Chapter Text
Mike knows this is stupid. It’s the only thing he can think as he yanks a pillow and his comforter from his bed. Instead of sleeping in his bed with his boyfriend, he’s going to curl up on the floor beside him while he sleeps on the couch.
For what? To keep Holly out of his room? He knows that isn’t why.
This is all so stupid.
He nearly stomps down the hallway before he catches himself. Waking Holly up would defeat the purpose of insisting they all sleep in separate rooms.
When he gets to the basement, the door is already open. Bile rises in his throat. The only person who leaves doors open is Holly.
Mike swallows the bitterness down and descends the stairs anyway, preparing for the worst. Somehow, though, he isn’t prepared to see Will and Holly in sleeping bags on the floor next to each other.
He freezes, feeling like he’s intruding on something. Holly’s had less sleepovers with her friends than he does fingers on one hand. This is probably special for her and it’s not his place to interrupt and insert himself, no matter how much he wants to see Will.
He clutches his pillow close to his body and turns around, unsure of why he feels so profoundly alone. The lump in the back of his throat is distracting enough that he forgets to skip the squeaky stair.
“Mike?” Will murmurs into the darkness, closing his eyes again after spotting Mike on the stairs. “What’re you doin’?”
“Nothing,” Mike replies, hating that he sounds so close to tears. Hating that he can’t keep the venom out of his voice when he says, “Go back to your sleepover .”
For a horrible moment he thinks Will is going to get up, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pats the space next to him.
“Come’re,” he says, clearly falling back asleep, missing the heat in Mike’s words. “Miss you.”
And now, like an idiot, because this was all so stupid, Mike starts crying. Of course Will misses him. Mike’s not being replaced or being pushed to the edges, at least not by his boyfriend.
Mike walks toward him reluctantly, even though this is exactly what he wanted. He hopes Will falls back asleep completely before he gets there, but he has no such luck.
“What’s takin’ so long?” Will asks, opening his eyes again.
Mike’s step falters, but he keeps going, tossing his pillow on the ground and lying down with his back to Will. Letting Will see his tears isn’t an option. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying, not really.
“Mike?” Will says, more awake now, shifting to get a better look at him.
Mike stays still, expecting Will to drop it. And he does, kind of.
Will sighs and reaches forward, wrapping an arm around Mike’s chest, hauling him closer. The unexpected affection sends him over the edge. A strangled noise escapes his mouth and his shoulders start to shake.
“Hey, hey,” Will whispers frantically, checking behind him to ensure Holly’s still sleeping. “You’re okay.”
Mike lets himself be pulled against Will’s chest, keeping his mouth shut in an effort to stay quiet. He feels like a child with Will shushing him and practically cooing that everything’s okay and that he’s right here.
The only thing that could make this worse, more embarrassing, is if Will would ask why he’s crying, but he doesn’t. He molds his body against Mike’s, still whispering that he’s okay and that he’s safe.
Mike knows that, but it’s not why he’s here and it makes him feel worse, makes him cry harder. He’s not here because he had a nightmare or he’s scared or he needs comfort.
He’s here because he doesn’t want to share his boyfriend with his little sister. And he knows it’s just so stupid, letting Will comfort him because he’s tired and jealous and crying like petulant child.
“See?” Will murmurs when Mike’s breathing evens out, rubbing assuring circles into Mike’s sternum. “Everything’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Mike mutters pathetically, his voice muffled by his stuffy nose. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Will assures him, because he doesn’t know Mike’s crying for stupid, selfish reasons. “We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay? Get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”
Mike nods, sniffling softly as Will kisses the back of his neck before scooting away. He resists the urge to follow him, to roll over and bury his face in his neck.
But there’s someone else here. And even though it’s just Holly, and she wouldn’t care, she might tell their parents. That thought is enough to keep him firmly in place, wishing he and Will were alone, wishing it didn’t matter as much as it does.
Rain patters against the window of the room El and Max share. The dark storm clouds obscure the sun, shrouding the room in darkness. The lamp on El’s bedside table remains switched off. The room feels cozy, safe. And it’s not like Max cares either way.
Right now, she’s still lying down, her face toward the ceiling. El stares at her, the delicate curve of her cheeks, her messy bedhead. It’s difficult to make out much more than her silhouette, but with the lights on, El would be too self conscious to look, even with no one else around.
Ever since her conversation with Owens yesterday, there’s been something gnawing at her ribcage. It gets worse when she looks at Max. She thinks about telling Max, seeing what she thinks. It’s on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t know where to begin.
“Are you okay?” Max asks, turning her face toward El. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m… fine,” El says carefully. “Just tired.”
“Mm,” Max hums, turning her head away from Eleven again. “Rainy days always make me sleepy. I hope Lucas is cool with hanging out in here today.”
“Yeah,” El replies stiffly. “That would be nice.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Max says again, shifting and pushing herself so she’s upright and leaning against her headboard. “Did you lie about the monsters not being dangerous?”
“Friends don’t lie,” El says immediately. “Hopper has a team. I trust them.”
“Okay,” Max says. “You still haven’t answered my question, though.”
El chews on her lip nervously. “I… have been thinking.”
“Care to elaborate on that?” Max presses, the ends of her lips tugging upward.
“I–” she starts before clamping her mouth closed again. “Do you know what a homosexual is?”
Max’s face falls, a few emotions flashing there before she puts on an uninterested mask. “Yeah. But that sounds too scientific,” she says carefully. “Most people use the word gay. Why are you asking?”
El isn’t sure how to answer that. She isn’t sure what information is safe to share and what she should be guarding carefully. It takes her a moment to gather her thoughts, long enough that Max starts talking again.
“You know people just say mean things,” she says.
“You know about Will?” El asks, a little taken aback that he’d shared what happened with anyone.
“Shit,” Max breathes. “Did he tell you?”
“Tell me what?” El asks. “I was there.”
“What?”
“When the assistant called him… that,” El says. “I’m surprised he told you.”
“Yeah,” Max says, her voice a little unsteady. “That’s–”
A loud pounding at the front door saves Max from her poor attempt at a coverup. Eleven bites her lip, understanding that she was just lied to, but unsure of why. It feels important, like this is a conversation she should be having with Will instead.
The knocking comes again, this time more incessant. Murray’s muffled voice comes from the other side of the house, screaming for someone else to please get the door. El jumps up, her legs shaky.
“It’s probably Lucas,” Max says, urging El to go get him and pleading with her to forget she said anything.
“Probably,” El agrees, choosing to remember this conversation.
She leaves the room, casting a curious look toward Max. The knocking comes again, prompting her to pick up her pace. She almost collides with Hopper, stomping out of the primary bedroom. He reaches out, grabbing her elbow to keep her from tipping over.
“Are you expecting someone?” he asks.
“Lucas,” El says.
He drops her arm, rubbing at his forehead. “Tell him to calm down.”
She nods before continuing down the hallway, opening the door to reveal Lucas standing with his hand raised, poised to knock again.
“Hey,” he says. “I, uh, I think I had a breakthrough.”
“A breakthrough?” she asks, stepping back to let him into the house.
“For Max’s memory,” he mutters, waiting for El to close the door before walking quickly toward their room.
El follows him, waiting for an explanation. It doesn’t come until they’re inside the room, the door closed behind them.
“Where’s that mixtape I made you?” Lucas asks, opening her nightstand.
“Hi, Lucas,” Max says sarcastically. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He rolls his eyes, turning around to look at El. “You got to Max the first time using a Disney movie, right?”
