Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m sweating.”

“Mike.”

“I didn’t even know that I could sweat this much.”

“Mike.”

“Is it hot in here?”

“It’s November.” Max fixes him with an unimpressed look. “Seriously? You need to calm down.”

Mike glares back at her. “Seriously? Not helping.”

“Well, neither is pacing the room until you pass out.”

“I have to pace! You’re just sitting there.” Mike throws his arms up, exasperated. “How are you not nervous?”

“Oh, I’m shitting myself,” Max says, standing from the couch. “The only reason I’m not showing it is because you’re freaking out enough for both of us.”

Mike lets out a groan and buries his face in his hands. “This is going to suck.”

After a moment, he feels cool air on him and looks up to see that Max has plugged in the basement fan. Even though it is, in fact, November, and barely forty degrees outside. Mike sighs and moves closer to it, spreading out his limbs to absorb the breeze. “Thank you.”

“Go change your clothes,” Max tells him, arms crossed. “And put on some deodorant. And then come back down so I can give you a proper pep talk before they get here.”

Mike scoffs. “Yeah right,” he mutters. “Pep talk.”

Max narrows her eyes at him. “Or I could just leave. Or, better yet,” she says, grabbing his bicep and pulling them towards the stairs. “Shove you out the front door looking like a hot mess.”

“Okay, okay!” Mike wrenches free of her grip. “I’m going.”

As he starts up the stairs, Max calls, “Don’t forget the deodorant!”

Mike flips her off without looking back.

Okay, so, maybe he’s overreacting a little bit. In his defense, he’s about to see and speak to his girlfriend slash ex-girlfriend, whom he hasn’t seen or spoken to in three months, and his best friend slash ex-best friend turned crush, whom he hasn’t seen or spoken to in four months. How does anyone with emotions handle that?

Granted, Max has been helping him prepare for this, sort through his feelings and all that. And it has helped, to know that they’re in this together, unrequited dumbasses that they are. Mike just really thinks his situation is worse. He has to break up with someone and try to subtly confess his feelings to someone else who is a boy and also one of his best friends in the entire world what the fuck is his life—

Mike slips into his room and closes the door behind him before promptly sagging against it. Breathing. He needs to breathe. He’s worked on this with Max.

He takes a few deep breaths through his nose and a rank smell forces him to concede that Max was right about the deodorant.

He commences undressing and redressing while also attempting to keep his body temperature from spiking and ruining another outfit. Which is not to say that Mike has any outfits to ruin. He basically owns sweaters and khakis exclusively in terms of cold-weather garb.

He makes sure to apply deodorant (heavily) and even applies some chapstick (only because it’s winter, do not think about kissing, do not thinking about kissing). When he’s finished, he checks himself out in the mirror, smooths his hair. Okay, not bad. Not great, but not unredeemable.

In the reflection, Mike spots the piece of paper poking out from the book on his nightstand. It’s the picture that Will drew of them. Mike unfolds it, gripping the edges maybe a bit too tightly. This had better stay up here until the opportune moment. Because, yeah, they also have to talk about this. And so many other confusing things.

Mike tucks the drawing back into the book and leaves his room, bumping into Nancy on the stairs. She eyes him and smirks. “Dressing up for your girlfriend?”

“Shut up,” he says. “Like you’re not about to go change for Jonathan.”

Nancy blows him a kiss and keeps going. Mike tries to scrub the image of the two of them from his head, especially because now they’re both interested in the Byers brothers—

Wait, is that… that’s not weird, right? Two people who are siblings liking two people who are also siblings? Mike supposes it would be that way even if he was still with El, since she’s been ‘adopted’.

He decides not to think about it.

When he gets to the basement, Max looks over him with approval. “Wow. Okay. This might not be a total disaster.”

Mike crosses his arms. “This is your pep talk?”

Max just grins at him. “You’re gonna be fine, asshole. We’re both gonna be fine.” Moving closer, she pats his shoulder. “You can keep your head in a crisis. Just because the before is nerve-wracking doesn’t mean the during will be.”

“You say that now,” Mike starts, but Max shushes him.

“We have faced literal life and death situations. This is nothing.”

Mike clenches his fists. “Then why does it feel so much scarier?”

For a moment, Max hesitates, mouth half-open, and Mike gets a curling in the pit of his stomach. Yep. We’re doomed.

“Because emotions suck?” Max suggests.

Mike heaves another sigh and turns away from her. “Fuck me.”

“No thanks,” Max quips.

Before Mike has time to respond, the basement door crashes open and Dustin comes barreling down the stairs, a much calmer Lucas on his heels.

“Holy shit, guys,” Dustin says, breathing hard. “This is actually happening. They’re actually coming back— I mean, holy shit.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe it,” Lucas agrees. “It feels like they’ve been gone forever.” He’s looking everywhere but at Max.

Mike glances over to see Max staring right at Lucas, a crack in her casual façade, and instant empathy washes over him. It’s been fairly tense between the two of them since the final break-up. Considering it was months ago, Mike didn’t expect the tension to continue for this long.

But… Max still hasn’t told Lucas. The real reason they can’t be together.

Which Mike respects, of course, but he thinks Lucas would stop being so awkward around Max if she just told him. That it’s her, not him.

“If only I could have gotten Suzie here, too,” Dustin says. “Then we’d have the whole gang.”

The three of them simultaneously roll their eyes. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be a treat,” Max deadpans.

“You guys are all jealous of what we have,” Dustin replies smugly. “All of you. Jealous. Assholes.” He points to each of them in turn.

“I’m actually good without the discount version of Snow White and Prince Charming clogging my ears,” Max shoots back. “But sure.”

Mike and Lucas laugh while Dustin shakes his head. “Unbelievable. None of you recognize true talent even when it’s standing—” he gestures to himself “—right in front of you!”

They’re interrupted from bullying Dustin any further by Mike’s mom shouting from somewhere in the house. “Kids! They’re here!”

Mike’s stomach flips. Oh, God, here we go.

Dustin flies back up the stairs, oblivious to his friends’ hesitation. Lucas looks between Max and Mike with what seems like annoyance before following, leaving the two of them alone.

Mike turns to see Max looking upset again. “You should really tell him.”

It’s not exactly fair of Mike to say, and he notices Max bristle. “One thing at a time,” she says. “Right now, we have some friends to reunite with.” She reaches out to mess up his hair. “And possible lovers.”

Mike smacks her hand away.

~<:>~

“Entering Hawkins,” Joyce announces from the driver’s seat. She exchanges a smile with Jonathan before glancing in the rearview mirror at Will and El. “You guys don’t seem nearly as excited.”

“That’s because we’re not getting laid,” Will says.

Joyce stifles a laugh while Jonathan twists around to look at his brother. “Dude, really?”

Will shrugs and goes back to looking out the window. El has noticed a major increase in tension the closer they’ve gotten to the town, and she knows it’s because he’s thinking about Mike. She reaches over to place a hand on his shoulder. He turns his head and gives her a small, grateful smile.

When they pull up in front of the Wheeler’s house, El sees Dustin first, careening across the front lawn at light speed. This prompts Will to unbuckle as fast as possible and the two boys fling themselves at each other, Dustin even lifting Will off his feet a bit.

El climbs out of the backseat, too, and Dustin immediately wraps his arms around her, picks her up and spins them around, squeezing laughter from her.

When Dustin sets her down, his eyes are misty. “I missed you guys. So. Much.”

“I know,” Will says, and Dustin hugs him again.

El looks past the two of them just in time to see Nancy jump onto Jonathan, latching her arms around his neck while he catches her legs and holds her there, one hand splayed at her waist. She pulls back and kisses him soundly, clutching his face, and the two of them are sort of laughing, sort of crying.

El turns, smiling softly from that scene, to find Lucas hugging Will now. There’s still no sign of Mike or Max, and El doesn’t see either of them until after she hugs Lucas and looks over his shoulder.

Mike is wearing one of his signature patterned sweaters. It’s cold enough that he should need a jacket but he doesn’t have one, and El can see the warmth in his dark eyes from here. His hair is adorably fluffy.

Max walks beside him, and she is wearing a jacket that fits her snugly. She looks so genuinely happy to see El, gorgeous smile on her face. Her red hair is down and shining in the faint sun, like her cheeks and lips and…

Oh, they’re both so pretty.

El panics at the realization that she’s going to have to hug one of them first. Normally, she would run at them, but her legs are rooted to the ground, sparing her from the decision.

Mike gets to El first, which actually relieves her, for some odd reason. His pace speeds up ever so slightly once he’s a few feet away, and she takes a step forward, too, and they melt into each other, bodies reacting from memory. El sighs at the familiar warmth as Mike presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Hi,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” she says into his chest.

They separate after a while, but neither of them move to close the gap again and actually kiss. They just stare at each other.

“I missed you,” Mike says.

“I missed you, too.”

The unspoken why haven’t you called hangs in the air between them. El bites her lip.

Luckily, she’s saved by Mike’s gaze darting behind her where she knows Will is, and El looks to the right to see Max, waiting patiently for her with a look of incredible fondness. El and Mike glance at each other, a bit stilted, and then move at the same time to their respective friends.

When Max hugs her, she grabs on tight to El’s back, rocking them a little. “You are in big trouble,” the redhead says into her ear. El tries her hardest not to blush, just enjoys holding Max for a little while longer.

“I am?” El asks once they’ve disentangled.

“Yes.” Max’s tone is stern, but her eyes are playful. “We haven’t talked in so long that now you’re going to be overwhelmed with everything I have to tell you. I have many surprises, trust me.”

El laughs, somewhat nervously. “I… have surprises, too.”

“Really?”

El nods, staring Max down with what she hopes is a coy enough smile.

Max rolls her eyes with a grin. “So mysterious.” She slings her arm around El’s shoulders and leads them towards the house. “Come on. Thanksgiving dinner awaits.”

As they walk, El leans into Max’s side perhaps more than is strictly necessary.

~<:>~

Mike looks at Will while he’s hugging El. And really, what kind of dumbass idea is that? Of course, Will only catches his eye for a few seconds before looking away. That makes Mike feel even fucking better about approaching him.

And then it’s kind of awkward with El, but Mike senses Will looking at him, so he looks back. And when he does, all he can see is the boy who disappeared, standing there waiting for Mike to come save him, and the distance catches up with them all at once, and the shields fall away from Will’s face.

And Mike moves, faster than he did with El, to crush Will in a hug. Will’s arms are tight across his back, and Mike rests his chin on Will’s shoulder, and he wishes they could stay here, holding each other, and nothing would ever have to be complicated again.

Mike’s reluctant to pull back, but he does before the hug lasts too long. Wouldn’t want their friends to see them being overly affectionate. Except that the second he meets those huge brown eyes again, Mike forgets the entirety of the English language. “I’m… I… glad you’re back.” Yeah, good one.

“Only for the week,” Will reminds him.

And shit, he looks so sad about that fact. Mike wants to put a hand on his cheek or something. He manages to resist the urge. “Not nearly long enough.”

Will keeps staring at him with those fucking eyes, prompting Mike to stutter for a moment before the words tumble out of him. “I need to talk to you.”

Shit. Really? Right now? Couldn’t have picked a worse time, Mike.

Will tilts his head, giving Mike a cute, confused frown. “What—”

“Guys!” Dustin interrupts, grabbing both of their arms and hauling them towards the house. “Come on! It’s food time.”

So, now Mike and Will have that hanging between them.

And Mike has to suffer through an entire meal with Will and El on either side of him, cursing his stupid mouth and wondering what the fuck he’s going to do once he actually has time to talk to the two of them (separately— God, he would spontaneously combust if they were both there to hear everything he has to say). Max is sitting on the corner by El, flashing Mike reassuring, though mischievous glances. Mike is once again grateful not to be alone in his emotional turmoil.

But then there’s barely any time after the meal for the six of them to hang out (which is fine, because Mike sure as hell doesn’t want the experience of coming out in front Lucas and Dustin as well). And Will and El are tired from the trip, so it’s not long before the Byers all head back out to the car to get their stuff.

