The Long Game, Lucas Sinclair

020. i fucking hate racists

CHAPTER TWENTY.
2x09: The Gate

Eleven stepped into the living room, her nose dripping red and a stern glare on her face. Her eyes scoped the room, which had gone silent, but still felt so loud. So full.

Corey had expected to feel his heart break a little when she met eyes with Mike. Eleven's face softened, and so did Mike's, and nothing he had assumed to feel could possibly have matched the utter dread that filled his heart as he witnessed this reunion.

Corey knew what love felt like, and he could see it plain as day on Mike Wheeler's face when he stepped out from behind Hopper and let the stupid candle holder fall to the floor, deflating in some kind of heartfelt relief. Eleven stared at him, and he stared at her, and everything fell back into place.

"Eleven?"

And they just looked at each other, and it was so simple.

Corey felt his eyes sting. He had to look away, because he knew it would never be that simple for him as long as he was the way he was—and it would most definitely never be that simple for him when it came to Mike Wheeler.

Suddenly, someone was forcing their hand into Corey's, interlocking their fingers. Corey's first instinct was to punch the perpetrator, but he quickly turned to see it was Sam who was holding his hand. All the anger drained out of him like a calming wave.

How was she doing that?

He stared at Sam, then realized Sam's eyes were more than just gentle. They were knowing.

Oh. Well, shit.

Corey cleared his throat and looked away, pointedly avoiding where Mike and Eleven may or may not be making out at this point. He didn't want to know. Sam was squeezing his hand, calming him down, and while he felt better, he still didn't want to know.

"I never gave up on you. I called you every night, every night for—"

"353 days." El shook her head, wiping her tears away. "I heard."

"Wh-why didn't you tell me that you were there?" Mike frowned, and Corey could hear the hurt and confusion laced in his voice. "That you were okay?"

"Because I wouldn't let her."

And Corey had fucking never been more grateful for Jim fucking Hopper in his life. Corey could finally breathe again, could finally look at the interaction happening before him. He was able to let go of Sam's hand and nervously flex his fingers. No one was happy anymore, as Hopper had sucked all the love out of the room, but it made Corey very happy, thank you very much. If he had to be miserable, then he hoped everyone else was too.

Thank the heavens for Hopper, right?

"Is that...?" Max trailed off.

Sam nodded. "Eleven," she finished breathlessly.