“Yes,” she says, squinting at him.
“We already tried that, Lucas,” Max points out.
“What if it wasn’t the movie?” he says.
“What do you mean?” Max asks, clearly not following, but shifting closer to the edge of the bed.
He groans, moving to the desk. “What do all Disney movies have?”
El gasps and shoots forward, making a beeline for her own nightstand. “Music,” she answers, grabbing the cassette player from the depths.
“Erica thinks if you do whatever you did the first time while that,” he gestures to the player in El’s hands, “is playing, you should be able to find some of those memories.”
“That’s smart,” El says as she pulls the headphones from the jack.
“You really think this’ll work?” Max asks, unoptimistic.
Lucas shrugs. “I think it’s the best idea we’ve had in awhile.”
“I guess,” she agrees. “Are we waiting for Erica?”
“No,” he says. “She said she had something to do today.”
“I thought all her friends were gone,” El says, settling against the headboard next to Max.
“I thought so, too,” Lucas says.
“You think she’s with Dustin and Suzie?” Max asks.
“I mean… maybe,” he replies. “I’m not sure why she wouldn’t tell me, though.”
“Will’s babysitting with Mike,” El says, rubbing her fingers over the buttons on the device in her hand. “Maybe she went to help.”
“I doubt it,” Lucas says. “Not unless they’re paying her.”
“Do you think everything’s okay?” Max asks, sounding mildly concerned at his nonchalance.
“Yeah, she’s smart,” Lucas says. “She wouldn’t do anything stupid.”
“We should start now,” El mutters after a beat of silence, starting the music and effectively ending the conversation.
Eddie paces the living room nervously awaiting Steve’s return. Erica called about twenty minutes ago, saying there was an emergency but she wasn’t at liberty to discuss it over the phone. He’s sure she told Steve more, but his roommate had left the house in a rush, promising he’d be back as soon as he could.
He jumps almost out of his skin when the door swings open. Erica marches in with Steve, who looks more than a little annoyed, in tow.
“Okay,” he says, on her heels when she enters the room. “Eddie’s here. Can you please tell us what’s going on?”
“You both might want to sit down,” she says, looking between them expectantly. She waits for them to both be seated on opposite ends of the couch. “There are monsters in Hawkins again.”
“What?” Steve asks, looking between her and Eddie. “That can’t be right. Things are getting better, aren’t they?”
“I mean, it looks like they are,” Erica agrees, sinking into an armchair. “But apparently Lucas, Dustin, and El have seen them.”
“Then why the hell is no one doing anything about it?” Eddie asks skeptically. “Are you sure they saw a monster?”
“That’s what I said,” she replies. “Apparently Dustin didn’t want to say anything when he and Lucas saw it on Thursday.”
“Why, though?” Steve asks. “He’s smarter than that.”
Erica rolls her eyes. “His girlfriend’s in town, Steve. He didn’t want the monster to interfere with his time with her… or something. I don’t really know, I haven’t talked to him about it.”
“That little shit,” Steve mutters under his breath.
“Okay, fine,” Eddie says. “But what about Eleven and Lucas? Are they doing something about this?”
“No,” Erica says stubbornly. “That’s why I’m here.”
Steve leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his chin resting in his hands. He watches her expectantly, waiting for more details.
“Last night, El told us the lab and Hopper had everything under control,” Erica says.
“But you don’t believe that,” Eddie says.
“You’re damn right I don’t,” she replies.
“Of course you don’t,” he scoffs under his breath.
“Why not?” Steve asks. “I mean, they have more resources than we do. They probably know a hell of a lot more than we do, too.”
“Yeah,” Erica says. “But you weren’t there when El was telling us about these things. She kept saying they’re not aggressive, but I could tell there was something she was leaving out. Something she’s concerned about.”
“Something from the Upside Down that isn’t aggressive?” Eddie asks. “That’s a load of horseshit.”
“Agreed,” Erica says.
Steve hums, sitting up straight, his brow furrowed. “I don’t understand,” he mutters. “Why would she leave something out?”
“Max,” Erica says, like Steve should have already known.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.
“The last time we went up against shit from the Upside Down, we almost lost her,” Eddie murmurs.
Silence falls over them, the gravity of what they’re dealing with apparent. Steve stands after a moment, running his hands through his hair.
“What else do you know about these things?” he asks, grabbing his keys from where he discarded them on the coffee table. “Are they demogorgons? Bats? What? And where are they?”
“Steve, calm down,” Eddie says, looking up at him from his place on the couch. “Erica said they’re not aggressive.”
“According to El they haven’t attacked anyone,” she says. “At least not yet. And they’re something new. Kind of like… skeletal.”
“Cool, a new monster,” Steve says. “ Awesome . Where are they?”
“Center of town,” Erica replies. “Where the gates are still open.”
“So, what?” Eddie asks. “They’re just… surveying?”
“They’re probably trying to keep El and Will from closing the fissures,” Steve suggests. “Haven’t they been making like… insane progress on that?”
“But why now?” Eddie asks. “I’m assuming they haven’t been around for too long, right?”
“Two weeks,” she confirms. “And I don’t know. I asked last night and she kind of… dodged the question.”
“What did she say?” Steve asks, pocketing his keys.
Erica shrugs. “She said they just started showing up but…”
“But what?” Eddie presses.
“Something happened. I just don’t know what,” she mutters.
Steve hums thoughtfully. “Did El elaborate on what the lab’s been doing?”
“Not really,” Erica says.
“Anything about the kind of security around these monsters?” he asks. “Like are they being watched around the clock?”
“I’m pretty sure they have a few people out there keeping watch,” she says. “But Lucas and Dustin saw one at the supermarket.”
“On the south side of town?” Eddie asks.
Erica shrugs. “That’s what Lucas said.”
“So they’re not contained,” Steve mutters.
“That doesn’t sound like something horrific waiting to happen,” Eddie says.
“It’s good for us, though,” Steve says.
“What do you mean?” Erica asks, raising an eyebrow at Steve skeptically.
“They’re not aggressive, right?” he asks, glancing between Erica and Eddie, waiting for her to nod in confirmation. “Then let’s go find one. See what they’re all about.”
“No,” Eddie says immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Dustin watches Suzie from the backseat of Eden's station wagon, a dopey smile on his face. Her gaze is focused on the road ahead of them, but she bears a similar expression. If Eden notices anything odd or out of character in their behavior, she doesn’t say anything.
In fact, she’s been kind enough to refrain from referencing the night they spent together. Lunch together before they have to hit the road was her idea; Dustin’s not sure how to thank her, he’s not sure he needs to.
“So, this is the best place in town?” Eden asks, looking skeptically at the makeshift building that’s been functioning as Benny’s Burgers for over a year.
“More like the only place in town,” Dustin says. “It’s good, though. I promise.”
“Whatever you say,” she mutters, pulling the car expertly in a parking spot next to a beat up looking white van.
They climb out of the car, Eden taking off, leaving Dustin and Suzie to walk slowly toward the door, hand in hand.
“I really don’t want to leave,” Suzie says, squeezing his hand.
“I don’t want you to, either,” he replies.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” she admits. “We got a little sidetracked in West Virginia.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks nervously.
“Of course, Dusty-Bun.”
He stops, just short of the door. “I, uh, I kind of missed most of your postcards.”
“What?” Suzie says, tilting her head. “How?”