The sleeping arrangements are equally as stress-inducing as everything else. Originally, they were all set to stay with the Wheelers, but as soon as Joyce hears that Max’s parents are away during Thanksgiving, she refuses to let Max sleep one more night alone in that big house. And naturally, because El and Max are friends, Joyce proposes that the three ‘girls’ stay together.

“But the boys will want to be here,” Joyce says. “Right?”

Jonathan shrugs. “I’m definitely cool with staying here.”

“Yes, and you’ll be sleeping in the guest room, young man,” Mike’s mom chimes in, exchanging a knowing look with Joyce.

“Gross,” Mike comments. Nancy rolls her eyes.

In theory, the situation is ideal. Less people means more time Mike can spend alone with Will, thus providing him with ample opportunities to make his dreaded confession. The same goes for Max and El. Plus, keeping El and Will separate is good for Mike’s sanity. The more he sees the two of them side-by-side, the more guilty and confused he feels.

In practice, the situation is balls. Because now Mike has zero excuses to hide behind. Now it’s all on him and his anxious brain to nut up and talk to Will.

Max highlights this before she leaves with Joyce and El, whispering to Mike, “Good fucking luck.”

Mike can only grimace in response.

And then when he’s lying in his own bed later, all he can think about is the fact that Will is two floors below him, and they should be sleeping together (fuck, no, not like that, stop it), or at least, they should be closer.

When he’s still awake after an hour, Mike gets up and moves as quietly as possible to the basement. He’s not sure what, exactly, his excuse will be when he gets there.

Hey, remember when I said I wanted to talk? I might dump El for you.

Hey, I couldn’t sleep knowing you were alone down here. Come up to my room.

Hey, I totally screwed you over this summer, but can we be friends again? And possibly more?

Mike’s saved from having to come up with something viable, because Will is comatose on the couch, all tucked in with one arm dangling out from under the covers. He’s even snoring a little. Mike looks over him softly, remembering all the times their sleepovers ended up like this— the four of them passed out in weird positions.

Will looks incredibly peaceful, not even a crease between his eyebrows. Mike wants to trace his finger there.

He pointedly does not, instead opting to gather the pillows and blankets that make up El’s old fort and arrange them beside the couch. He’ll just stay here for a while, get a few hours of sleep, leave before Will wakes up.

Even as he falls under, Mike knows it’s a very flawed plan. He finds he doesn’t really care.

~<:>~

El is awake enough to listen to Max ramble on for a while about some female superheroes and the idiotic ways people behave in high school, but El doesn’t make many contributions to the conversation. Mostly, she stares at Max and tries not to picture what it would be like to kiss her.

Max must take notice of El’s drooping eyelids, because she laughs at herself. “You want me to shut up now, don’t you?”

“No,” El says, but she sinks down onto the floor and shuts her eyes completely.

“Liar.” Max stands and nudges El with her foot. “Come on. If you’re going to sleep, the bed is more comfortable.”

El’s heart pounds a little faster at that, and she cracks one eye open— only to see Max changing into her pajamas. El quickly shuts the eye again, heat rushing to her face. It took a while for El to learn the value of privacy after growing up in a lab, but she understands it plenty now. And she certainly understands why catching somebody you’re attracted to naked is awkward.

She waits there, eyes closed, holding her breath, not sure when she can look again.

Max comes back after she’s dressed and crouches down beside her, placing her hands on El’s shoulders and shaking them. “Seriously. I’m not letting you pass out on the floor.”

El lets out a little groan and sits up, immediately startled by how close they are. And how nice Max smells. “Which bed?” she manages.

“Mine.” Max takes El’s hands and pulls her to her feet.

El glances at it, stomach fluttering. “Where will you sleep?”

Max blinks. “Well, I thought we could share, like before. It’s a pretty big bed.” She hesitates, searching El’s face. “Unless—”

“No!” El cuts in. “Y-Yes. We can… share.”

Max gives her that easy grin and tilts her chin. “Okay. Try and stay awake long enough to get out of those clothes.”

El watches Max retreat and analyzes her words. She could almost swear she heard a teasing hint in the redhead’s tone. Almost like… flirting. That’s the word. But El can’t be sure. She shakes the thought from her head and takes her clothes across the hall to the bathroom.

When she comes back, Max is already under the covers. El climbs in beside her, waits for Max to switch off the lamp, and then, they’re in darkness.

El can feel her heart beating in her throat. The proximity affects her in a way that it didn’t before her realization. Because she could just reach out, a little bit, and…

“Night, El,” Max says, burrowing in.

El sighs softly. “Night.”

~<:>~

Chapter Text

It’s been a while since Will slept this well.

He has to attribute it to the fact that he’s in the Wheeler basement, where his body remembers spending many a night and morning completely dead to the world. That and the couch is surprisingly comfortable.

When he blinks his eyes open, Will can see a blurry shape on the ground in front of him that he doesn’t recall being there before. Frowning, he squints and rubs his face to clear his vision. At first, he thinks it’s a pile of blankets. But then he spots the fluff of dark hair at one end and nearly has a heart attack.

Mike. Mike is down here with him. Mike is sleeping beside him— when the hell did he even— why did he—

Will’s brain unhelpfully provides various romantic explanations and he gets caught up staring at Mike’s adorable nose and his lips—

Shit. Stop. This is what Will has previously deemed forbidden territory. Because, single or not, Mike is decidedly off-limits, not to mention completely unattainable.

Which is why it’s so damn annoying when he goes and does this shit. Making Will’s heart flutter with hope at his caring, sincere, doe-eyed disposition. Holding Will’s hand, hugging him like— what the hell even was that hug yesterday? And his ‘I need to talk to you.’ And now creeping down here in the middle of the night, to do what, exactly?

Will heaves a sigh and lifts his covers, swinging his legs down onto the floor. If Mike thinks he can just yank Will’s emotions around like this, he’s damn well going to deal with the consequences.

Will allows himself an extra second to admire the pretty boy in front of him before he grabs Mike’s shoulder and shakes it gently. “Mike?”

It takes a few tries for Mike to actually wake up. Will hears him groan and murmur as he comes back into consciousness, but Will can’t make out what he’s trying to say.

Upon opening his eyes, finally, Mike squints up at Will, and then his eyes widen. “Hey— oh— hey—” He scrambles back in an entertaining mess of limbs as he tries to get up and tangles himself even further in the blankets. “Shit—”

Will just watches with barely contained laughter, standing from his crouch once Mike finally manages to do the same.

“Um, yeah,” Mike says, looking down at his makeshift bed. “I— I came down to talk to you, but. You were already asleep.”

Will tries to ignore how cute Mike’s bedhead is. “So you decided to camp out?”

Mike has the decency to look embarrassed. “Uh…”

The whole situation is so utterly them, and God, Will wants to kiss him for being this endearing, but he also wants to slap him for being unfairly attractive in Will’s presence when he clearly knows that Will is gay.

And here he is, doing the doe eyes again, looking all insecure like he’s about to open up to Will about something he normally wouldn’t. And Will is such a sucker for Mike that obviously he’s going to stand there expectantly and listen (as much as he hates himself for it).

“Uh,” Mike starts. “I—”

“Will!” Jonathan opens the door to the basement. “Have you seen Mike? Mrs. Wheeler’s making breakfast!”

Mike’s gaze darts back to Will for a moment before he turns toward Jonathan’s voice. “Yeah— yeah, I’m down here!” Mike calls back. “We’re coming!”

It feels like the universe is against them ever speaking beyond awkward half-conversations that just leave both parties more dissatisfied than before. Will bites back his annoyance at his brother for interrupting.

Mike turns back to Will and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, I guess we should…”

“Yeah,” Will agrees.

He stays a respectable distance away from Mike as they climb the stairs.

~<:>~

Max wakes to El’s head resting on her shoulder.

How they managed to get this intertwined in their sleep is beyond her. Max is on her back, and El is curled into Max’s side, one arm thrown across her stomach, their legs wrapped up in the sheets. If Max tilted her chin down just slightly, she could kiss El’s forehead with no trouble.

Of course, she’s not going to do that. For now, Max is content to lay there and enjoy El’s warmth against her. After all, it’s not like Max is the one doing the cuddling, so she has no reason to be embarrassed. She’ll just pretend she’s asleep until El wakes up and moves away.

Except that El doesn’t move away.

Max hears her breathing turn uneven and feels her tense for a few seconds. But then, she relaxes back into Max, most likely employing the same technique. So now both of them are waiting for the other to wake up and do something about this entanglement situation.

In this moment, Max is infinitely grateful that she’s not a boy. Because, odds are, she would have a massive boner right now. Whether just morning wood or a reaction to El’s body, that would be awful.

After a few unbearably long minutes, Max stretches her arm out from under El’s head and opens her eyes with a yawn. When El still doesn’t stir, Max carefully brings the arm around to El’s cheek, stroking a few strands of hair back from her temple. “El,” she says softly.

Finally, El shifts and lets her eyes flutter open, looking up at Max.

“Hey,” Max smiles. “You wanna let me up, koala bear?”

She’s not sure El understands the comparison, but she slowly moves off of Max anyway, rolling to her back and yawning as well.

Max sits up and runs a hand through her hair. “Did you dream about anything?”

El shakes her head. “I sleep better if I don’t.”

Max takes that to mean she slept well last night. Whether or not that was because she was in Max’s bed is open to interpretation.

“You’re adorable,” Max says, even though she doesn’t mean to. It’s just— El looks so sweet, lying there with her elbows bent and hands curled by her head, messy clothes and hair and pretty brown eyes blinking up at the ceiling.

They blink at Max now, and she can swear she sees a pink dust coating El’s cheeks. “I am?”

Max pushes down the strangled sound in her throat and plays it off. “You know you are.” She gets out of the bed before she can say anything else stupid.

It doesn’t last very long, as she has to break the silence while she’s changing out of her pajamas and into her clothes. Under normal circumstances, Max wouldn’t feel as awkward, because she knows El doesn’t care as much about physical boundaries. But, unfortunately, ‘normal’ circumstances don’t apply when it comes to El. Max just has to play it cool and pretend she doesn’t mind stripping in front of her crush.

“So,” she starts. “Is there anything special you want to do today?”

There’s no response for long enough that Max turns, forearms stuck through her shirtsleeves to pull it over her head, covered minus the fact that she’s still only in her bra. And El is staring right at her with a very red face.

Max barely has time to process that before El turns away, examining the floor beside the bed. “I have to talk to Mike.”

All the previous giddiness built up in Max’s chest from the nuance collapses at the reminder. Right. Mike. Her boyfriend. And the person Max specifically promised she would not try to sabotage.

“Oh, yeah,” Max says casually, putting her shirt the rest of the way on. “We’ll probably go see everyone after breakfast.”

Only a few seconds after she says it, there’s a knock at the door and Joyce peers in. “I thought I heard voices. Are you two ready to eat?”

Max looks at El for confirmation. “I have to change,” El says.

Joyce nods. “Okay, sweetie. I’ll be downstairs.”

“Uh—” Max calls before Joyce can leave. “Do you want me to help? You know, locate the food?”

“Oh,” Joyce laughs. “Yes, please.”

Max nods, flipping her hair out from under the shirt collar. She glances back at El when she gets around the door, fingers on the handle, ready to close it—

And, against her better judgement, Max winks.

And promptly shuts the door, embarrassment flooding through her. She’s such a useless lesbian.

~<:>~

Mike was not in any way prepared for Will to be a foot from his face when he woke up this morning, but he guesses that’s on him, for being too impulsive for his own good. Thank fucking God Jonathan interrupted when he did, because Mike has no idea what idiocy he would have stuttered out next. And, if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t feel entirely comfortable making his confession to Will until he’s had ‘the talk’ with El.

He thunks his head back against against his bedroom wall. Shit. He’ll never really be ready for any of this. He just has to do it.

“Mike?” His mother knocks on the door as she opens it. “Everyone’s here.”

Mike swallows. “Yeah.”

Time to suck up the anxiety and get this shit over with.

He stands and approaches the doorway, where his mother is cautiously leaning. “Where are you guys going? Somewhere fun?”

