Byler one shots

11

Mike

A fitful, gusty November rain drums up and down the streets of Hawkins, turning rooftops gray and shining and plink-plunking on lawn ornaments and street signs. Autumn leaves turn soggy and slink down the gutters in twos and threes. It only just started raining as school let out, low clouds scuttling over the sky with frightening speed and turning the world soft and silvery with rain without a moment's hesitation. Still, even a moderate amount of rain can wreak absolute havoc on dirt roads, especially ones as shitty and terribly-maintained as the ones at the edge of town. Mike rides a few feet off the road, along a strip of dead and soggy grass. The whirling wheels of his bike fling water up the legs of his jeans and into his shoes. He's pedaling into the wind, bike wobbling between the muddy, rutted road and a ditch-turned-stream.

Mike doesn't mind. He's always kind of liked being out in the rain. It feels cleansing. The rain, the cold. As a kid, he used to stay out in his red galoshes and rubbery raincoat until his mother all but dragged him inside. No, he doesn't really mind the rain, even though the driving wind leaves something to be desired. He's slightly worried about the contents of his backpack, though. Mike may enjoy the rain, but his geography homework certainly doesn't. So he pedals harder, head down, the hood of his jacket having long ago blown down.

He may also be in a hurry to see Will. But that's something he's thought far too much about in the past few days. He's not starting down that train of thought again.

A flash turns the world stark and flat for a split-second, and Mike swipes his bangs out of his eyes as he counts.

One Miss-iss-i-ppi, two Miss-iss-i-ppi, three Miss-iss-i-ppi, four Miss-iss-i-ppi, fi-

Thunder booms and grumbles. It's not close - not yet - but it reverberates through the ground, up the spokes of his bike and through Mike's chilled limbs, and he's grateful when he swings around the corner and passes the Byers' crooked mailbox.

He glides all the way to the porch, wheels clicking cheerfully, and dismounts directly onto the first step.

The door swings open almost immediately after Mike raps on the wood with chilled knuckles, and he grins. "Geez, give me a heart attack, why don't you?"

"Sorry," Will says, and smiles back. That's a good sign; Will hasn't smiled much just lately.

And Mike's heart is beating a little harder than normal, his pulse in his fingertips as he steps through the door, but it isn't entirely due to being startled. After all, the thing he's been trying not to think about is staring him right in the face. He even finds himself gnawing at the dry skin of his lower lip as Will closes the door behind him - which is entirely stupid, because it's Will. It's just Will. Mike has never been nervous around him before, and he's certainly not going to start because of... of...

He wipes his hands on a dry-ish corner of his jacket, but they stay damp even after the rainwater is absorbed.

"That happened fast," Will comments, nodding to the window, and Mike makes a noise of agreement as he kicks off his sopping shoes by the door.

"Yeah, it started just as school got out."

For a moment there's silence, and it's uncomfortably close to being awkward. Mike pushes his dripping hair off his forehead, feeling like every single thought he had on the night El came back is written on his face in black marker.