“So, my mom got a mail holder and didn’t tell me about it,” he says nonchalantly. “And I kind of didn’t know she was putting my mail there.”
“Did you not know I was coming?” she asks, sounding mildly horrified.
“No, no,” he says. “I knew. I totally knew.”
She looks at him skeptically. It doesn’t take long for him to break.
“You know, a few hours before you got here.”
Suzie gasps, a mix between surprise and amusement. “You’re kidding,” she breathes.
“Nope,” he says, shrugging before stepping forward, holding the door of the restaurant open for her.
Her response dies in her throat when she steps inside. Eden’s standing at a table next to Jonathan and Argyle. She spots her sister and Dustin, raising her hand to wave them over. Suzie looks at Dustin, frowning when she sees he’s just as confused by this as she is.
Argyle stands from where he’s sitting, approaching Suzie with open arms. “Hey, man,” he says, wrapping her in a bear hug when they meet. “Long time, no see.”
She returns the hug hesitantly, looking at Dustin over Argyle’s shoulder. “Yeah,” she says. “It’s good to see you?”
“It’s good to see you, too,” he says happily, releasing her from his clutches and turning his attention to Dustin. “What’s up little dude?”
“Nothing much,” he replies, letting Argyle pull him into a hug.
“Sorry I missed your party,” he says, stepping away and looking between both of them.
“It’s fine,” Suzie says, tapping her fingers against the top of her thighs.
“We have a really funny story about that, though,” he says, walking back toward his empty seat, gesturing for them to follow him.
“We heard,” Suzie replies, winking at Dustin.
“Dammit,” Argyle mutters, returning to his seat next to Jonathan. “They must have talked to your brother.”
“Your brother’s Will, right?” Eden asks, taking a chair from an empty table.
“Yeah, that’s him,” Jonathan replies.
“He’s sweet,” she says, digging into her pocket and pulling out a slip of paper. She opens it up and places it onto the table. “He drew me.”
“That looks just like you,” Argyle says, plucking it from the table and holding it up against her face. “Doesn’t it, Jonathan?”
“Yeah,” Jonathan says, smiling at the drawing. “Yeah, it really does.”
“Would you believe he was drunk when he drew that?” Dustin asks, grinning across the table at Jonathan.
“Will was drunk?” he asks, turning his head slowly toward Dustin.
“Everyone was,” Eden says, shrugging.
“Suzie and I weren’t,” Dustin interjects.
Eden rolls her eyes. “I tried to convince her it’d be okay.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Argyle says, shrugging. “I don’t like alcohol much either.”
“You don’t?” Suzie asks, looking a little surprised.
“Nah,” he replies, picking up the menu in front of him. “That stuff tears up my stomach. I’ll stick with my pal Mary Jane.”
“Mary Jane?” Suzie asks.
“I could introduce you if you want,” Argyle offers, grabbing their waitresses attention.
Jonathan kicks him under the table, giving him a pointed look. “Dude,” he says.
Argyle ignores him, smiling sweetly at the waitress. “We’ll have coffees,” he says, pointing between he and Jonathan before nodding at Eden.
“Sounds good to me,” she says.
“Me, too,” Suzie confirms, raising a challenging eyebrow at Eden.
“I’ll just take a water,” Dustin says, giving the waitress a warm smile before she walks away.
“Coffee?” Eden asks, looking impressed.
“I’m trying new things,” she says casually.
“Oh trust me,” her sister replies, a wicked smirk on her face as her eyes bounce between Suzie and Dustin. “I know.”
Dustin coughs, a blush climbing up his neck from below the collar of his shirt. Suzie, however, remains unphased. She turns toward Argyle.
“I’d like to meet your friend,” she says.
“No, Suzie,” Jonathan interjects. “He’s not talking about an actual friend. He’s talking about–”
“I know,” she replies smugly.
Eden hums, leaning back in her chair and regarding her sister. “You know, Suz? I’m really going to miss you.”
When Robin wakes up, the room is bright. Bright enough that she knows immediately she’s overslept. The second thing she notices is a weight on top of her, a person, probably Vickie. Absentmindedly, Robin brings her hand up to Vickie’s hair, burying her fingers in the soft, long hair there. She arches into the touch, making a confused but pleased noise.
“Robin?” Nancy asks after a moment.
Robin freezes, remembering that Nancy slept over last night, not Vickie. Unsure of how to handle the situation, she doubles down, scratching at her scalp.
“Yeah, Nance?” she says, cringing at the way her voice squeaks.
Impossibly, Nancy settles back against Robin’s chest, leaving Robin to wonder if this is how straight girls act around each other. Nancy rests her hand against Robin’s shoulder, relaxing against her.
“What time is it?” Nancy mutters, closing her eyes against the bright daylight.
“Uh,” Robin says, lifting her head to squint at her alarm clock. “Almost two.”
“Vickie’s party is at six, right?”
“Yeah,” Robin mutters, unable to tear her eyes away from the top of her friend's head. “I said we’d be there at four to help out, though.”
Nancy groans, finally pushing herself off of Robin. She rolls out of bed, running her fingers through her bedhead in an attempt to tame it.
“I need to run home and shower,” she says, stretching her arms above her head while glancing down at the outfit she slept in. “And I need to change.”
“Just shower here,” Robin says, rolling over to look at her properly. “You can borrow something of mine.”
Nancy considers the offer for a moment. “You know, I think Mike’ll try to push Holly off on me if I show my face in the house.”
“You know where the towels are,” Robin says, turning away from Nancy and tossing an arm over her eyes. “Just wear whatever.”
Nancy shakes her head, turning around to dig through Robin’s dresser in search of clothing. “You and I have completely opposite styles, you know?”
Robin snorts. “We’ve been over this before,” she says. “Many times.”
“I think it’s worth repeating,” Nancy says, plucking a pair of her own shorts from Robin’s dresser. “When did I leave these here?”
“Uh,” Robin says, uncovering her eyes and sitting up. “I wore those home from your place a couple weeks ago. You can have ‘em back.”
“Thanks,” she laughs, grabbing a striped shirt from another drawer. Nancy walks to the door then, stopping to glance back at Robin. “I’m going to miss you when I go back to school.”
“Then drop out,” she replies. “Come work at Family Video with me and Steve.”
Nancy, to her credit, tries to keep a straight face when she says, “Honestly, I’d rather not.”
“Fine,” Robin says, shooing her from the room. “Go take your shower so I can take mine.”
The car is quiet, tension so palpable it can be touched and shaped. Joyce glances at Hopper, his white knuckles, the downward slant of his mouth. Classical music fills the cab, playing at Murray’s request.
Mrs. Smith’s house looms in the distance, but that’s not where they’re going. Murray took the liberty of answering the phone; it was impossible to hide that it was a call from Chief Powell. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that something monster-related had happened.
It didn’t take much to wear Hopper down, either. Now, Joyce and Murray are riding along to prove that the monsters are, in fact, harmless for the time being. That doesn’t mean he’s happy about it, though.
“Where did you say this thing was?” Joyce asks, frowning as they turn onto Steve’s block.
“Corner of Cherry Oak and Mulberry,” he replies, keeping his eyes firmly on the road in front of them.
“Steve lives over here,” she says.
“I know, Joyce,” Hopper replies.
“Did Steve call this in?” Murray asks, leaning forward between the two of them.
“No,” he says. “I’m just familiar with the area.”
“Have they been… prevalent over here?” she asks, shooting him a sidelong glance.