“I don’t know,” Mike says. “I promise we’ll be home by nine, okay?”

As he moves to brush past her, she reaches out and stops him. “Hey.”

“Mom,” Mike starts, but she takes her hand off in surrender.

“I just—” She studies him, lips pursed. “You used to tell me things.”

Mike barely manages to resist rolling his eyes. “Mom, seriously.”

“I know,” she says. “I won’t pry. I wish I didn’t have to.”

Great. Because Mike wasn’t guilty enough already about everything else, now he’s got to worry about shutting out his mom and taking her for granted.

He sighs softly. “Mom…”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the time.” She guides him forward a bit, towards the stairs. “Go to your friends.”

“Mom—”

“Michael.” She’s using her no-arguments tone, and even at fifteen, Mike can’t help adhering to it. “Go.”

Mike’s mind is whirring as he descends. He knows that his mother loves to pry, even if she says she doesn’t. But he never considered her prying a form of care. It gets him thinking that maybe she would care about him and Will.

Mike wasn’t going to tell her, or his father, obviously, and besides that there is no ‘him and Will’. But with how much his mother tends to meddle, it might be prudent to get her opinion on… the general idea. Just so Mike knows the risk factor for if and when she finds out.

Now, however, Mike has to see his friends. And work out the best way to get El alone without it looking weird.

Except… it won’t look weird, he remembers. Max is the only one who knows they’re not really a couple anymore. It’ll be like it was before, when they would sneak off. But now he worries about giving Will the wrong impression—

Mike dispels the rampant thoughts from his head and opens the door to the basement. He can just wing it. He can do that. He does it all the time. Sometimes. Even though most of the time it ends kind of badly. God, can his brain shut up for two seconds?

“Hey,” Max greets him when he hits the bottom step. “What took you so long?”

Mike sighs inwardly and looks around at the others, eyes sticking on El for a moment, before turning back to Max. “Nothing. Where are we going?”

“Well,” Dustin says. “There’s here, Max’s place, the arcade, the junkyard…”

“The junkyard?” Max repeats. “It’s freezing.”

Lucas snorts. “Yeah, only cuz you’re from California. The rest of us have thicker skin.”

Max’s eyes flash with annoyance and she opens her mouth to retort but Mike cuts in swiftly. “I’m voting for the arcade.”

“Me, too,” Will says.

Mike tries his hardest not to look at Will strangely, with all this built-up affection and panic he has rattling around inside. From the way Will looks back at him, Mike probably didn’t succeed.

“Fine with me,” Max says, still staring at Lucas.

“Okay.” Dustin glances warily between the two of them, and then at Mike for help.

“Okay,” Mike affirms. “Is everyone cool with that?”

“Sure,” Lucas says through gritted teeth.

Max really needs to talk to him, Mike thinks. He tucks the thought away, turning to his right. “El?”

She nods, staring at him with the usual, subtle hint of affection playing at the corners of her lips. And shit, Mike has just realized that his type is cute, compact brunettes with pretty brown eyes.

“Alright.” He slides his hands into his pockets and curses his luck. “Let’s go.”

~<:>~

They spend about four hours in the arcade before Mike finally approaches El.

Much to her own surprise, El’s been having a lot of fun. She was nervous at the start, but all that disappeared quickly; Max and the boys collaboratively taught her how to play a variety of games— though clearly they all have an obsession with Dig Dug (El prefers The Oregon Trail, despite how terrible she is at it). She does get a kick out of watching the boys compete against each other, and the intensity with which Max plays the game is, as always, endearing.

Even more intense is the way Max hovers beside El while instructing and encouraging her, sometimes touching her shoulder or back out of excitement, at one point even guiding her movements. Max does it so absently, but El’s breath hitches when Max’s hands cover her own and they’re close enough that El thinks Max can probably hear it (El fights the blush on her cheeks, to no avail).

Eventually, everyone’s tired enough for a snack break. The group migrates toward the counter where Keith (who seems to work at every small business in town) sits, reading a comic book. El starts to follow, but she sees Mike hesitating out of the corner of her eye.

She watches him work up the courage, and then he wanders nervously forward. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” El replies.

“Do you wanna…” Mike gestures at the door behind him. “Get some air?”

El spares a glance over at Max, but she supposes it’s about time she and Mike had this conversation, so she nods.

There’s a bench out back that looks clean enough to sit on. Mike still wipes it with his sleeve before they do, then sweeps his arm out as though offering the seat to her. El giggles at his antics and accepts the offer. She really has missed him.

They sit in silence for a few moments, and El tries not to think of Max’s wink from this morning despite its replaying over and over in her head.

“So,” Mike says into the cool evening air. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you’re okay.”

It’s an interesting way to start a conversation, and El doesn’t quite manage to control her confused expression, which sends Mike rambling to explain himself.

“I know we talked before the move, about… everything that happened.” Hopper, El infers, from the twinge of sadness in his voice. “I thought maybe you were having a hard time, still. I mean, of course you are, just— you can talk to me, you know. Unless you don’t want to, which is totally—”

“Mike.”

He closes his mouth and tucks his lips together.

El sighs. “I’m sorry I stopped calling you. I was… trying to figure things out.”

Mike nods, brow furrowed. “Right, yeah.”

He thinks they’re still talking about Hopper, and El has to push down those emotions to tell him. “Not about…” But she still can’t say his name.

From Mike’s gentle silence, she can tell he understands.

Swallowing, El begins again. “I was trying to figure out… us.”

There’s another pause before Mike says, “Us?” And his tone is too difficult for El to place without looking at him, so she does.

And he seems genuinely confused for a moment, until he’s able to read her eyes, which El knows he can do far better than she can, and recognition dawns on his face.

“Oh.” He stares at the gravel. “Oh.”

El tries not to feel so guilty, but she can’t help it when Mike is being this vulnerable.

“So… what do you mean, exactly?” Mike looks back at her. “Do you not want… this anymore? Like, the kissing, and holding hands, and—”

“Yes,” El says, if only to put him out of his misery. “I… don’t want it.”

Mike nods, and he looks so sad, and El’s heart is breaking to have made him feel this way.

“But, I…” she starts, desperately trying to let him know how much he means to her. “Mike, I still…”

“Yeah, I know,” Mike says softly. “I actually…” He closes his eyes and sighs. “Feel the same way.”

What? El blinks at him, stunned. “You do?”

Mike shrugs, a bit helplessly. “Yeah.”

El can sense some relief mixed in with his confusion and she knows it’s not fair of her to be hurt, but she is. They’ve been through so much together and it feels so awful that either of them could be thinking this way, let alone both of them.

“El.” Mike takes her hands, looks her in the eye. “I really, really love you.” That heals some of the hurt in her chest. “And I know we’re talking about breaking up, but love— it doesn’t have to mean romance. You’re still so important to me. We’re still—”

“Friends?” El finishes.

Mike smiles at her, warm. “Yeah.”

Now El wants to cry out of joy. Of course Mike wouldn’t abandon her. They’ll still have this. They’ll always have this.

She squeezes his hands. “A friend is someone you’d do anything for.”

Mike gazes at El with that fondness he’s always held for her. “I would,” he affirms, voice tight. “Do anything for you.”

For some reason, El really wants to kiss him, but she knows doing so would probably send mixed messages. Her own brain is still sending her mixed messages. That she loves Mike so incredibly much, but she wants Max even more. El never knew love could be so complicated.

That gets her thinking about the other mixed messages she wanted to talk with Mike about. Though she’s not sure how he’ll react, and it’ll definitely derail the conversation…

Still. She owes it to her brother, to at least try.

Carefully, she asks, “Would you do anything for Will?”

Mike’s hands go slack in hers and he pulls away. “What?”

El racks her brain for the right way to go about this, deciding on the approach she used before. “Will is your best friend, right?”

Mike still looks a little lost, but he nods. “Yeah. Well— I mean, I— Dustin and Lucas are, like… my best friends, too. And Max.” He’s deflecting, almost mumbling. “We’re all… close.”

El studies him. “But Will is special.”

Mike flicks his gaze downward, softer. “Yeah.” Then clears his throat. “Uh, yeah— he’s special, I guess. I’ve known him the longest.”

“You would do anything for him?” El asks.

Mike nods. “Anything.”

So, it seems El was right about Mike’s affection for Will. But now she has to determine whether or not Mike is alright with the way that he feels, because Will certainly wasn’t.

She must be staring for a while, because Mike starts to look nervous. “Uh—”

“Do you know Will is gay?”

Whatever Mike was expecting her to say, it clearly wasn’t that. “Wh-what?” he stammers, eyes wide. “How— how do you even— know what that means?”

“Will told me,” El replies steadily. “And he told me you had a fight.”

Mike looks pained at that, but El still has to ask.

“Do you think he’s a freak?”

That sends Mike protesting immediately. “No! No, of course not! I would never—” He cuts himself off, hesitating. “Did he say that? Does he think I think that?”

El gives him a sympathetic look. “Yes.”

All at once, Mike deflates, panic seeping away, sad eyes searching hers. “Shit, really?”

“Mike,” El says, trying to reassure him. “I know you never thought that. You don’t think like that.”

Mike doesn’t say anything back. He’s in as much distress as Will is, El realizes. Perhaps she can read people better than she thought.

“Do you love him?”

Mike turns his head away, looks down at his lap with his lips slightly parted. He doesn’t have to say it. El knows.

She goes to take his hand, gently, and he lets her.

“I don’t…” he starts, hollow. “I don’t know how to… do this.”

Neither does El. But she doesn’t want to interrupt the moment by dragging Max into this.

So she lays her head on Mike’s shoulder, links their fingers together, and Mike leans into her. And they sit there for a while.

~<:>~

Chapter Text

Max watches Mike and El exit through the back door of the arcade with a curling in her stomach. She knows what Mike’s intentions are, but there’s still this flicker of doubt in her mind as to whether or not he’ll actually follow through. After all, he’s in a relationship with the most amazing girl on the planet. Maybe he’ll change his mind now that he has her again.

Turning back around to the snack counter, Max hugs her jacket closer. It’s none of her business. Even if there is still an annoying tug in her chest at the thought of El kissing Mike.

“What’s got you so pissed?”

Startled, Max looks to her right to see none other than Lucas Sinclair, who she thought was the owner of that familiar tenor, but she wasn’t quite sure, considering he hasn’t said more than two words to her in months. She raises her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”

Lucas laughs mirthlessly. “Yeah, never mind. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your pining.”

Shit. Max’s lungs constrict. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Lucas drawls. “You’re not that subtle.”

Max really doesn’t want to have this conversation in earshot of Dustin and Will, though they seem pretty distracted by the snack options (and Keith). She steps closer to Lucas. “Wait, so you— you know?” she asks, bewildered.

Lucas clenches his jaw. “Yeah, Max. You dumped me and went straight for Mike. Wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

Max can’t really do more than blink and stare. Fucking what??

Her utter shock at Lucas’s asinine conclusion outweighs her amusement— and, frankly, disgust— at the thought of her and Mike together. So this is why he’s been so distant?

If ever there was a sign that Max was waiting for to talk to Lucas, this is definitely it. She wanted to sort out her feelings for El before she had this conversation, but she physically cannot stand Lucas— or anyone, for that matter— thinking that she likes Mike.

She grabs Lucas’s arm and pulls him toward the back room. The significance isn’t lost on her, as this room has kept many secrets since their first meeting here over a year ago. And it’s about to keep one more.

Max locks the door and rounds on her ex-boyfriend. “Okay. Let’s get one thing straight. There is no way in hell, in any earthly or otherworldly dimension, that I would be attracted to Mike.”

Lucas blinks, confusion spreading over his face. He crosses his arms suspiciously. “Really?”

“Yes! Holy shit, I don’t even want to imagine—” Max makes a face. “Just, no.”

That seems to put Lucas off the idea, at least for the moment. He relaxes his posture. “Then, why are you suddenly all buddy-buddy with him?”

And here comes the fun part. Max sighs, holding Lucas’s gaze. “That’s a little harder to explain.”

