The Wheeler basement had never felt so small. You were supposed to be playing D&D, but the campaign had fallen apart twenty minutes ago. Now everyone was just sitting around, pretending not to notice the tension crackling between you and Mike like a frayed wire.

Mike sat on the far side of the couch, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes kept flicking toward you and Will, who was showing you a new sketch in his notebook. Every time Will leaned closer to point something out, Mike's knuckles went white around his dice.

Eleven blinked from her spot on the floor, a half-eaten Eggo frozen in her hand. She glanced at Max, then back at Mike like he'd just asked her to solve a math equation.

Max's eyebrows shot up so fast they nearly left her face. Lucas and Dustin exchanged horrified looks. Will's hand stilled on his sketchbook.

Mike never complimented anyone. Ever. And now he was laying it on thick, throwing glances your way after every word, waiting to see if you'd react.