He lets out a long breath. “We’ve only received three reports of these being seen, all in the last two days.”
“All of them on this side of town?” Murray asks as Hopper slows the vehicle down and pulls over close to the side of the road where a sheriff’s car is parked.
“Yeah. You guys be quiet for a minute, okay?” he says as he rolls down his window.
Powell steps out of his car, taking a few short steps and leaning to look inside their vehicle with a raised eyebrow. “Hey, Jim,” he says. “I didn’t know you had company.”
“You know Joyce,” Hopper replies, leaning back so Joyce can wave. “And that’s Murray.”
Their eyes lock for a moment too long, Murray smiling smugly, Powell frowning.
“We’ve met,” Murray confirms.
“Great,” Hopper mutters under his breath before clearing his throat. “Consider them the newest members of the research team.”
“Right…” he replies skeptically, still watching Murray.
“So you saw one of these things?” Joyce asks, unable to take the silence any longer.
Powell trains his gaze on her. “We got a few calls about something large and suspicious in the woods to the northeast of here.”
Murray turns his head, looking in the direction of the sighting. Joyce, however, looks unconvinced.
“You’re sure it’s a monster?” she asks.
“Pretty damn sure,” he replies. “But my guys have been called off so I can’t be sure.”
“We can check it out,” Hopper says, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Over there?”
“Yep,” Powell says. “If you need anything at all, just let me know. I’m heading back to the station.”
Hopper nods, rolling up his window as he does before pulling onto the other side of the road and parking his car.
“When we’re out there, stay close to me,” he instructs as he climbs out of the car, popping open the trunk as he goes.
Joyce and Murray scramble to get out of the car after him, stepping around to meet him at the open trunk. He shoves a shotgun into Joyce’s hands and a pistol into Murray, pulling away from the trunk with a flamethrower in his own.
“I thought you said we didn’t have anything to worry about,” Murray mumbles, his hands tight around the gun.
“You don’t,” Hopper replies, slamming the trunk closed. “But we’re not going in there unprepared.”
They’re halfway through whatever movie Holly picked, but truthfully, Will hasn’t been paying much attention. He’s spent most of the day watching his boyfriend, who still hasn’t recovered from whatever came over him last night. Mike is tucked on the opposite end of the couch, a throw around his legs. Holly sits between them, leaning heavily against Will’s side.
Mike finally throws a glance over at him, his eyes locking on his little sister before he turns back to the screen hastily. Will almost says something, but thinks better of it. He’s pretty sure that Mike doesn’t want to discuss whatever’s going on in front of his sister.
“I’m going outside,” Mike mutters, throwing the blanket from his lap onto Will and Holly. “Since she’s sleeping.”
He storms up the stairs, not giving Will a chance to respond. The basement door slams shut, but Holly doesn’t move. Will glances down at her, craning his neck to keep from jostling her. Mike was right; she is asleep, her chest rising and falling rhythmically.
Will carefully extracts himself from her grip, placing a pillow below her head. He waits, making sure she’s still unconscious before going up the stairs in search of his boyfriend.
He reaches the landing in time to hear the back door closing. The pack of cigarettes that’s usually on the kitchen counter isn’t there. Will hums, padding through the kitchen and stopping at the back door to look outside.
Mike is sitting on the steps, a lit cigarette hanging from his fingers. Will sighs before pushing the door open and sticking his head out just a little. Mike turns around, but doesn’t return Will’s reassuring smile.
“What?” he asks bitterly, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth as he returns his gaze to the yard.
“Can I come out?” Will says, pretending he doesn’t hear the anger in his tone.
Mike nods in lieu of using his words. When Will settles in beside him, he passes the cigarette. Will accepts it, taking a long drag without looking at Mike.
“Are you okay?” Will asks, passing it back to Mike.
He shrugs, fiddling with the cigarette. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I guess.”
“Like I believe that,” Will says, rolling his eyes. “You came downstairs crying last night.”
“I didn’t come downstairs crying,” Mike replies stubbornly.
“Right,” Will replies, failing to keep his annoyance from creeping into his voice. He knows he shouldn’t make Mike feel bad about it, but he can’t help but feel a little miffed that he’s denying it. He's just trying to help. “You started crying after you came downstairs.”
That’s enough to shut Mike up. He makes himself busy with the cigarette, ignoring the way Will’s eyes bore into the side of his head.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on or are you going to keep moping all day?” Will asks, grinning when Mike’s head shoots up, pleased that his words have their desired effect. “What? I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s happening.”
“It’s stupid,” Mike says, passing off the cigarette, letting his hand linger against Will’s for a moment longer than necessary.
“I’m sure it isn’t,” Will assures him, the gentleness returning to his voice, transferring the smoking object to his other hand so he can lace his fingers together with his boyfriend’s.
“No,” Mike insists, face starting to get red. “It is.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” he insists. “If it really is stupid, I’ll just forget you told me.”
“Yeah?” Mike asks, his voice unsteady.
“Yeah,” Will replies, squeezing Mike’s hand.
“Okay,” Mike breathes. “I, uh. This really is stupid. But I guess I just… I don’t like that Holly’s all over you every time you’re over. She’s got this annoying crush on you and I don’t know… I don’t like it.”
Will looks at Mike incredulously, the ends of his mouth upturned, something warm growing inside his chest. He’s quiet for long enough that Mike lifts his head to make sure Will heard him.
“What?” he asks defensively, taking in Will's expression.
“Are you jealous of Holly?” Will asks, unable to hide his amusement.
“I told you it was stupid,” Mike says, looking away from Will, the tips of his ears bright red. “Just forget I said anything.”
“No, Mike,” Will says softly, trying to recapture Mike's attention. “No, it’s not stupid. It’s kind of cute.”
“Shut up,” Mike replies, snatching the cigarette away from his boyfriend, needing something to do with his free hand.
Will’s quiet, rubbing soothing circles against Mike’s hand with his thumb. “I didn’t realize it was bothering you,” he says, glad that Mike didn’t put up too much of a fight. “I’ll tell her to stop.”
“No,” Mike says quickly. “No, I don’t want to upset her.”
Will sighs. “I don’t want to upset you.”
Mike bites his lip. Will waits patiently, expecting him to argue, put up some kind of fight. He has to hide his surprise when Mike’s head falls against his shoulder, apparently tired of fighting.
“Thanks,” he says, his voice a little muffled.
Will presses a kiss into Mike’s long, raven hair. “You know, Holly probably won’t wake up until that movie’s over.”
Mike hums in acknowledgement, flicking the cigarette into the yard and closing his eyes.
“Can I do something for you?” Will asks, hoping Mike understands what he’s getting at even though the innuendo is weak.
“Huh?” Mike asks, leaning up to squint at his boyfriend.
“You know,” Will presses, knocking into his shoulder.
He’s only done it a few times; they’re taking their physical relationship slow. Will’s slowly becoming more in control of himself. He doesn’t trust himself to receive, but he’ll give Mike anything he asks for.
“I don’t though,” Mike says, sounding genuinely lost. “If I knew I wouldn’t be asking for clarification.”
Mike’s never asked for anything, though. It’s always been Will offering. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t understand what Will’s getting at.
“Fine,” he says, pulling Mike closer so he can speak directly into his ear. He lowers his voice and says, “Let's go up to your room, lock the door, and I’ll… you know .”
He can pinpoint the exact moment that Mike understands what he’s saying because his body tenses up briefly before he jumps to his feet, pulling Will up with him.