In true Lucas fashion, he mock-seriously moves past her to examine the locked door. “Well, it looks like we’re stuck in here, so…”

“You’re such an idiot,” Max says, dropping onto one of the chairs.

“Yeah, I know.” Lucas walks over and sits down across from her. “But you like me anyway.”

Max rolls her eyes at the familiar line. “Yeah, I do, stalker. But that’s not gonna work this time.”

She presses her lips together, trying to streamline her thoughts. The teasing nature of their exchange is about to get squashed and she’s not particularly ready for that. But she has to do it.

She sighs. “Do you remember… what I said to you in July, when we broke up? That I needed space, because of… because of Billy?”

Lucas nods. “Yeah.”

“That’s not… the whole truth,” Max admits. “I did need space, but it wasn’t just that.”

Her blood is pounding in her ears. Depending on how this goes, she’ll either get Lucas back or lose him for good. But if the alternative is the cold non-friendship they’ve had these past few months, Max will gladly risk it.

“I, uh… I told Mike— the real reason. That you’re one of the best guys I’ve ever met. And I was really hoping it could work between us because of that. But it can’t.”

Lucas is still waiting, so patiently, for her answer, and Max tries not to let her voice break (too much) as she says it.

“I— like girls.”

She looks away from Lucas’s face, then, to spare herself some of the initial awkwardness. “And Mike… got it, so we… I don’t know, bonded, I guess.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lucas interrupts, waving his hands. “You’re…” He squints at her, leaning back a little, like he’s afraid she’ll strike if he gets it wrong. “A lesbian?”

Max snorts. He’s such a sweet idiot. God, this is why she thought she could fall for him in the first place. “Yeah.”

She’s prepared to let him sit with the realization for a while, but he still seems confused. “So… you like girls.”

Max stares at him. “Yeah.”

“So… you don’t like guys.”

“… Yeah.”

Lucas’s expression hasn’t changed in the slightest. “So, you broke up with me… because you’re…”

“… gay,” Max finishes for him. “Yeah. So, it’s not you, it’s your entire gender. That I’m not into.”

That finally gets through. Lucas nods, contemplative. “Okay.”

He looks a little hurt, and Max feels it in her stomach, hands automatically going down to twist the hem of her shirt. “I didn’t mean to use you or anything. I really thought that I could… you know, change—” She bites her tongue. “It just doesn’t work like that.”

“No, I get it,” Lucas assures her. “I do.”

He still doesn’t seem mollified.

“I just—” He looks up at her, shaking his head. “You told Mike?”

Max senses where this is going. “Yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lucas stands, agitated, and starts to pace. “Why’d you have to fuck off and make me think— act like Mike’s your new best friend or some shit— God, Max, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it was easier,” Max says, standing, too. “Look, Mike’s a great friend, but I didn’t care what he thought of me.” She clenches her fists. “Lucas, I was scared that I would lose you.”

Lucas scoffs. “Yeah, because ignoring me for months didn’t accomplish that all by itself.”

Max starts to lose her cool at that. “You know what? You were a pretty active participant in the whole ignoring thing. And I did just tell you, so why don’t you stop complaining? This isn’t about you.”

“How is this not about me?” Lucas asks, incredulous. “You went to Mike. You didn’t trust me! After everything— what did I do to make you think I wouldn’t be okay with this?”

Max gapes. “Seriously? When did we ever talk about anything close to this? How was I supposed to assume that you’d be completely cool with girls kissing girls when this entire town, country, and world wants to fucking murder people like me on principle!”

She can see the muscles in Lucas’s jaw flex as he takes in her words. “You didn’t seem to have any trouble assuming Mike would be cool with it.”

Max balls her fists by her sides to keep her anger in check. “Yeah, well, beyond the obvious reason why Mike would be cool with it, he explicitly told me that he had no problem with it before I came out to him— something you’d given me no assurance of whatsoever before I told you. So shut the hell up.”

There’s a beat, as the tension crackling in the air between them slowly dissipates, and Lucas seems to realize his error.

After a few moments, he caves completely, sitting back down. Max remains standing while she attempts to calm her body and reconfigure her emotional state.

In a much softer tone, Lucas speaks. “Sorry.”

Max doesn’t respond. She’s already forgiven him, but she’s not quite ready to let him off the hook out loud.

The truth is, he’s right. She did trust Mike more than him— but only because she knew about the Mike and Will situation and she was pretty sure that Mike was questioning his own sexuality— or, rather, trying not to question it. So it’s not Lucas’s fault that Max didn’t trust him. It’s just that, for her, with this, it’s hard to be certain of who to trust.

Lucas breaks the short silence, his voice subdued. “What, uh… what were you and Mike… talking about? When he… explicitly told you he had no problem with it?”

“Oh.” Max tries to be tactful. “Nothing, just. You know. It… came up.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow. “Really? That came up in conversation naturally?”

Max is struggling not to come right out and say it. “We might have been… discussing shared speculations. Involving… people we know.”

Lucas squints at her, annoyed this time. “What does that even—” His expression slowly drops. “Will.”

Max isn’t surprised that he knows, as it’s painfully obvious (even for a guy who assumed that she was into Mike). She nods carefully.

Lucas grimaces. “Yeah, Mike’s always had a soft spot for him. And Will adores Mike, but you probably picked up on that a while ago.”

Her and everyone else. “Yeah.”

Shifting in his chair, Lucas continues. “We don’t really… talk about it. The four of us.” He shakes his head. “I always thought that meant— I thought Will knew we were all okay with it, but I guess…”

Max sits down beside him. “You can’t assume with this stuff. It’s dangerous, Lucas.”

“Yeah, Max, I know,” Lucas replies, somewhat testily. “I was there when people at school taunted him and whispered about him and called him a fag. I remember when his piece of shit father was still around to leave bruises on him.”

Shock rips through Max’s chest and she suddenly can’t breathe. “Will’s dad used to hit him?”

Lucas nods. “Not frequently. But yeah.”

“Oh my God,” Max whispers involuntarily.

“Yeah,” Lucas repeats, echoing her tone.

Max’s brain unhelpfully conjures the few repressed images she has of her step-father hitting Billy, which morph into a shadowy figure towering over a scared little Will. If Billy in all his strength couldn’t take it, Max can’t imagine what Will must’ve—

Lucas takes her hand. “Hey. Come back.” His voice has changed completely, now the gentle boyfriend she remembers. “It’s okay now. Will’s okay.”

“But he’s not,” Max murmurs. “We’re not.”

“Max—”

“No, I mean, for every decent guy like you there’s… twenty who want to see us beaten or dead. And for every one of those there’s twenty more who don’t give a damn either way, but they still don’t accept it.”

Lucas quiets at that.

“I’m sorry,” Max says, shaking her head. “I know you know that, I—”

“You’re right,” Lucas interrupts, which would agitate Max were it not for the fact that he’s agreeing with her. “Forget the fucking upside down. Our world is dangerous, and it sucks, for people like you and for people like me. I know it’s not the same, but… I get it.”

A brief pause settles between them, and Max looks down as she considers Lucas’s words.

He’s right; it’s not the same. Lucas has no way to hide the part of him that makes him different in their town. His so-called “lifestyle” is inoffensive— just as long as he’s comfortable being systematically oppressed and mistreated by white people everywhere he goes.

Max hasn’t thought too hard about their similarities before, and she feels awful for that. They’re both probably scared all the time, but they have to act like they’re not. People want to kill them solely for existing. And the battle for their respective rights is far from over.

Max believes in the theory that people gravitate towards each other because they are alike, in one or many ways. She supposes that’s why their friend group is a pack of weirdos rejected by societal norms. And Max loves her weirdos. Especially Lucas.

She looks back up at him, ready to apologize, but he beats her to it.

“I’m sorry for getting so upset, before.”

Max half-shrugs. “I’m sorry for not telling you.”

“You did tell me,” Lucas reminds her. “At least, I didn’t have to find out from Mike or some shit.” He sighs. “But can you please just trust me from now on? Talk to me? I swear, I’ll listen.”

Max smirks. “Oh, now that we’re not dating, you’ll listen.”

“Hey, I can still be your fake boyfriend, if you want,” Lucas offers, hands in the air.

“No, thanks, stalker,” Max replies. “That’s not fair to you.”

Lucas grins back at her. “Oh, now that we’re not dating, you care about what’s fair to me.”

Max rolls her eyes. She probably deserved that.

“Thanks, though,” Lucas says. “Really.”

He looks at her with such genuine compassion in his eyes and Max swallows thickly. “I guess I should say thank you, too.”

In the quiet that follows, Max savors the victory of having one less friend to worry about spilling her secret to. And she’s glad to have retained her friendship with Lucas. Their bond isn’t quite like the one Max has with Mike, but it’s just as strong. Max feels so incredibly lucky that she can trust them. They really are good guys, underneath all the idiocy.

Of course, Lucas ruins that immediately. “I’m still surprised you thought a straight guy wouldn’t be down with two girls kissing.”

Max glares at him.

“Yep, shutting up now.”

~<:>~

Mike heads home feeling about fifty pounds lighter. He didn’t expect his conversation with El to go so well and he’s relieved to know he’s not alone in feeling like their relationship has shifted. Mostly, he’s glad that they’re still close. They can still be friends, and they can still love each other. Without complication.

Originally, Mike wasn’t planning on coming out to El about the whole Will situation, but he supposes it’s only fair that she knows some of the reasoning behind their breakup. And, to be honest, Mike is tired of all the secrecy. Having one less person to shut out is a really good thing, currently doing wonders for his mental stability.

The group’s little bike parade down the moonlit roads dissolves once they arrive at the main intersection between everyone’s homes and Mike and Will split off toward the Wheeler house, walking rather than riding at this point. Since it’s just the two of them, Mike seizes the opportunity, nervous as he still is.

“Hey,” he starts. “Would you wanna… go somewhere tomorrow?”

Will looks confused. “Uh, yeah? I want to hang out with you guys while I can.”

“No, I mean, just you and me,” Mike clarifies, grateful that Will can’t see his cheeks heating up in the darkness.

“Oh.” Will takes a beat to answer, not looking at Mike. “Sure.”

Mike nods awkwardly. “Cool.”

They don’t say anything else on the walk back, not even while putting the bikes away. When they get inside, Will bids him an abrupt goodnight and makes a beeline for the basement. Mike’s attention is pulled away from whatever that means by his mother stepping out from the dining room.

“Hi,” she says. “Did you guys have fun?”

Mike stares at her for a bit longer than usual, contemplating whether or not this is a good time to have the conversation he was thinking about earlier. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” She smiles and starts to retreat out of habit.

“Mom,” Mike calls her back.

She turns, a surprised and expectant look on her face. “Yes?”

Mike hesitates. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” his mother replies easily. “What is it?”

Mike’s a bit uncomfortable just standing in the foyer-slash-hallway at the foot of the stairs, so he turns and heads for the living room; his mother follows, somewhat slower.

“Michael, what’s going on?” she asks once they’ve sat. “You’ll tell me if it’s something serious, like this summer at the mall?”

“No, it’s not—”

“Or when the government agents came?”

“Mom.”

She folds her hands on her lap and quiets.

“It’s nothing like that, I promise,” Mike assures her. “It’s…” He stalls, uncertain how to continue.

This suddenly feels like a horrible idea. No matter how loving his mother is, she’s always been flighty, tending to follow the crowd rather than forge her own path. Mike has no idea how she’ll react. Maybe if he phrases it as a hypothetical, she won’t read into anything.

“Um.” Mike doubts she’ll share this conversation with her friends, but she might not extend the same courtesy when it comes to his dad, or even Nancy. Holly’s still a little young to understand, but… either way, Mike’s not overjoyed at the idea of any of his family knowing he was even asking about this stuff.

His mom is still waiting for him to say something, and it’s growing more and more uncomfortable. He steels himself. He’s started it now; he might as well follow through.

“Uh.” He really doesn’t know how to go about this. “Do you… uh…” He must look like an idiot, sitting there with his mouth half-open for his half-formed thoughts. “How do you… feel about… people who…” Here we go. “People who… are… gay…?”

His mother’s eyebrows rise significantly. “What do you mean?”

