just like all of us. I was terrified about Will, and was ecstatic that he was safe, but inside, I was silently waiting for her to collapse at my door, where it'll all be okay again.

News flash: that didn't happen. This isn't a fairytale, no happy endings. The only ending is tomorrow, perhaps that'll end my sorrows?

Look at me, I'm a mighty pessimist. I still run campaigns, I still do well in school, I laugh, I smile, I eat. I'm still normal Mike Wheeler. I just had more of an... evolution, I'll call it. Really? I just want her home. That's all I want, please? I looked for her, everywhere that was known, I got Chief Hopper on it, and no luck. It's been a year. Lucas told me, sounding upset and empathetical, that she's dead. But she's not, she can't be! She doesn't deserve to die, not her. Not yet.

I promised her things, things that I have no opportunity of fulfilling. I broke my promises. Friends don't lie, Mike. Friends don't lie. Instead of helping her, I watched her with obscure vision as she turned into particles of darkness, disappearing from visible existence. Friends don't lie, Mike! You're a terrible friend, the worst friend on this planet. You should've done something, but you didn't. You let her go wherever she was, you let her! You broke your promises, and you gave her hopes, you freaking kissed her! And she died, uttering only two words. To you. To you alone. Goodbye, Mike. You! Not just a bland "goodbye," not "goodbye, guys".

Goodbye, Mike. The hot tears poured down my face as her shrill scream punctured holes in my heart. It hurt me. I hurt Eleven, I hurt myself. I deserve whatever happens next, hopefully it's bad. I killed the girl I love, I broke the promise. Seven days. In time, That's all it takes. Seven days of worry and anguish, constantly alert with no proper rest. Seven days pain and anxious patience, seven days of scheming to help. Seven days of getting a little distracted and falling in love with someone, even if that sounds highly extreme and unlikely. Seven days.

One week.

One hundred sixty-eight hours,

Ten thousand and eighty minutes,

Six hundred and four thousand, Eight hundred seconds.

One week. Seven days. Too many promises in seven days. Right?

I throw the book I was writing in across the room, putting a hand to my face. Bottled up emotions can control a person, and it had me... angry. Livid, so hateful, yet so happy. That never happens to me, I'm never both feelings. Not at the same time, at least. With that in mind, I pull on a coat and hesitantly stride into the bitter air, its frigid temperatures sucking the breath out of me. The sky is a crisp and brilliant blue, with the sun bulging it's bright colors of orange and yellow, as it provides endless light. The light, though being evident, doesn't show any signs of providing warmth. It's freezing, really, with my breath a traveling white mist, propelling against the cold atmosphere. The barren trees are dead and its casual brown, the sparkling patterns of reds, oranges, and yellows litter the ground in a never-ending scene of leaves, sliding along the hard ground effortlessly, scattering in the light wind.

I travel through the forest, for what seems like hours on end, screaming and begging for her until my voice is red and raw and my calves burn and ache. But, I continue on my lonely endeavor.

"Eleven? Is there any way I can reach you? I've tried everything, I just want you home. Please, come home." I call, feeling my eyes on the brink of tears. "Please?"

I almost jump out of my skin at what happens next, I hear a voice counter my own in a quiet, yet feminine tone. "Mike..." it whispers, and makes my heart erupt out of my chest. Every molecule that makes up me is buzzing with excitement and deep longing, as my legs, already tired, break into a heavy sprint. "Eleven?" I scream, hope arising within me. "M-m-Mike!" the familiar voice stammers, it muffling against the proud wind whistling.

"Eleven? Eleven?" he bellows, running as fast as he possibly can go, not caring about the fatigue levels that slowly drain his stamina. "Mike..." the sound painfully shrinks into a whisper, as Mike almost trips and falls over something, he's not sure what. He stumbles back up and catches himself, expecting to see that the certain barrier is a log. It's not... it's a body. Lying face down, trying to move, trying to crawl, trying to breathe. The person has short hair, cropped to said person's near ear, with an old blue jacket and a grimy and dirty pink dress...

I stare In complete shock. I'm petrified, seeing her lying in such a tormented and fetal position. And he just literally tripped over her. Literally! His trance-like state is broken at her writhing, she seems completely immobile. "Mike!" she yells, not even noticing me. I run to her side and pull her up into a deep embrace, not saying a word. She hangs limply in my arms, as I pull her back slightly, just to see her. She's dirty and bloody, so pale and veins sticking out everywhere, blending her skin deep shades of violets and blues. I can't even speak, my mouth isn't moving.

She's right here. In front of me, I'm holding her. She's so emaciated, and her somewhat longer hair is ratty. Her dress is torn to bits, barely even it's kind tint of pink. But...

she's still gorgeous. She's beautiful, always so pretty. Her wide hazel eyes still glimmer with that curiosity, that intelligence that anyone can see. Her soft face, her hair, her lips are perfect, really. So beautiful. So pretty, really pretty.

I see something absolutely terrifying, absolutely horrible in every respect. She starts to cry, violent sobs of pure anger and complete sorrow and pain, as she hugs me with thin arms. She's so weak, frail... But she's all right. That's all I could ever want, I love her so much. "I'm sorry I broke my promise." I cry quietly to her, feeling a tear streak down my face. "You... didn't." she chokes. "Friends don't lie," I contradict, more tears falling. "No." she whispers, her wracking sobs still completely evident. She buries her face into my chest, as I try to stand up. She almost wobbles and falls, but I'm here to catch her, like always. I always will. That's a promise.

One week.

Seven days,

One hundred sixty-eight hours

Ten thousand and eighty minutes,

Six hundred and four thousand, eight hundred seconds.

One week to fall in love. Seven days. What's seven days, really?