“This isn’t working,” Max groans when the tape finishes, Kate Bush’s vocals fading out.
El takes the sleep mask off from her eyes and picks up the cassette player from the bed, turning it over in her hands appraisingly.
“I mean,” Lucas says, trying to sound optimistic and only failing slightly, “maybe I missed a song.”
“Some boyfriend,” Max scoffs. “Are there any songs he may have missed, El?”
“Maybe,” El says thoughtfully, standing from Max’s bed. “There’s an album we used to listen to all the time. None of those songs were on the mixtape."
“What album?” Lucas and Max ask at the same time.
El walks over to the bookshelf; a new addition to the room. She pulls a beat up shoebox from the shelf, its contents clacking, and brings it back over to her friends.
“Madonna,” she says, shoving her hand into the mess of tapes.
“Max doesn’t like Madonna” Lucas says.
“That’s not true,” Max says. “‘Burning Up’ was my favorite song for a while.”
“You never told me that!” he says.
Max shrugs. “You never asked. That sounds like a you problem.”
El hides her smile at the argument, her fingers running across the spines. She finds what she’s looking for pretty quickly and removes it from the case, tossing the jacket onto the bed.
Lucas reaches forward, inspecting the cover, his face going sour when he reads the title. “‘Like a Virgin?’”
Max giggles. “That’s a joke, right?” she says.
“No,” El replies, starting the tape and climbing onto the bed next to Max.
She replaces the blindfold and takes a deep breath, focusing on the music. Getting into Max’s mind is easier this time, like stepping through a door rather than kicking it down.
There isn’t really much here; it’s the same as their room. In fact, if it weren’t for Lucas’s absence she wouldn’t know she and Max were alone in here.
The synth-heavy melody of Material Girl fades into the background as El reaches toward Max, grabbing her arm. Max jumps, whipping her head toward her friend.
“Are we…”
“In your head?” El finishes. “Yes.”
“Cool,” Max replies, settling against the pillows again. “I like this song.”
El smiles, bringing her legs up to her chest. “Me too,” she says. “You made me listen to it.”
Max hums thoughtfully, remaining quiet as the song plays quietly from the real world. El scans the room, looking for anything that might be out of place, that might indicate this is working.
“Do you think this is going to work?” Max asks when the song starts to fade out and the next starts to fade in.
“I’m not sure,” El admits, scrunching her nose at the song.
“What’s this song called?” Max mutters after the first chorus.
“ Angel ,” El replies, a little disgusted. “You like this song?”
“No, it’s awful,” Max laughs. “You think Lucas can change it for us?”
“You never liked this song,” El says, a soft smile on her face. “But I think we should listen to it.”
“Ugh,” Max scoffs. “Why?”
“You’re supposed to listen to albums all the way through,” El explains.
“Did Eddie tell you that?” Max asks. “He’s kind of pretentious about music.”
El doesn’t respond, instead choosing to cross her arms and focus her attention on the door, which remains the same, annoyingly unchanged. The rest of the room stays the same, too. Nothing out of place, everything exactly the same as when El came into Max’s mind.
“Hey,” Max says, sensing El’s tension, “you know I’m just playing around. We can listen to this song.”
“I’m not upset,” El replies. “I just think he’s right. Will and Jonathan think so, too.”
Max snorts. “I’m surrounded by music snobs.”
“I am not a snob,” El argues. “It’s like ignoring parts of a painting.”
“Did Will tell you that?” Max asks, smirking at the way El shifts away from her. “That sounds like something Will would say.”
Again, El withholds her response because those words did come directly from Will. This time, though, Max sits quietly, apparently pleased that she was able to pinpoint where the argument originated. Angel plays on, the song repeating the proclamation that whoever Madonna’s singing to must be an angel in disguise.
El casts a sidelong glance at Max, trying to read her expression. It’s clear that she’s actually listening to the lyrics, her mouth pursed, her brows knit. El wants to say something and break the silence.
The room is starting to feel smaller, suffocating.
Now I believe that dreams come true
'Cause you came when I wished for you
This just can't be coincidence
Something twists in El’s gut, but she can’t look away from Max. She ignores the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch her. To quell it, she laces her own fingers together, holding her own hand.
“Huh,” Max murmurs.
“What?” El whispers back, not taking her eyes off of her friend, her hands balled together on top of her knees.
“Uh,” Max says. “Nothing. Just…”
El watches her carefully, waiting for her to find the words to describe what just happened.
“I think I felt something?” Max finishes, unsure of herself.
“Felt what?”
“I don’t know,” Max says, lifting her hand and touching the back of her skull. “It’s like there’s something scratching right here.”
El hums, appraising the spot Max is touching. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, just her hair and her hand. Then, she looks away, scanning the room.
Her bed is gone, the only one remaining is Max’s. In fact, the entire room is different, it must have changed at the same time Max felt whatever it is she’s feeling in her head.
“We’re in your bedroom,” El says, glancing at the wicker headboard behind them.
“You mean our bedroom,” Max replies, smiling like she’s gotten something up on Eleven.
“No,” El says, standing up and crossing the room to pick up the handset of the phone on the dresser. Instead of a dial tone, she’s greeted with the beginning of Like a Virgin. She hangs up the phone, feeling a little uncomfortable before turning around to face Max again. “Your bedroom on Old Cherry.”
“The place I lived when I moved here?” Max asks, scooting to the edge of the bed, using her legs to pull herself to the edge of the bed.
El steps forward, her head tilted, her eyes locked on Max’s pajama pant clad legs. “Can you walk?”
“What?” Max asks, her feet brushing the carpet. “What do you mean?”
“Your legs,” El says. “You used them to get to the edge.”
“Oh,” Max says, shrugging. “I dunno. I didn’t even realize I did that. You wanna help me up?”
El crosses the room, taking hold of both of Max’s hands. “On the count of three,” she says, waiting for Max to nod before she starts counting.
On three, she yanks Max to her feet, holding onto her tightly. For a moment, it looks like Max is going to fall back onto the bed, but she shifts her grip, grabbing onto El’s shoulders, taking a shaky step forward.
“Dude,” Max says, shifting her arms and stepping even closer into her friend’s space. “What the hell? Why can I walk?”
“We’re in your brain,” El replies, very aware of how close Max is. “Maybe that’s why.”
“Okay…” Max says slowly. “But if I can walk, why can’t I see?”
“I don’t know,” El replies, glancing around the room, her eyes landing on a stack of comics, “Wonder Woman” sitting on top. “I think this is a memory.”
Max makes an affirmative noise, looping on arm completely around El’s shoulders and stepping to her side, leaning heavily into her. El hesitates for a moment before grabbing onto Max’s waist, holding her steady.
“So…” Max says after a few moments. “What now?”
“I’m not sure,” El admits, acutely aware of every place she and Max touch. “Do you still feel the scratching?”
“Yeah,” Max says. “It’s actually a little worse now.”
“Okay,” El says. “I’m going to try something.”
Max nods and lets El haul her to the phone. El shoves the handset into her free hand.
“What do you want me to do with this?” Max asks.
“Listen.”
Max obeys, putting the speaker against her ear. El can hear the bouncy notes of the song from where she’s standing. When Max inhales sharply, El closes her eyes and pushes forward, trying to pry further into Max’s mind.
There’s resistance there, a lot of it. It’s like Max is trying to keep her out. El tries one more time, but it feels like the wall Max has put up is impenetrable.