Great, yeah, because he’s so good at explaining himself. “Like… two guys or two girls… you know…” Mike trails off, hoping beyond hope that she’s got it now.

From her expression, she understands, but she’s silent for a long time, just staring at him. Mike squeezes his hands together and tries not to panic.

“Michael…” she says, finally. “Are you…?”

“No,” Mike replies immediately. “No— no.”

For some reason, it stings him to deny it. But his mother seems to relax and she sinks back into her chair, so at least it’s diffused the situation somewhat.

“Well,” his mother says, gaze wandering the room as she thinks. “It’s not something I… understand. I know this town isn’t very open to the idea. Really, I don’t know any place that is open to it.” She looks back at Mike sympathetically. “Are you asking… because of Will?”

Mike doesn’t answer her and she seems to take his silence as a yes. She purses her lips.

“I don’t think it’s an abomination. And I don’t believe that anyone should be beaten or killed for it. It must be an incredibly difficult thing to live with.”

Mike nearly sighs in relief. So far, this is going both better and worse than he wanted it to. Clearly, his mother is conflicted on the issue, which is what he expected, but she’s not religious enough to care about sin or some shit.

“Mike,” she continues, voice a bit harder. “If you’re thinking of… pulling away from Will at all—”

“No, no!” Mike counters quickly. “I’m not— I wouldn’t do that.”

His mother nods. “Good. You two have such a special bond. I’d hate to see you lose that.” That succeeds in making Mike feel guilty, momentarily. “You know, I’ve always liked the two of you together,” she continues. “You’re good influences on each other.” 

And that succeeds in lifting Mike’s heart, a little. “Thanks, Mom.”

She leans forward and puts a hand on the edge of his knee. “Always. I promise, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll be here for you both.”

Her words seem so confusingly supportive that Mike feels the urge to retract his previous denial. He stares at her, trying to maintain a neutral expression. “Mom,” he says, and his throat cuts him off after that one, broken syllable.

She looks over his face, and some devastating emotions flash across hers, and Mike knows that she knows, or suspects, but he can’t say it. He can’t. Not to her.

Her gaze is cast at the floor for a while, and then she sighs and nods. Like she knew this was coming, and she’s accepted the burden. As she stands, Mike looks up at her, vulnerable, afraid that she’ll just walk away and that will be the end of it.

But then she opens her arms.

Mike doesn’t cry. He steps forward and hugs his mother, and it feels tentatively safe enough to stay there, in her embrace.

When they separate and say goodnight and Mike goes up to his room, when he shuts the door and locks it and slides down onto the floor, when the hollow indifference of the world creeps up on him and any sense of long-term happiness seems to slip through his fingers— that’s when he cries.

~<:>~

“So, how did your talk with Mike go?”

Max turns her head to look at El, and in this position— laying on their stomachs on Max’s bed— their faces are pretty close. El briefly considers kissing her, until the question fully registers and she restrains herself.

“Good.”

Max nods, turning back to the Fantastic Four comic. “Good. I bet you’re pretty happy to see him after all this time.”

“Yeah,” El says, sincere but nervous. Max seems… off. Her tone is casual but her body language is cold. It’s definitely got something to do with the topic of El and Mike.

El knows that Max never really liked them together. Maybe she’s acting weird because she doesn’t want to voice that opinion.

Maybe El should give her a reason to voice it.

“We broke up,” she blurts out.

Max tears her gaze away from the comic and raises her eyebrows. “Really?”

El nods.

Max appears flabbergasted (assuming El has the correct meaning). “Wow, uh… are you okay?”

El nods again.

“Are you sure?” Max asks. “I know how much you two… care about each other.”

“We’re still friends,” El clarifies.

Max tilts her head. “Okay. But… take it from me, if you want to get back together with him in a few days, that’s totally normal.”

“No,” El declares. “It’s over.”

She can swear there’s a blush on Max’s cheeks after she says it. “Okay.” Max smiles widely. “Well, here’s to being single,” she says, and holds out a fist.

El stares at it, confused, and Max laughs.

“It’s a fist bump,” the redhead explains, moving her free hand over to touch El’s. “Make a fist.”

El does, heartbeat quickening at the contact.

Max withdraws her hand. “Now hit my fist. Gently!” she adds, making El smile.

As El taps their knuckles together to complete the gesture, it occurs to her that she still hasn’t told Max about her powers. Which is something she was definitely planning on doing much sooner, but she’s been a bit too focused on her crush; the energy has all but left her mind. She reaches out quickly and, to her relief, she can still sense it.

“It’s weird, I know,” Max says, breaking through El’s thoughts. “Just something people do. Like a handshake or a high-five. Humans love anything to do with hands. I guess because that’s how we got all our technology and shit.” Max holds up her hands. “Opposable thumbs.” She wiggles the aforementioned fingers for emphasis.

El really, really wants to kiss her.

But there are all these emotions pent up inside that El’s never felt before— not even with Mike. She’s nervous and excited and shy and bold all at once. And she’s scared, she’s terrified, that Max doesn’t feel the same way. No matter how many signals she gets, no matter how confident she may be, the risk seems too daunting to convince herself to make a move.

She’s starting to understand where Will is coming from.

Instead of telling Max any of this, El opts to address her other surprise.

She holds out her hand, the way Max is doing, and wiggles her fingers. And all the hair on Max’s head slowly lifts into the air, giving the appearance that she’s hanging upside-down.

Max’s eyes go wide and she cranes her neck to look up at her own hair, mouth open, before looking back at El. “You got your powers back?”

El nods.

“Holy shit!” Max exclaims.

El can’t quite take her seriously looking like this, so she releases her hold on Max’s hair and watches it fall back down across her shoulders, in a very pretty display that distracts her more than the silly look did.

“When? When did this happen?” Max presses, sitting up on the bed.

“August,” El replies as she copies the movement.

Max smacks her arm lightly. “What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She’s so cute. El shrugs. “I had to… figure it out.”

Max shakes her head, grinning fondly. “Well, Jesus, we’ve got our supergirl again!”

The familiar phrase fills El with warmth. “Will said that, too.”

“Yeah, we’ll all say it. You’re, like, our first line of defense. Our Wonder Woman!” Max pauses, looking guilty. “Sorry. I know that’s a lot of pressure.”

“It’s… okay,” El says. “I missed it, too.”

They smile at each other, and for a moment, El almost believes the affection running between them might be the same.

~<:>~

Chapter Text

Will can’t find the drawing anywhere.

The folder of D&D sketches has been out on the table since Will arrived, not tucked away like he assumed it would be when he was searching for it yesterday. Now that he has it in his lap, he can’t help cringing at the lack of talent his younger self had compared to where his art is now. There’s a reason he left most of these behind for Mike the boys.

Actually, there’s two reasons. In addition to their age, all of these sketches have to do with D&D. Will did take a few of the more recent D&D ones with him when he moved, but he made sure to take all the ones not pertaining to the game.

Problem is, he still can’t seem to locate… that one.

The incredibly revealing and embarrassing one that he drew of him and Mike and the upside down.

He thought he’d packed it with the rest of his stuff, (because for the love of God, why wouldn’t he?) but it was nowhere to be found when they settled into the new house. And now it’s not even here in the basement. Will can’t say he likes the idea of that picture lost, floating around somewhere between his new home and Hawkins. As if being attracted to his friend wasn’t bad enough; he’d rather not have the whole world know about it. Although plenty of people already do.

Will shakes off the worry as best as he can and looks up as the basement door opens. Of course it’s Mike, who trots down the stairs, all layered up in his striped shirt and jacket. How does he always manage to make messy look so good?

“Hey,” Mike says, shoving his hands in his pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet a little. “Are you ready to go?”

Will closes the folder and sets it on the couch cushion, taking note of the way Mike’s eyes follow the motion. “Where are we going?”

“Uh…” Mike blinks at him. “It’s a surprise.”

Will raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment. “Al… right,” he says, standing. “Lead the way.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds before Mike moves hastily toward the back door, a bit red in the face. Will, confused for the most part, follows him.

They end up trekking toward Mirkwood in semi-companionable silence. This gives Will time to reacclimate to the realization he had last night when Mike asked him to do this— that getting Will alone is a perfect opportunity for Mike to turn their relationship on its head by discussing what happened in July and throwing around pitiful apologies that are just going to make Will feel worse.

Because he does not want to talk about his sexuality with Mike. Ever, ever, ever. And Mike used to know that. Mike used to be the one person that never asked, or cared. The one person with whom Will could really be himself.

That was before puberty. Before Will realized the weight of his stupid crush. Before Eleven and all that came with her.

Will pushes the negative thoughts about his sister from his mind. None of this is her fault. Besides, she’s the one person who’s truly accepted Will now. And he’s trying his hardest not to resent her.

Mike stops walking abruptly and Will almost passes him. Since it’s not clear to Will where they’re going yet, he figures it’s best to wait.

“Um.” Mike turns to him, definitely nervous. “I— I need you to trust me for a minute.”

Again, Will’s eyebrows shoot up at the strange behavior (though being nervous isn’t strange for Mike— it’s more the mysterious aspect that worries him). “Okay…?”

Mike looks relieved. “Okay. Can you— close your eyes?” At Will’s increasingly confused face, he adds, “I… want it to really be a surprise. I’ll… I’ll guide you there.”

Fuck him. Seriously? Shit, he’s so cute. “Really?” Will asks, heart speeding up at the thought. “You won’t walk me into any trees?”

Mike lets out a weak laugh. “No. I promise.”

He’s doing the fucking doe eyes again. Will presses his lips together. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes.

The first thing he feels is Mike’s hand trailing down to lock onto his, and the next is the tug as Mike pulls him gently forward.

They walk this way for about ten minutes (or something; Will won’t claim to be an excellent timekeeper). The only things Will can hear are birds, wind, the cracks of twigs beneath their feet, and Mike’s occasional direction.

“Step a little more to your left.”

“Big tree root ahead.”

“The ground is kind of uneven here.”

And the one time Will stumbles, “Sorry!” immediately followed by, “Don’t open your eyes!”

Eventually, the walking slows to a definitive stop. Will keeps his eyes dutifully closed as Mike orients him, hands on his shoulders, and then he hears Mike step away.

“Okay. You can look now.”

Will opens his eyes.

The first thing he sees is Castle Byers. Completely rebuilt, flag and all, Home of Will the Wise, All Friends Welcome hanging above the entrance. The next is Mike, hands in his jacket pockets, standing next to the renovated structure with his nervousness on full-blast, searching Will’s face for a reaction.

Will… has no idea how to react. His first instinct is to maybe just start crying, but there’s almost too much shock in his system for that to feasibly happen.

So he just stares at the fort and at Mike, speechless.

Luckily, Mike seems to have something prepared.

“I’m really sorry,” he starts. “For what I said.”

Fuck. Will swallows the burn behind his eyes as Mike continues.

“I want you to know that, uh…” Mike lets out a heavy breath and Will can see he’s shaking. “You’re my best friend in the world. And I don’t want you to change, ever. Unless you want to— I mean— I just, I love—” He exhales again, frustration evident. “I love all the memories we have here. I haven’t forgotten. Maybe I… lost sight of it, for a while…”

Flashes of pain that Will has been holding onto resurface, along with the urge to shut down. But he can’t help hanging onto Mike’s every word when he’s acting like this.

Mike steps closer to him, brows knit together, still shivering, and Will can guess it’s not from the cold. “Will,” he says. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve— what I said, I mean— you have to know that I’ve never, never thought of you as anything less than the best friend I could ever ask for. And I know I haven’t been that friend, for you. But I want to be again. If you’ll let me.”

If you’ll let me. At this point, Will would let Mike do anything he wanted, if it meant seeing this intensely sweet, earnest side of him. And yet, Will’s still inexplicably angry. But incredibly moved, and relieved. But confused.

He just doesn’t know what to say. What the hell can he say to all that?

Mike senses this, apprehensive as he is, and looks from the fort back to Will. “Is it… too much?”

Will shakes his head.

“Do you wanna go inside?” Mike asks, hopefully.

