Wildflowers || Mileven

~Wildflowers~

story creds to my lovely sister, intrigue810 , who didn't want to publish this masterpiece on her account💛

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it was a quiet day, more quiet than it should have been given the events that had been taking place at the Wheeler household. Eleven was still hiding out in Mike's basement, but after another day cooped up inside, she wanted a breath of fresh air. Mike had taken it upon himself to lead her to a field near his house that was far enough away from anyone else that they wouldn't be spotted. he had forgotten about the wildflowers that bloomed there every summer before they crossed into the clearing and Eleven's eyes widened in surprise.

"Mike?" she pointed towards the clumps of gem like colors dotting the field, tilting her head and giving him a questioning look.

Mike stared in the direction she was pointing a moment before he realized what she was looking at.

"oh. the wildflowers? they're pretty, right? Nancy and I used to play here when we were little, and she would pick bouquets of them." he led her over to them and bent down, picking a pale pink one from the grass. he held it out to Eleven, smiling slightly as she took the flower and turned it around in her hand, examining it from all angles.

"pretty," she remarked, her new blonde wig blowing in he breeze.

"wait, hold on a second." Mike crouched down again, selecting more flowers in different colors, some royal purple, some ruby red, some lemon yellow. "Nancy taught me how to do this."

he fiddled with the flowers, poking holes through the stems and lacing them together.

"it took me forever to get it right, but hers were always perfect," he said. a few moments later, and he was holding a crown woven from the delicate blossoms. he stood up again, holding it carefully. turning to face Eleven, he placed the crown gently on her head.

"what do you think?"

Eleven, looked at him, eyes wide. "pretty?" she asked asked hesitantly.

Mike's face turned pink and he stuttered for a moment, but he nodded. "yeah," he said, a smile making its way onto his face. "beautiful."

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there is a stone in the middle of the woods, a memorial, secluded from all except for the few who placed it there. it is smooth and white and set into the ground, a single word carved into its surface.

Eleven.

other than that, the surface is bare.

except for a small bouquet of wildflowers.