“Max,” she says, opening her eyes, feeling a little annoyed that she’s making this harder than it needs to be.
The rest of the sentence dies in her throat. Brilliant blue eyes stare back at her, a look of recognition there. Max blinks slowly but doesn’t say anything. It’s like she can’t stop staring at El.
“Holy shit,” she says, dropping the phone and reaching forward to touch El’s face. “ Holy shit .”
“Can you–”
“See you?” Max finishes, her fingers ghosting over the bridge of El’s nose. “Yeah. Yeah I can see you.”
El waits, letting Max observe her. The attention is overwhelming, but she doesn’t tell Max to stop, resists looking away despite the way she can feel her face heating up. The word “homosexual” echoes in her head.
Then, even more troubling, the word “faggot” and the way that woman said it to Will. She tears her eyes away from Max, frantically trying to press the thought of closing the distance between them away.
Max notices her discomfort, her own cheeks turning pink, and lets go, stepping back to glance around the room. They’re no longer in her bedroom on Old Cherry, but El’s bedroom in Hopper’s old cabin.
“Sorry, I—” Max begins before biting her tongue.
El resolutely doesn’t look at her, an odd feeling of fear lodging itself within her ribs. “It’s okay,” she mumbles. “Do you remember?”
Max clears her throat. “Yeah,” she replies, her voice close to El’s ear. “Yeah, I… El, you saved my life.”
El’s fingers twitch at her sides, unsure of what to say to that. Unsure of what to do now. She knows she should get out of here, tell Lucas the good news, and maybe get Max to the lab; but, she can’t bring herself to, not when Max can’t seem to stop staring.
“Thank you,” Max whispers, sending a shiver down El’s spine.
“We should get back to Lucas,” El replies, feeling hot all over.
Max stays quiet beside her and, eventually, El can’t help but turn her head, earning herself a soft smile.
“Can I just look at you for a minute?” Max says. “I know it’s stupid, but I haven’t seen you in years.”
El swallows harshly, but nods in ascent. This time, she’s ready when Max reaches forward and her thin fingers trace along the lines of El’s jaw.
“Sorry,” Max mumbles. “I just want to make sure I remember what you look like.”
“It’s okay,” El whispers, not trusting her voice as her eyes slip closed.
Max’s touch is gently, like she’s holding something precious between her hands. El’s left desperately trying not to compare the way this feels with the way Mike made her feel.
A tiny voice inside her head tells her she knows which feeling she prefers, which feeling reminds her of all the love stories she’s ever read or seen. It insults her, venom in the slur that’s been hurled at her brother.
Erica sits in the passenger seat, arms crossed as she watches Steve shuffling back to the car from the woods. He looks disappointed.
“Steve’s back,” she says, not turning around to look at Eddie, lying as low as he can in the backseat.
“You think he saw anything?” Eddie asks, wiggling his arm out from underneath himself.
“No,” she replies, leaning forward.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he says again. He’s been saying it since they shoved him into the back with nothing but a blanket over his body to hide him from prying eyes.
“Shut up. They’re not dangerous,” she reminds him.
Eddie scoffs. “Sure,” he says. “Because we should definitely believe information given to us by Hawkins Lab.”
“These monsters haven’t attacked anyone,” she says as Steve opens his door and slips inside.
“See anything, Harrington?” Eddie asks, ignoring Erica.
“Maybe,” he says, pulling his seatbelt over his lap. He gives Erica a sharp look, waiting for her to buckle up before he puts the car in drive and leaves the parking lot. “I think something big walked through there.”
“What makes you say that?” she asks, watching as they take a route that feels eerily familiar. “And where are we going?”
“Broken tree branches,” Steve says. “It just looked like it okay?”
“Fine,” she says. “Why does it look like we’re going to my house?”
Steve is quiet, still driving forward.
“Steve, are you taking me home?” she asks a little urgently.
“No,” he says. “No, it just… It looks like it was going this way.”
“Weird.”
“You okay back there, Eddie?” Steve asks when the silence of the car gets overwhelming.
“Yeah,” he replies, his voice muffled. “I’m good.”
Steve hums before abruptly slamming on his breaks, sending Eddie tumbling off the bench and into the footwell. He makes an undignified noise, scrambling to dislodge his knees from the back of Erica’s seat.
“What the hell?” he grumbles, sitting up fully to glare at Steve. “I said I was good and then you throw me on the ground?”
“Look,” Steve says, lifting his hand to point at the row of houses in front of them.
Erica leans forward, squinting at the buildings. At first, she can’t see anything out of the ordinary. She looks in each vacant window before she sees it. Behind the houses, there’s something tall and thin moving smoothly through the trees.
“Is that…” Eddie begins.
“Yeah,” Steve mutters. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Well,” Erica says, turning toward Steve. “Are we going to go after it?”
Steve nods, keeping his eyes locked on the monster for a few seconds before pulling his car forward slowly, following its path from the road.
“Why are they going this way?” Erica asks, mostly to herself. “El said they were guarding the places where they haven’t closed the ground.”
“I’m not sure,” Steve says, pulling onto Maple Street. He glances around them, ensuring there isn’t anyone else here before he parks.
“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, nerves on the edges of his voice.
Steve leans over, opening the glovebox to pull out a lighter. He turns to look at Eddie. “There should be a bottle of hairspray back there.”
Eddie acts immediately, searching the backseat for hairspray. “What? You want to look good for this thing, Harrington?”
“No,” Steve says, snatching the bottle from Eddie when he offers it. He climbs out of the car, flicks the lighter and pushes down on the nozzle of the product, creating a makeshift flamethrower.
“Awesome,” Erica says, watching him carefully. “Do we have any other weapons?”
“My bat’s in the trunk,” he replies, leaning back into the car to retrieve his keys. “Figured Eddie could hold onto that and you can stay here where it’s safe.”
“Hell no!” Erica cries, practically throwing herself out of the car. “I’m coming with you.”
“No,” Eddie says, reluctantly leaving the safety of the backseat. “No way.”
She puts her hands on her hips, looking between the two of them. “These things are walking toward my house. My mom’s there. I’ll be damned if I’m not investigating with you guys.”
“Erica, please,” Steve says, rubbing a hand down his face.
She looks away from Steve, shifting her attention to Eddie. She rarely exploits his soft spot for her, but this is as good a time as any.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Eddie says sharply, holding his hand out for the keys.
“Like what?” Erica asks, stepping forward to look over his shoulder as he opens the trunk and retrieves the wooden bat with nails hammered through it.
“Like–” he stops short, the ground beneath them seeming to tremble. He whips his head back toward Steve. “Did you feel that?”
Steve’s eyes are locked on the trees, on the monster that’s now moving faster. “We have to go,” he says, glancing back at them before taking off running toward it.
“Shit,” Eddie curses, slamming the trunk and taking off. “Come on, Sinclair,” he calls over his shoulder. “You win this time.”
“Dude,” Jonathan says, flopping onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling. “We shouldn’t have done that.”
“What do you mean we shouldn’t have done that?” Argyle asks, grabbing Will’s sketchbook from the desk before sitting cross legged on the floor.
Jonathan laughs. “She’s mormon , Argyle. We’re like, corrupting her, or whatever.”
“Her parents are mormon,” Argyle shoots back, flipping the book open to the first page; a drawing of Hawkins after the world literally broke apart stares back at him. “And she wanted to.”
“She’s sixteen,” Jonathan says, turning over to glare at his friend. “You’re a bad influence.”