Will nods.

True to character, Mike approaches the fort and sweeps back the curtain-entrance for Will to step in first. Ignoring his heart palpitations, Will ducks through the small stick doorway, trying not to crowd Mike at the entrance. Once he settles down in the center of the space, he’s able to start admiring Mike’s handiwork.

Because Mike really has done a number on the place. The blanket-and-pillow couch is more comfortable than Will remembers, and the walls are taller, a little more compact, so the early winter draft can’t get in. Of course, the old drawings and photos that were lying around are all but completely gone. Mike has added new ones, including some from the D&D folder (to Will’s relief, there’s no sign of the missing one).

“I can’t believe you did this,” Will says finally, looking everywhere but at Mike.

It takes a beat for Mike to answer. “I figured we destroyed enough shit this summer.” He shrugs, though the gesture is anything but casual. “I want to fix what I can.”

Will’s chest tightens at the implication that things really are broken between them. He forces himself to look up at his friend. “Thanks.”

Mike stares back with no small amount of guilt in his dark eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Mike still doesn’t seem persuaded. “You really mean that?”

Not entirely. But Mike has gone to all this trouble just to apologize to him. It doesn’t seem fair for Will to keep holding a grudge. Whether Mike is truly sorry for what he said or just sorry he said it, at least he cares enough about their friendship to try and win Will back. Will lets himself smile, a little. “Yeah.”

Mike smiles a little, too. “Okay.”

The uneasiness lifts marginally, though the awkwardness remains because, well, it’s them. Will’s head feels lighter, at least.

“So…” Will inspects their surroundings. “This is what you’ve been doing with your weekends?”

Mike huffs a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, sounding unashamed.

“I like the new décor.”

“Thanks. I took some inspiration from you.”

Will snorts. “Bad idea.”

Maybe he imagines the way Mike’s throat bobs before he says, “I don’t know. There’s this one I think would look great in here.”

Then Mike pulls from his pocket a piece of paper folded small enough to fit inside a wallet, and as he opens it up, bit by bit, Will’s heart sinks, because he knows exactly what it is and fuck. He wants to be surprised that it turned up here, in Mike’s jacket, but he isn’t really. This is pretty much his lot in life.

Mike looks at the picture and looks at Will, who is trying to figure out some way to spin this so it’s not super gay. “Oh, uh, yeah, that one… uh…”

He can’t think of anything more eloquent to say, and he doesn’t have to, because Mike just passes the drawing over, gently, into Will’s hands. “We don’t have to put it up. You can take it back with you. I mean, I thought, maybe… you didn’t mean to leave it behind.”

Will keeps his eyes glued to the paper in his lap. “I didn’t.”

Mike stares at him hard enough to send chills down his spine. “When did you draw it?” he asks softly.

Will forces back the anxious bile in his throat. “Couple years ago. After I started having those… ‘episodes’.”

He doesn’t have to look at Mike to know that there’s pity on the other boy’s face. “I’m sorry, Will.”

“You already apologized,” Will replies stiffly.

“I know, but I—”

“Look,” Will starts, suppressed anger flaring. “I’ve spent my whole life being pitied and mocked and treated like a victim.” He fixes Mike with an annoyed stare. “I’m not completely fragile. You don’t have to apologize every time you’re worried you’ve hurt my feelings.”

There’s a tiny crease between Mike’s eyebrows, but the pity is gone from his expression. “I do have to apologize when I really hurt you, though.”

“Mike,” Will snaps, exasperated. “I’m not hurt anymore. You apologized. It’s done. Move on.”

Of course, Mike’s stubborn ass refuses to move on. “We both know it’s not that simple. It wasn’t some little thing, Will. El told me—”

He cuts himself off.

Will feels all the air leave his lungs as a rush of terror sets in. “What?”

Mike’s frozen.

“El told you, what?” Will demands.

“Nothing,” Mike tries. “She just… wanted me to know that… you weren’t feeling great. About our… fight.”

The shock of the betrayal boils Will’s insides. “Is that the only reason you’re apologizing? Because El told you to?”

“No! No, it’s not, I— look, don’t be mad at her—”

“Don’t be—” Will grits his teeth. “What the fuck did she tell you?”

Mike hesitates long enough that Will knows the answer; it’s written all over Mike’s stupid face. He feels like crying or screaming or both, and he sure as hell can’t stand to be in this cramped fort anymore, so he hauls ass out the door, Mike scrambling behind him. “Will, wait!”

Will should have known this would happen. Fucking El. The one person who truly accepted him but has no concept of what’s okay to share. And to think, he was over his resentment towards her not even fifteen minutes ago.

“Will!” Mike catches his arm. “Please, listen to me, it’s not what you think—”

Will turns to face him. “Then what is it, Mike?”

“She didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know,” Mike stresses. “And she meant well. She didn’t understand that she was betraying your trust. She just wanted us to stop fighting.”

Didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. Will’s eyes are burning now. “What did she tell you?”

Mike is shaking again, pushing both hands through his hair. “Fuck, Will, it wasn’t— all she said was— it was stuff I was thinking already— that I pushed you away, that you thought I had some problem with you— being— being—”

Will can’t cry. He will not cry. “Being gay.”

The power of that statement casts a stillness over the forest. It’s the first time either one of them has dared to say the words. Like they were scared that if they did, they’d be speaking it into existence. Will manages to keep a stiff upper lip as he stares at Mike and Mike stares back, pain transparent on both their faces.

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Mike says, desperately. “I never did. I just got scared, and defensive, and I should have said all this to you before you left, but I couldn’t, because—”

It takes enormous effort for Will not to walk away. “Because?”

“Because…” Mike trails off, gaze flicking all over Will’s face, and Will doesn’t see how he could finish that sentence without tearing another hole in Will’s heart, except there’s no time to consider anything, really, because Mike surges forward suddenly.

And kisses him.

…

Will’s not quite sure what’s happening at first, because he sort of closed his eyes on instinct. And even though he’s never kissed anyone before, he comes to the conclusion— he’s fairly certain— that is, in fact, what’s happening.

Mike Wheeler is fucking kissing him.

A few things come to mind. First, why is Mike kissing him? Second, Mike’s hands are curled around Will’s neck, thumbs on his jaw, and his lips are incredibly fucking soft, and Will was not at all prepared for it to feel like this, his stomach swooping down to his ankles and the warmth and…

Mike breaks the kiss gently and Will opens his eyes and their faces are too damn close for Will to have hallucinated it all.

“What the fuck?” Will murmurs without thinking.

Mike flushes and immediately removes his hands from Will’s face. “Oh, shit— I’m sorry, I— shit,” he babbles, turning away to pace while Will brings a hand up to touch his own lips. That really just fucking happened.

~<:>~

I really just fucking did that, Mike thinks through his panic.

Why does he always manage to screw everything up? Yes, technically, kissing Will was the ideal outcome of this poorly planned venture, but only after he’d confessed and with Will’s express permission. Now he’s gone and assaulted his friend and embarrassed them both and Will’s never going to talk to him again.

“Shit,” he swears, fingers on his mouth where the shadow of the kiss remains.

“Mike.”

Shit.

He turns back around to see Will standing there staring at him, apprehensive, as he should be.

“Why did you do that?”

Mike swallows. “Uh… it was kinda… supposed to be obvious…”

Will still looks confused.

Mike sighs. “I… I like you. In… you know, that way. So, I don’t— I don’t have a problem with… you know. All that, because… I feel it, too. For you,” he clarifies quickly. “I still like girls.” His eyes widen. “But I’m not dating El anymore! So, that’s. Yeah.” He doesn’t really know where to go from there.

Will snaps out of his trance and frowns. “Wait, what? You broke up with El?”

“Yeah,” Mike says. “Well, it was a mutual… breaking…”

Will stares at the ground like it just told him the sky wasn’t blue. “That doesn’t… make any sense.”

Mike takes a tentative step closer to him. “O… kay… why not?”

“Because.” Will looks back up at him. “You love her. You’re… straight.”

“Uh…” Mike laughs awkwardly. “I’m not, actually.”

Will looks like Mike just shattered his entire worldview.

Mike bites his lip. “I meant to tell you before I— kissed you.” He can feel himself turning red with embarrassment. “But I’m kinda… winging it.”

Will looks up at him with those incredible eyes, shaking his head. “You… you’re… you’re into me?”

“I— yeah.”

“You’re into me?”

“… Yeah.” Mike can’t help smiling a little at Will’s disbelief.

“Seriously?” Will asks, eyebrows creasing. “This isn’t a joke?”

Mike’s heart lurches and he frowns. “No, it’s not a joke, Will. I promise.”

Will gapes at him. “You’re kidding me. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He shakes his head again. “This isn’t happening.”

There’s a weird tone to Will’s voice that’s making Mike extremely nervous as he fidgets across from him. “I… I didn’t mean to spring this all on you. Well— I did, but— not the way that I did. This is all just so… weird, I guess.” When Will still doesn’t respond, Mike full-on panics. “Look, I’m sorry I kissed you— we can just forget about it, it’s not a big deal and I understand if you don’t feel the same way—”

“Mike, shut up,” Will orders, hands pressed to his temples. “God, you’re such an idiot.”

Okay, ouch. It’s not like Mike isn’t well aware of that fact, but it’s different to hear it from the guy he has feelings for, ridiculing him for having said feelings. He swallows the hurt as best he can. “Yeah, I know…”

“No, you don’t. Like, at all.” Will lets out what sounds like a deeply frustrated sigh and looks Mike in the eye. “Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me that you had no idea, from day one, how much I… I mean, seriously? Everyone around us can probably see it, and yet you apologize for kissing me, like that’s not something I’ve wanted you to do for fucking years—”

Mike’s train of thought screeches to a halt. “Wait, what?”

“— like it’s not fucking obvious that I have feelings for you, too! God, Mike, you’re one of the smartest people I know, but you can be so stupid sometimes.”

“Okay, yeah, time out,” Mike interrupts, making the symbol with his hands. “Can we just— can we back up to the part where you… you wanted me to kiss you?”

“Oh my God,” Will says, and that’s all he says, before he strides over, puts a hand on the back of Mike’s neck, and closes the gap between them.

It takes a second for Mike’s brain to catch up with his body, and then he’s kissing Will back, a little confused, but also a little less confused than he was about thirty seconds ago. He doesn’t really have time to overthink this, as he’s very distracted by Will’s lips on his. Again.

This kiss is a lot firmer than the first, desperate and demanding and decidedly aggressive for Will. Mike is just letting him take the reins at this point, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. Mostly, he’s trying not to be a shit kisser, clambering to match Will’s fervor.

It only lasts a few more seconds before Will pulls back, and Mike practically chases his mouth, embarrassed at his own need. And then Will punches him in the shoulder, not too hard, but it startles Mike out of his haze.

“Ow!”

“I am so beyond mad at you right now,” Will says, glaring at him.

Mike shakes his head in confusion. “What…?”

But Will turns on his heel and storms back into Castle Byers, leaving Mike to clutch at his injured arm and process what the hell just happened.

~<:>~

Chapter Text

In other news, Max is. Like, definitely still shitting it.

She should have been more prepared for El and Mike to break up. She should have been relieved when El told her last night. She should have maybe tried to confess rather than slamming down her gal pal façade even harder.

But she’s fucking stupid, and emotionally stunted.

Over the years, Max has learned— from friends and therapists alike— that she has a problem with vulnerability. Whether that stems from the way she grew up, her relationship with her step-family, her sexuality, her genetics, or all of the above, the fact remains: she is not the one who opens up. She only lets people close enough to see the parts of her she wants them to see, and then she pushes them away. There are firmly established limits on what she can and cannot share.

And yet. She’s been breaking all of these, little by little, ever since she came to Hawkins.

First with Lucas. Then with El. Then with Mike. And now she’s dug herself a hole she can’t crawl out of. Now they know how much she cares, how deep her feelings run.

It fucking sucks.

It sucks especially because she’s not even that mad about it. She actually feels better after opening up to people. A revolutionary concept, to be sure. But she can make fun of herself for that later.

