12Mike Wheeler is having the best dream. The kind of dream that never lasts long enough, the kind he never wants to wake from.
Small hands stroke up his abdomen as the figure of a girl snakes down, and he's naked and hard and that tight coil of pleasure in his pelvis so, so intense. Dark curls, perfect to tangle his hands in, poised above him and he bites back a groan of lusty anticipation. Warmth, wet and soft on the underside of his cock as hands seem to touch him everywhere at once. His eyes roll back, his back arches.
Look up, look up, he pleads mentally, wishing to see the face belonging to this enchanting dream girl. She's haunting him, nightly, starring in all of his unconscious fantasies like some kind of conjured up porno star.
When he's awake, all he can remember is the sense of it all; the smell of vanilla and pine, smoke and syrup. Soft, silken skin under his fingertips, loose curls tickling over his thighs or chest or neck. The taste of copper from biting his cheek so hard. A tinkling giggle or sigh or quiet moan that stirs something deep inside of him, something he can't put a finger on...
The pleasure is almost painful, it's so intense. She's bobbing over him, using her mouth to make the soles of his feet burn and toes to curl. Fists grasp at bedsheets, pulling them off the mattress and sweat runs down his neck. It's so good, it's too good, he can't hold on. With a guttural groan, Mike finishes and then the alarm is ringing shrilly and his mother is knocking on his door and he swears under his breath as he blinks awake. There is a warm, sticky mess in his briefs and he is disappointed again.
One of these days, he thinks, tossing back his sheets and peeling off his spikes pajamas and underwear. I'll see her face and then I can find her.
But it's just a dream, and as he stands in the shower and the warm water rinses the remnants of his nightly activities, the dreams fades and thoughts of reality crash in on him. By the time he's backing out of the driveway, Bob Seger on the radio and an Eggo in one hand, Mike Wheeler has forgotten.
"Wow, Wheeler. Really wowing is with this sweater collection," Maxine Mayfield says once he reaches his locker. The redhead has grown tall and, if possible, even more snarky since she moved to Hawkins in eighth grade. "Does your mom still dress you?"
"Shut it," he grumbles as he spins the dial on his locker combination. Mike has a million things to worry about today, dealing with Max is at the very bottom of the list. However, her boyfriend Lucas is his partner for the chemistry final, and he does need to speak with him. Glancing around, he realizes that Lucas is nowhere to be found. "Where's your better half?"
Max sighs dramatically and leans back against the wall of metal doors, painted white and blue. "Lucas has left me for someone younger, someone dumber..."
"So he's in the AV room with Dustin?"
Max's grin is dazzling and full of amusement. She nods.
"Well, see you in soc," Mike says. Notebooks and textbooks under one arm, he slams the locker shut and leaves her standing alone. Max sighs and pushes off, weaving her way through the crowded hallway and becoming a flash of copper in the crowd.
Mike finds his three best friends in the small room where all of the technology the school owns is kept under lock and key. Being club president, Mike has his own copy to the door, and somehow - he suspects Dustin Henderson, naturally - the others have copies too. It makes being president feel sort of pointless, since that power is now shared... Mike is just glad they're all still in it, together. They've changed a lot since seventh grade.
"Late," Lucas says, not glancing up from the sheets of notes in his hands. They are marked and highlighted so much it's like one glaring, neon yellow paper.
"Yeah, sorry. So," he says, pulling up a stool to the table. The Heathkit is still there, though their fascination has long since waned, and added to it is a new VCR they've taken apart. Will is fiddling with one of the heads and Dustin is twirling a mini screwdriver between his thick, calloused fingers.
"I'm late," Lucas says suddenly, jolting uptight.
"But the chem final -"
"Meet me in the library at lunch. I'm sorry, I have a trig test first period -" And then he was gone, leaving Mike with a frown and the feeling that something was wrong.
Sure, he's been distracted this year. It's their senior year, they're all distracted. Will's working with his mom at the store, stocking shelves and mopping floors, and when he's not there he's usually at home, working on a new piece or sketching. Dustin has developed a strange obsession with metal and amphibians, so when he's not hanging around the various ponds and swamps he's at home trying to teach himself guitar. Even Lucas is busy! Between Max and football, he barely has time to sleep and study. Mike feels an ache in his stomach, a pang of sadness that they're all growing up and branching out in different directions. It felt like just yesterday, they were all in his basement playing Dungeons and Dragons, waiting with baited breath to see what the dice would reveal...
"Don't worry about him," Dustin says after a few beats, breaking Mike's train of thought. "Max is on her rag. That always makes him grouchy."
"Gross," Will says, frowning up at him.
Still, Mike can't shake the feeling that something else - something more is going on. He shakes it off and takes a breath. Everything is fine. You're being dramatic. Mike hopes he's right.
Sunlight streams through the high windows in Kali's office, illuminating the swirling dust motes and captivating her. Anything is better than listening to the loud clicking of the clock, reminding her of a metronome, and the quiet, studious gaze of her doctor. Eleven hates these sessions.
"You've been visiting him again," Kali says. They've been sitting in silence for twelve minutes, and the doctor is the first to speak, as usual. Eleven feels a small thrill of victory before shame; she's been told, many times now, forbidden even, from doing what she's been doing. Shuffling her feet and staring at her hands, Eleven nods her head yes.
"Why do you disobey, Eleven?" Kali's tone isn't mad or disappointed, just steady and professional.
"I... I like to see him." She blushes at the admission, keeping her gaze on her bare feet against the tile floor.
"But Dr Brenner, as well as myself, have told you how dangerous this is. For him." Kali watches, her dark eyes seeming to stare right through her, to read her mind. Maybe she can - after all, Eleven has seen the tattoo on her wrist - 008 - almost identical to her own. Eleven knew there was something about Kali that was like her. She just didn't know what.
"He thinks I'm a dream. That he made up," Eleven whispers. She wants so much to be real, solid and tangible in his life. She wants to do everything they've done in dreams for real. She wants to see if his lips are as gentle and sweet as they look.
"I know it's lonely here, Eleven," Kali says. Her mouth smiles sympathetically but her dark eyes are nothing but studying, watchful. Waiting for her to slip. "Didn't you like the cat?"
"Papa made me kill it," Eleven responds flatly. She doesn't outwardly react, but her stomach roils and churns at the memory.
"Yes, as punishment. You ran away."
"I came back," Eleven says with an eye roll.
Kali sighs and stands, sidling along her hardwood desk to stop in front of Eleven. She squats down to the younger girl's eye level. Eleven raises her gaze from the floor to the doctor, squaring her shoulders. "If you don't begin to cooperate... if you continue on this trend of rebellion," Kali says, low and quiet and threatening as a freshly sharpened blade, "your Papa will make sure your friend has no more dreams for you to visit. Do you understand?"
A fine tremble takes over her whole body. Eleven is first afraid - the dark haired boy whose dreams she has been invading, whom she is so drawn to despite not knowing him, means everything to her. Since the escape, when Eleven saw him in the woods that surrounding the Lab with other boys but none of them even remotely as fascinating as him - the boy with constellations on his cheeks and tall, long limbs and a smile that made her feel strange but good. She wouldn't let them hurt him. Fear gives way to anger and she clenched her fists, fingernails digging half-moons into her palm.
"Do you understand, Eleven?" Kali repeats.
"Yes." Eleven nods once, then stands. "Are we done?"
That night, in her room, Eleven lays in bed, curled tightly on her side, and closes her eyes. She knows it's stupid, potentially life threatening, but at least she has to say goodbye.