“Whatever, man,” he replies, flipping past the next few pages – all of them different angles of the same tragedy. “A little bit of weed never killed anybody.”
“I guess you’re right,” Jonathan replies, rolling onto his back again. “What do you think of Eden?”
“She’s cool,” Argyle says, smirking at a page full of doodles, all of them bearing a striking resemblance to Mike. “And fucking beautiful. Why? Are you interested?”
“No,” Jonathan says quickly. “Aren’t you interested?”
Argyle shrugs. “I mean, maybe if she wasn’t taking off for Miami.”
“You act like you don’t literally live in a van,” Jonathan laughs. “Couldn’t you just go down there?”
“I guess I could, but Florida really wasn’t my thing,” he replies, turning the page again to be met with a full color portrait of Mike. “You think your brother’s ever going to tell that Wheeler kid he’s got a crush on him?”
Jonathan sits up, his body rigid, his high gone. Argyle, for what it’s worth, doesn’t seem to notice the tension he’s created. He turns the page again and shakes his head and another drawing heavily featuring none other than Mike Wheeler.
“What?” Jonathan asks.
Argyle turns the sketchbook around so Jonathan can see the picture. “He draws him so pretty, man. Kid’s got it bad,” he says, raising an eyebrow at Jonathan. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”
“No,” Jonathan says. “No, I–”
Argyle frowns. “Do you have a problem with that or something?”
“ No .”
“Then why do you look like that?” Argyle asks, putting the sketchbook aside.
“Like what?” Jonathan says defensively.
“I don’t know, man,” Argyle replies. “Like you ate a sour grape. People can love who they want to love.”
“I know that Argyle.”
“Then why are you being weird about it?” he presses. “Your little brother’s a cool dude. You know, aside from his terrible taste in guys.”
“I’m not being weird about it,” Jonathan says, rubbing at his cheek. “I, uh, I knew about it. I’m cool with it. I love him either way. I just didn’t know you knew. Did he tell you?”
“No, man,” he replies. “He’s not exactly subtle, always shooting goo goo eyes at Mike.”
“Dude, like Mike’s much better,” Jonathan says, jumping to his brother’s defense, too high to care about outing either of them. “He pouts if Will doesn’t sit next to him.”
Argyle snorts. “Of course he does. Do you think they know?”
“Think they know what?”
“That they’re both into each other,” Argyle says.
“Oh,” Jonathan says. “Yeah, dude. I think they know.”
“They should do something about it, then,” Argyle replies. “Life’s too short to deny yourself the things and people you love.”
Jonathan sits with that, lying back down to turn it over in his mind. Next to him, the metal pull switch of his lamp swings. He tilts his head to watch it, feeling a little troubled when it doesn’t stop.
“You feel that?” Argyle asks, his nose practically buried in the sketchbook.
Something cold crawls up Jonathan’s spine. “Feel what?”
“That earthquake, man,” Argyle replies. “Feels like I’m back in Cali.”
Jonathan stands abruptly, earning an apprehensive look from the man on the floor. “I don’t think that was an earthquake.”
“What?” Argyle asks, watching as Jonathan walks out of the room. “Dude, come back.”
“Come on!” Jonathan calls from the hallway.
Argyle grumbles, standing from the floor. He grabs Will’s sketchbook, closing it and putting it back on the desk before following Jonathan and asking again for further explanation.
“Nance?” Robin asks, shifting the cardboard box filled with streamers, paper plates, and plastic cups.
Nancy looks away from the water still sloshing in her glass on the counter. She blinks at Robin, her expression blank.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Nancy says, shaking her head and fixing her expression. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”
Robin doesn’t look convinced, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “You sure? You look kind of freaked out.”
“I’m fine, Robin,” she says, taking the box from her hands. “Just a little tired. Let’s get this stuff to the garage.”
She walks out of the room, masking whatever worries she has for the sake of Vickie. If Robin didn’t feel the tremor, maybe it was all in her head.
Robin follows her slowly, eyes catching on the water still moving in the glass. She resists the urge to grab onto Nancy’s shoulder to ask what happened, but she decides better of it. Walking into the house, she’d nearly fallen, but she thought it was just her clumsiness.
“Hey, babe?” Vickie asks when Robin steps into the garage. She’s standing on a chair with one of the rolls of streamers in her hands. Nancy is arranging the table where the food will be set out later. “Can you help with these?”
“Yeah,” Robin mutters, glancing at Nancy, trying to read her body language. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
“You’re amazing,” Mike says, his voice thick.
He’s sprawled out on the bed, looking down at Will, who’s gently retying the knot on his pajama pants. A bead of sweat lazily rolls down Mike’s temple. A lazy grin graces his face, his chest rising and falling.
“You’re amazing,” Will replies, crawling up to lie beside Mike.
Before Will can settle onto the free pillow, Mike reaches for him. He grabs onto Will’s face, pulling him with an unexpected amount of force. Will’s hands land on either side of Mike’s head; he holds his hips carefully above Mike’s.
“Hi,” Mike says, eyes half-lidded, sounding almost asleep.
Everything about Mike sets Will’s nerves on fire and there’s nothing he can do about it, at least not yet. And Mike has the audacity to tighten his arms around Will’s neck in an attempt to pull him closer.
“Hi, Mike,” Will says, resisting the urge to let Mike pull him completely against him.
“Come here,” Mike murmurs, trying to pull Will closer. “I need a kiss.”
Will obliges, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to Mike’s lips before backing away. Mike whines pathetically at the loss.
“Sorry,” Will says. “It’ll be gross.”
Mike runs his hands down Will’s sides, looping them together at his waist. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t care ,” Mike growls, yanking Will against him, their hips colliding.
Both of them exhale sharply. Mike freezes, staring up at Will with wide eyes. Will tries to extract himself, but Mike follows him.
“Mike,” Will warns, now holding himself very still with every bit of his strength.
“Stay here,” Mike begs, running a hand up Will’s back and burying it in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “And kiss me for real.”
When Will doesn’t move, Mike drops his hands and turns his head away, his face turning red. He’s been bold before, but never like this, never to the point of pulling them together and feeling that Will wants him too.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, a little ashamed at his momentary lapse in self control. “I just… The least I can do after that is kiss you.”
Will blinks slowly, like he doesn’t quite understand. “The least you can do?” he asks.
Mike looks back up at him, brows knit. “Yeah,” he replies. “I don’t think you’ll let me reciprocate.”
“You want to reciprocate?” Will asks, head tilted, sounding like he's having a revelation.
“Duh,” Mike says, shifting a little and pulling a hiss out of his boyfriend above him.
Mike stops moving again, but something seems to snap in Will. He readjusts his position so he’s able to grab Mike’s face, roughly turning him toward him. He leans down, kissing him hard, but keeping the kiss decidedly shallow.
That’s all the permission Mike needs, though. He flips them over and licks at Will’s lips, drawing a long low sound from him. Will eagerly kisses back, whatever hesitation he felt earlier melting away at Mike’s clear eagerness.
They make out like that for a few minutes, Mike assaulting Will’s mouth until he can’t take it anymore. Mike stops, pulling back, looking absolutely insane. He doesn’t let Will pull him back down, either.
He stares at him like he wants to eat him alive.
“Mike?” Will asks nervously. “Are you okay?”
“Will,” Mike mutters, eyes roaming his face wildly. “Can I…”
“Can you what?” Will asks.