Right now, she has to figure out what to do about her feelings for El.

The desirable answer is absolutely nothing. They remain friends and Max keeps herself from ruining the relationship with her lesbian antics. But the more pressing factor is that Mike knows. Mike knows, and now that he’s broken up with El, he’s not going to let Max bury her feelings anymore. Which means that she has to make a move before he does.

All of this runs through Max’s head as she lays in bed beside El, once again awake and contemplative in the morning light. Fortunately, El hasn’t clung to her like an octopus this time, so Max is able to stare at her curled up silhouette from a safe distance atop the other pillow.

Eventually, Max falls back under, and when she stirs a good few hours later, she’s both surprised and amused to find that El is the one staring at her. The brunette shuts her eyes quickly when she sees that Max has woken, and it’s too cute for Max not to laugh a little. “Hey, supergirl.”

El scrunches her face, nose and eyelids crinkling, and then cracks one eye open. “Hi.”

Max rolls up onto her elbow. “How’d you sleep? No nightmares?”

El shakes her head. “No nightmares.”

“Good,” Max grins. “You ready to show me what you can do?”

El smiles back at her and nestles into the pillow. “My powers. Not a toy.”

“Of course not,” Max agrees. “But we can have fun, can’t we?”

At that, El gives a shy nod, practically glowing.

They manage to get up and get dressed with minimal shenanigans. They keep their backs to each other while changing to avoid any potential awkward glances. Joyce calls them down for breakfast and they eat, make small talk with her, clean their dishes, and then scurry back upstairs, hoping they don’t look too mischievous.

Once they’re inside her room again, Max shuts and locks the door, turning to face El.

“Okay,” she says. “Where should we start?”

El shifts, tugging on her shirtsleeve. “I don’t know.”

Her energy has diminished some, and Max frowns, moving closer to place her hands on El’s shoulders. “Hey. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” She brushes soothing palms down El’s arms to hold her hands, a familiar gesture that always seems to ground her. “You’ve already shown me.”

El smiles slightly and squeezes their joined hands. “I want to.”

She lets go and raises an arm. Max follows her gaze, watching as the stack of comics in the corner of her room begins to levitate, each issue separating to float in ambient air.

“Whoah,” Max murmurs involuntarily, still impressed by any telekinetic display. It’s never quite managed to not be surreal for her.

El twists her fingers and the books form a circle, which slowly spins into a spiral, and then, one by one, they all return to their proper places in the stack.

“Holy shit,” Max grins. “That was amazing.” She turns to look at El, immediately zeroing in on the tiny drop of blood that hasn’t yet dripped from her left nostril. “Are you okay?” she asks, gesturing to her own nose rather than reaching for El’s (and trying not to sound too concerned).

El casually wipes the blood away. “I’m okay. It’s… harder than before.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Max has to resist the urge to touch her shoulder again. “You lost them for a while there. I guess it’s like… breaking a bone, or… losing a language. Harder to relearn how to use it.”

El nods, looking a bit solemn, so Max does jostle her.

“I’m sure you’ll get back to where you were in no time,” she says easily. “Do you wanna try something else?”

Max watches her contemplate. “The black space,” El decides. When she sees Max’s confusion, she clarifies, “Spying.”

“Oh?” Max raises her eyebrows, recalling their previous dabble into supernatural espionage. “And who would we be spying on?”

El shrugs. “I can look around.”

A mysterious answer, as always. Max squints at her. “Okay. I don’t know if there’s anything in here that would work as a blindfold—”

“I have one,” El says, and moves to rummage through her bag, quickly producing the recognizable scrap of fabric.

Max doesn’t think too hard about it, choosing to assume that El’s been practicing her abilities and thus required some sensory blockers. She’s not sure why El brought it with her. Maybe she’d been planning to practice here, too? It seemed like she’d been intent on telling Max about her newly acquired powers anyway.

They orient themselves on Max’s bed. El ties the blindfold around her head, places her hands on her knees, and Max watches her concentrate, trying to be as quiet as possible.

She really shouldn’t be so attractive like this. Max just thinks it’s cool. So sue her for having a crush on a girl who’s just as— if not more— powerful than all her comic book idols.

It would be a dream come true to have a super-powered girlfriend. If only Max were brave enough to actually ask her out.

~<:>~

Mike slowly approaches the fort into which Will has vanished, activating every level of caution available to him. It feels like he’s trying not to spook an animal.

Although, Will is very much within his rights to flee from Mike’s onslaught. But that doesn’t mean Mike wants him to. Mike never wants him to. He’s sick of running, and he’d rather they talk this out, because if they leave it unresolved, Mike just might implode from anxiety.

“Will?” he calls, tentatively, once he’s about a foot away from the entrance. “Are you okay?”

No response.

Mike shifts on his feet. “I’m sorry,” he offers. “I… I shouldn’t have… jumped you like that.”

Still nothing. Mike sighs, pivoting to take a seat on the ground, back pressed up against the logs. It’s strangely reminiscent of the drawing that started it all.

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean to upset you. But I know this is… a lot.” He sighs. “I guess I’m just… confused? And I… I just wanna know if there’s anything I can do to make any of this better.” 

The silence is compelling Mike to keep talking, but excessive word-vomit has gotten him into trouble before. “Should I shut up? I can do that. I can shut up and we can just… we can just sit here for a while. If that’s what you want.”

For a long moment, nothing changes. Mike is starting to think that Will somehow squeezed through the logs and left out the back.

But then he hears rustling behind him, moving closer, and Will’s hand pushes the curtain aside. “Get in here.”

Mike complies, forcing himself not to burst in eagerly. Take it slow, Mike. He’s already been too much, done too much. He has to curb his enthusiasm if he wants to keep from scaring Will away.

When he climbs inside, Will’s sitting as far away from the entrance as possible, gaze cast into his lap. Mike maneuvers to sit across from him, not too close, but still appropriately intimate for a discussion of this caliber.

Mike stares, waiting for Will to initiate, but the second Will looks up at him, his eyes dart away again and close. “Please, don’t… don’t look at me,” Will requests. “I can’t say this if you’re looking at me.”

“O-okay,” Mike acquiesces, focusing on the ground to the left of his knee. The anticipation is killing him, but he knows Will needs time to be comfortable.

When Will finally speaks, it’s quiet and hollow. “I don’t know what’s… going on with you,” he starts. “But this… this isn’t… new for me. I’ve spent years dealing with these… feelings. And I’m not just talking about… liking boys. I’m talking about liking you.”

The admission sends a flurry through Mike’s insides and he can feel his cheeks heating up. He wants to say something, anything, everything. But he can’t. He has to let Will finish.

“Ever since we met, you were… there for me,” Will continues, noticeably more detached than before. “You were so nice to me, you defended me… you listened. You cared. And when everything happened… you never stopped looking for me. You risked everything for me. You saved my life.” Will lets out an empty, defeated chuckle. “How could I not catch feelings?”

The intensity has been rising with every word and fucking hell, Mike wants to look at him, to reassure him. It’s his instinct, and this is all hitting him harder and faster than he can handle.

“I knew you didn’t like me back,” Will declares, his delivery so clinical, yet so raw. “And you never would. You didn’t… owe me anything. But that didn’t make it any easier to… be around you, and talk to you, and look at you, knowing… I could never have you. Not the way I wanted. Not the way she had you.”

Bringing Eleven back into the picture does not help Mike’s emotional distress. He breaks, looking over, and Will meets his gaze. This stare is so different, so fraught and uneasy. Will’s eyes are glistening, vulnerable.

“You kept giving me hope,” he says. “There were all these… moments where I thought, maybe… maybe there was a chance. But I had to remind myself that you wanted her. I was just the one right in front of you. You protected me because you protect everyone. You always have. That’s why I…”

Mike bites his tongue and waits.

But Will closes off, looks away with his brow furrowed. “You were special to me. But I wasn’t special to you. Unrequited. That’s how it was supposed to be.”

“Will,” Mike cuts in. “That’s not fair, and it’s not true—”

“But it was,” Will insists. “It was my truth. It was the truth I had to live with. I was fine, living with it.” He shakes his head. “And then you kissed me.”

Mike fights against the lump forming in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to know. You were never supposed to know.” Will looks so lost. “I just don’t understand how this is happening, or what’s even happening, I don’t— I don’t get it.”

“I can explain,” Mike assures him. “Please, Will, I can explain everything.”

He hopes, but Mike doesn’t truly know if Will can let him. And that is entirely on Mike, for being an oblivious idiot. For not examining his own feelings until he’d already seeded Will’s life with this hurt. He doesn’t know if he can ever mend that.

Fortunately (for Mike), Will sits back, giving him the floor while staring him down. “Okay. Explain, then.”

Mike almost asks Will not to look at him either, quickly realizing how uncomfortable it is to be scrutinized when confessing deep truths. But he’s not the one who needs to be comforted now.

“I didn’t know, back then,” Mike starts. “When the Demogorgon… took you. I wasn’t thinking about anything except finding you. And then… El came along. And she was so… distracting, and remarkable, and she… she needed me, too.”

He watches Will’s jaw tighten and knows he has to hurry with this section.

“I loved her,” he admits. “I really did. I wanted her to be with us, to be a part of the group. But I wanted you to be there, too. I wanted both of you. And I didn’t understand what that meant, because I never considered…”

Mike swallows, recentering himself, eyes trained on Will’s shoelaces. “I like girls. So, it never occurred to me… that I could like boys, too. I didn’t… I didn’t want to like boys, too. But…” He takes a shaky breath. “But I do. I always have. I just… forced it away, because… I was scared— terrified— of being… different.” Guiltily, he lifts his gaze. “I’m so sorry, Will. I should have told you, instead of fighting it. I shouldn’t have left you to deal with it alone.”

Will has softened significantly, empathy radiating from him. “It’s okay, Mike.”

“No, it’s not!” Mike argues. “It’s clearly not, because you spent all this time pushing your feelings away, thinking you could never… have me. And it’s my fault. I’ve caused you… all this pain.” The tears start to pool and Mike moves to stop them, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “God, why do I hurt everyone around me?”

He can feel the tightening of his chest, the shortness of breath, the waves of sorrow and shame building up inside him. He’s so stupid and selfish and shitty and he deserves this because he ruins everything and everyone would be better off without him so maybe he should just—

“Mike.”

There are hands covering his, pulling them gently down from his face. Mike opens his eyes to see Will, on his knees in front of him, concern and affection shining in those pretty eyes.

“You don’t hurt everyone,” Will says, and Mike shakes his head.

“Yes, I do. I do.”

“No.” Will moves closer, placing both palms on Mike’s cheeks. “No, Mike. Weren’t you listening to me?” He wipes Mike’s tears away with his thumbs, and Mike grips his wrists like a lifeline. “You don’t hurt people. You save people. You help without question. You care, and you protect. And yeah, you’re not perfect, but you never needed to be. I wouldn’t ask you to be, and neither should anyone else.” Will taps Mike’s temple. “Including that voice in your head, okay?”

Mike nods along, trying and failing to believe Will’s words. He closes his eyes and starts to tuck the sadness back down where it belongs.

“Hey,” Will says. “Look at me.” It takes a few seconds, but Mike does. “Friends don’t lie.”

The sentiment, though appreciated, is counterproductive, because it makes Mike emotional all over again. He manages to keep any more tears from falling, piecing himself together even with his heart still stuck in his throat. “Friends?” he repeats, uncertain.

Will pushes his brows together and nods. “Yeah.” His gaze falls to Mike’s lips, and then back up to his eyes, and Mike leans into Will’s palms, resting warm against his skin, prompting Will to draw forward and kiss him again.

There. Breathing is easier now, paradoxical as that is. Mike’s still holding onto Will’s wrists, but he loosens his grip as they kiss, lips parting and reuniting, gently. It’s so strange and so comforting and Mike feels even more infatuated with the action than he did when kissing El.

Which is not to say that kissing El was by any means an unpleasant experience. This is just… inescapably more. Will’s kisses are careful, almost reverent, and his lips are softer, and the way their mouths fit together is so satisfyingly right.

