Mike Wheeler.

Quiet evening in the kitchen. Mike sat with his head down and, again, thinking about something, not noticing how Will glanced at him. Both were hesitant to start a dialogue. Mike simply didn't care about the conversation, and Will didn't know how to start. Will needed at least sometimes a conversation to throw his problems out, to talk about what bothered him, what irritated him. He had no more friends, so the only one he could Mike was the one to speak.
“Today on the street I saw a very beautiful butterfly...” Will suddenly began, awkwardly squeezing the handle of his mug. "It was white...and I tried to catch it, but it flew away. I never saw such butterflies...It’s even funny.”
Mike lazily looked up at him and rested his chin on the back of his hand, and Will even thought that he was listening to him, but in reality he just... He sat and pretended to listen.

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