Instead of answering with words, Mike starts to move down Will’s body, maintaining eye contact the whole time, hoping Will understands what he’s asking. He hooks a finger under Will’s sweatpants, earning a sharp breath from him.
“Can I?” Mike asks again. “I’ll stop if it’s too much but I want to. Will, I want to so bad.”
For a tense moment, Mike’s sure he’s going to be turned down, told that it’s not a good idea and not something Will can handle right now. But then, Will’s nodding, hand going to Mike’s face to pull him back for another hard kiss.
“Yeah,” Will says breathlessly when Mike pulls away. “Yes. Please.”
“Jim, Joyce,” Murray yells, running after the two of them. “Mind telling me what the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know,” Joyce says, passing under a low hanging branch, holding tightly to the gun in her hands. “Jim what is it?”
“You two felt that,” he says, not bothering to turn around, stomping forward with purpose.
“You really think that tiny little shake was something from the other dimension, though?” Murray asks, pushing the limb over his head.
“Is it Will?” Joyce asks frantically, like she’s asked it before. “Do you think it’s going after Will?”
“I don’t know,” Hopper says, eyes on the creature ahead of them. “Did you say he was staying at the Wheeler’s?”
“Shit,” Joyce says, picking up her pace. “Shit.”
“What?!” Murray yells.
“That’s where the monster’s going,” she replies, grabbing his arm right above his elbow to pull him along. “Come on, Murray.”
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, letting her guide him over the underbrush. “I thought there wasn’t anything to worry about.”
“That was before the earthquake,” Joyce says.
“And you think they’re coming for your son?” he says.
“How many times do we have to tell you it’s always our kids?” she replies, adjusting her grip on her shotgun and on Murray’s arm.
They continue on in silence, following the monster as close as they can. Hopper’s eyes stay focused in on the monster ahead of them, both of his hands gripped tightly around the flamethrower, ready to fire on the monster.
“What’s that?” Murray asks, stopping and nearly toppling over when Joyce keeps her hand tightly on him as she continues to run.
“What’s what ?” she asks, turning to look at him with her arm still outstretched toward him.
He’s staring into the woods toward the road. There doesn’t seem to be any movement, at least not any that can be attributed to a monster; however, leaves and sticks crunch underneath the feet of someone or something approaching.
“Jim,” Joyce whispers frantically, nervous about the mystery intruder. “Jim!”
“What, Joyce?” he finally shoots back, still walking after the monster.
Three shadowy figures appear, two around the same height and the other coming up to their chests. They probably aren’t monsters, but in the shadows, they could be anyone.
“I don’t think we’re alone,” Murray whispers.
“What?” Hopper asks, finally turning around in time to see the figures emerging from the woods. He runs forward to step in front of Murray and Joyce but stops short when he realizes who’s walking toward them. “Harrington?”
Steve stops moving, causing Eddie and Erica to collide with his back. “Hopper?”
“What the hell are you kids doing out here?” he asks, lowering his weapon. “It’s not safe.”
“Excuse me,” Murray says. “I thought you said we were safe.”
“You are ,” Hopper replies, glancing back toward Murray and then toward the monster. He swings back toward the trio in front of him. “You kids need to get out of here.”
“Why?” Erica shoots back, stepping forward with her hands on her hips.
“It’s not safe,” Hopper says fiercely.
She crosses her arms, looking back at Steve and Eddie. “Are you guys hearing this?”
“Yeah, Hopper,” Murray says, clearly glad that they’re no longer actively following the monster that may or may not be dangerous. “Are we safe or not?”
“You guys will be fine,” Hopper says, exasperated. “Just… go home. Munson’s not even supposed to be out here.”
“Trust me,” Eddie says flatly. “I don’t want to be here.”
“Jim,” Joyce says sharply, taking off after the monster again. “Come on .”
“Where is it going?” Steve asks, pushing past Hopper to catch up with Joyce.
“The Wheeler’s we think,” she replies, looking back at the group standing around behind them. “Guys, what are you–”
She’s cut off by the world shaking hard around them. Steve grabs onto her arm, anchoring them both to the ground. The trees creak with the effort of staying upright.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Eddie cries as he falls into Erica, knocking them both over.
“Watch it!” she yells, trying to push herself up. Despite her efforts, she’s unable to gain footing, kicking up dirt as she continues to struggle. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t–” Hopper begins before a sickening crack comes from the distance. He grips the flamethrower tighter and tries to continue toward the Wheeler’s house. “We’ve got to go. Now.”
Mike falls hard onto the ground, the wind being knocked from his lungs. On the bed, Will scrambles to get his pants on properly as the house shakes.
“Why isn’t it stopping?” Mike asks, trying to find some sort of purchase.
“Why didn’t you stop?” Will shoots back, voice strained, hands shaking.
“You didn’t tell me to! Actually, Will. You explicitly told me to keep going ,” Mike argues, finally standing just in time for the ground outside to make a deafening crack.
Will manages to get to his feet, pulling himself over to the window, trying to see what’s happening, but the view is obscured.
“What the hell is that?!” Mike screams.
There’s something staring into the window. Or, it looks like it’s staring into the window. Black, slimy skin is stretched over the place where it’s eyes should be. It’s unmoving, focus apparently on Will. Mike grabs his boyfriend’s arm tightly and yanks him out of the room.
When they reach the hallway, the house tilts. Pictures fall from the wall, glass breaks in the kitchen. Somewhere downstairs, Holly’s screaming for them.
“Shit,” Mike cries, pulling Will along after him. “Shit, shit, shit.”
They manage to make it to the bottom of the stairs without toppling over. Outside trees are falling, crashing into the ground, adding to the terror Mike feels deep in the pit of his stomach. Will pushes at his back trying to get them to the basement to retrieve Holly.
Holly’s calling out for Mike, so he lets go of Will and runs. This time, he does fall on the stairs but he lands on his ass and slides to the bottom of the stairs. Holly runs over to him, trying to get him to his feet.
“What’s happening?” she asks frantically. “Where’s Will?”
“It’s an earthquake,” Mike lies, pulling himself to his feet as the shaking slows. “Will’s upstairs, come on.”
She latches onto him, gripping his arm hard enough to leave bruises, but he can’t bring himself to care. By the time they reach the top of the stairs, the shaking has stopped and Will’s face is pressed against the living room window, staring out onto the street.
“Will?” Mike asks, guiding Holly over the debris on the floor. “You okay?”
Will turns around, his face grim.
“Will?” Holly says, her voice shaking, looking between her brother and his friend. “What’s going on?”
“The gates are open again,” he says, not taking his eyes off of Mike.
“What about…”
“The monsters?” Will says, clearly not caring that Holly doesn’t know about the Upside Down. She’s about to find out and there’s nothing they can do to stop it. “I counted five. They're just... standing there, though.”
“Shit,” Mike says, looking down at his sister before glancing back at Will. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Go get the walkie. We need to make sure everyone else is okay. We’ll go from there okay?”
“No!” Holly yells, gripping onto Mike, tears in her eyes. “Don’t leave me.”
“Stay with Will,” Mike says, dragging her over to him. “You’re safer with him. I promise.”
“What about you?” she asks, as Will pulls her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She wiggles in his grasp so she can see Mike. “What if you’re not safe?”
“I’ll be right back,” he promises before leaving the room to retrieve the walkie talkie from the basement, ignoring the way it pulls a sob from Holly’s chest. If he thinks about it too hard, he’ll start crying too.