Mike doesn’t mean to compare them, but he can’t help it when he’s got nothing else to go on. And it’s glaringly obvious that this particular attraction between him and Will is heightened, and deep, and so impossible to ignore that Mike wonders how he managed it for so long. 

Will disconnects their lips and lets his forehead fall against Mike’s, still cradling his face as they both breathe with their eyes closed.

“I don’t think friends are supposed to do that,” Mike quips, earning a little laugh from Will as the other boy pulls away completely, detaching his forehead and hands and looking down at his lap again.

“Yeah. Probably not.”

Mike worries his lip, pleasantly raw from all the kissing. “I’m sorry.”

Will rolls his eyes with a sigh. “Please stop apologizing. I forgive you. Okay? You’re forgiven.”

“Really?” Mike asks, still inclined toward disbelieving. “For everything?”

“Yes. For everything.”

Will looks sincere. And he’s been so open that Mike knows he’s telling the truth. At least, for the moment. Until Mike fucks up and has to be forgiven again.

He pushes those thoughts to the side. “Okay,” he says. “But I’m still sorry. I’m sorry that I ever made you feel like you weren’t… special to me. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I promise.”

Will raises his eyebrows. “The rest of your life?”

“The rest of our lives,” Mike corrects.

Will’s face contorts, somewhere between confused and holding back a laugh. “God, you’re intense.”

Mike blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know.”

“I like it.”

That sends a flush through Mike’s whole body. He locks eyes with Will, leaning forward, only to stop himself as he recalls his embarrassing first attempt. “Uh… can I… can I kiss you? Again?”

He expects Will to make fun of him, but all he gets is a nod, and Mike can see that Will’s already looking at his lips, and that subtle desire makes him weak.

This time, when they meet, the intensity matches the depth of their affection.

~<:>~

El backs away from Castle Byers, heart pounding. She has to return to her body quickly, or risk invading Mike and Will’s privacy.

She doesn’t know which one of them she was thinking of when she entered the ethereal plane. Not that it matters now. They’re together. Together.

El couldn’t see inside, and she only caught the tail end of their conversation, but she’s pretty sure they’ve worked things out. And she’s happy for them, but… it’s a confusing mix of feelings, since one is her adoptive brother and the other is her ex-boyfriend. Extremely confusing. And weird.

Of course, she’s proud of them. And they are her friends. But in terms of anything physical… she doesn’t really want to think about it. Or hear about it. Or see it.

But she also doesn’t want them to feel like they have to hide from her. As long as they allude to it vaguely, she’s sure she’ll be fine.

She lets out a breath and closes her eyes, reacclimating to her position on the earthly plane. The darkness fades away and her senses return: the smell of Max’s room, the sound of the radiator, the feel of her skin on the bed cover.

El removes the blindfold, and then she can see Max, red hair and bright eyes, haloed by the window light, leaning expectantly toward her. “So? Who did you find?”

El doesn’t answer. She doesn’t think she’s going to. Mike’s words keep replaying in her head. Can I kiss you? in that sweet, familiar cadence. They give her hope. They give her courage. Most importantly, they give her a guideline.

She shifts forward and puts her hand over Max’s. “Can I kiss you?”

The redhead’s eyes go impossibly wide. “What?”

~<:>~

Chapter Text

El is slightly confused.

She thought it was a fairly straightforward question. Can I kiss you? Yes or no?

Apparently, Max thinks otherwise, because she’s just sitting there staring with her mouth half-open like she doesn’t understand. Maybe El needs to repeat herself.

She stalls, more hesitant this time. “Can I… can I kiss you?”

Max remains stuck in place, blinking intermittently as though trying to unfreeze herself, and eventually looks away from El, shutting her eyes for a moment. “Um. W-why?”

That’s fair, El supposes. She presses her lips together and looks at Max as seriously as she can. “Because, I like you.”

She was hoping that would be sufficient, but Max still seems puzzled. “Right, yeah, I mean. I like you, too. But I don’t— I’m not sure what—” She laughs nervously. “Why the… sudden urge to kiss me?”

It’s not as sudden as Max thinks, but El doesn’t need to tell her that, yet. “I…” She has to concentrate on piecing the words together in her head so she’ll say what she means to say. “I want to… know what it feels like. With you.”

It’s definitely nerve-wracking to expose her feelings like this, but El has faith that Max won’t squash them. Or at least, she won’t totally shoot El down. “Oh,” Max says, blushing and shaking her head. “Oh, so you’re just— you just want to branch out from Mike, then? Try kissing someone else now that you’ve broken up?”

El holds back a frustrated sigh, cursing her underdeveloped communication skills. “No,” she says firmly. “I want to kiss you.”

Whether or not Max understands isn’t super clear. But her expression does shift into something more vulnerable. “Oh,” she repeats, softer. “Okay.”

El raises her eyebrows. “Okay?”

“Okay, yes,” Max clarifies. “Yes, you can kiss me.”

The permission sends an excited spike through El’s chest, but she doesn’t move. Neither of them move. They just stare in anticipation, until El gathers the courage to lean forward, and then Max leans forward, and they stop a few inches away from each other, momentarily suspended, not yet daring to cross the line.

Max’s gaze has drifted down to El’s mouth, and El finds herself copying the action, mesmerized and so ready to carry out her fantasy. She looks up into Max’s eyes one final time, searching for any flicker of doubt, and when she finds none, she closes her eyes and seals their lips together.

Immediately, it’s different.

El has kissed Mike plenty of times, but it never felt like this. Those kisses were tender and reassuring and sweet, the way Mike’s always been with her.

This kiss sparks something else in her, something new and thrilling that sets her on fire, which she supposes is appropriate. The redhead’s lips are so distractingly soft, and El gets a rush of euphoria as her brain reminds her that this is Max. She’s kissing Max. She’s kissing Max and it’s everything she imagined it would be.

Of course, El has to break the kiss eventually, pulling back to look at Max’s face. The redhead still has her eyes closed, and when she opens them, there’s an expression there that El doesn’t recognize. At least, it’s not one she often sees on Max.

Usually, the cracks in Max’s steely exterior are light, fun, easy. But this fracture is heavy, almost raw. Max is looking at her like she’s everything and she’s never wanted anything else.

But there’s no time for El to dissect that because Max moves, swiftly reaching a hand behind El’s head and pulling her back in.

Though startled by the intensity, El happily complies, anchoring herself against Max’s collarbone, and they end up kissing more rapidly than before, parting only to breathe in the split seconds between each one. This is more like what El used to do with Mike, except that there’s this strange new urgency driving her, wiping all thoughts from her head in favor of feeling.

El isn’t sure how much time passes, but it seems all too soon when Max breaks away, rolling to stand from the bed and taking a few steps. She has one hand lifted to her mouth, knuckles grazing her lips, chest heaving. El finds that she’s breathing heavy, too, as she stares up at Max’s profile expectantly.

“Okay,” Max says, almost to herself. “Okay. Yeah. This is. That was.” She moves the hand to her forehead. “Holy shit.”

El doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say. Her brain is simultaneously hazy and wired, and she really wants Max to come back so they can kiss more, because that was one of the best things she’s ever experienced.

Max pivots to face her again, hand back in front of her mouth, that same raw look in her eyes from before. “Okay,” she repeats, and El suspects she’s not the only one with limited brain function at the moment. “Fuck. Okay. We have to…” Max sighs, running both hands up her face and through her hair. “Okay. Yeah, we have to talk about this.”

Her tone makes El uneasy; she really hopes she didn’t go too far or mess anything up. She would say as much, but forming words right now is definitely not an option, insurmountable challenge as it is for her without this extra disorientation.

“Okay,” Max starts, and El’s beginning to recognize this as a buffer word. “So. I know that… things were different for you, growing up. Obviously. But, um. Out here… you might have noticed that… couples are generally not… of the same gender.”

Oh. Max is giving her the same speech that Will gave her two months ago. She tries to interrupt, but Max is speeding on through it.

“So, like. Kissing your friends as practice isn’t exactly abnormal, but it’s usually not something you advertise, especially if you are both the same gender. And I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with what we just did, but I don’t— I don’t think we can do it anymore if it’s just curiosity for you because it’s definitely not just curiosity for me and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable because I actually, like, really like you and I have for a while and I don’t think I can disregard those feelings just to help you out.”

She pauses there, taking a deep breath and waiting for El’s reaction. And El wants to laugh, not only because the rambling was very endearing, but because it seems that Max does feel the same way for her. And that’s all El needed to hear to send her heart soaring.

For Max’s sake, she tamps down the giddiness and focuses on responding verbally. She has to stand first, though, and step toward Max, close enough to take her hands and look into her eyes and send her a soft, reassuring smile. “It’s not just curiosity for me.”

The statement is clear enough to change Max’s disposition, her anxiety melting away, hope rising to the surface. She still asks, not quite convinced, “It’s not?”

El shakes her head, squeezing their joined hands. “I really like you, too.”

A soft blush blooms across Max’s cheeks, and El can tell that she finally gets it. “Oh,” she says, brighter this time. “Well. That’s good, then.”

The air is significantly warmer as the two of them grin at each other, both in mild shock and neither wanting to let go. El watches Max’s gaze dip to her mouth again, and when she looks back up, there’s a familiar sparkle in her eye.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question is significantly more powerful, El realizes, when on the receiving end. No wonder Max was left stunned.

She has her answer ready. It’s just overwhelming to have to say it, in the most brilliant way.

“Yes,” she replies, and Max does.

~<:>~

Will can safely say that he did not have making out with Mike Wheeler in his childhood fort on the agenda, for this or any day. And yet, inexplicably, here he is, doing just that.

He should probably stop trying to predict the future. Their lives are way too chaotic to be anticipated.

He’s still semi-convinced that none of this is real and he’s going to wake up any minute now, which would be horribly cruel and depressing, but not far off from his usual luck. It doesn’t really matter either way, because Will is not letting this go anytime soon. It feels too good.

It feels good to have his hands in Mike’s hair, to have their mouths moving in unison. It feels good to hear nothing but the pounding rush of his heart. It feels good when Mike uncrosses his legs and tugs Will closer, into his chest, and Will does not protest the proximity or the intensity.

It feels good because they’re not talking about any of the complicated shit still weighing on their psyches. They’ve done enough of that already. And besides, Will finds this to be a much more productive use of time.

The thrilling part of it is that they’re in unexplored territory. Neither of them know what they’re doing and they’re both ready to fall off the edge any second. Will would normally be more cautious, but he’s not in the mood to think. He just wants to stop thinking for once, and feel this; Mike’s palms sliding over his back, the taste of his lips, the warm rush lighting him from the inside out. It’s all so new that it feels infinite.

Will’s fingers start to curl against Mike’s scalp, prompting Mike to fist his hands in the fabric of Will’s shirt, and they’re getting impossibly closer, still kissing each other’s breath away, when a distant voice cuts through their reverie.

“Mike! Will! Are you guys out here?”

They break apart and freeze. It’s Lucas.

“Guys? Hello?”

And Dustin.

And they’re both definitely getting closer.

“Shit,” Will utters, detaching himself from Mike. “Shit. Shit. God. Fuck.” Apparently his brain is only capable of forming curse words in this moment of sheer panic.

Mike also appears to be panicking, though a bit slower. Will takes one look at him and the anxiety level rises because his fucking hair is an absolute mess, and his cheeks are pink, and his clothes are wrinkled, and his lips are very noticeably red from all the kissing, and Will might not be able to see himself but he has no doubt that he’s in a similar state. And the shouts are growing louder, which means Dustin and Lucas are heading in the right direction, and Mike and Will absolutely cannot look like this when they arrive.

“Shit,” Will repeats, frantically smoothing Mike’s shirt and jacket and then reaching up to fix his hair. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Mike jumps in and tries to help him, adjusting his own clothes as well as Will’s, and they manage to get to a more presentable point before they hear the next call, much closer this time.

“Guys! Are you in there?”

“Fuck,” Will whispers hysterically, voice rising in pitch. He messes with Mike’s hair one last time before finally relenting. “Okay, good enough.”

“Okay,” Mike echoes. “Okay, how do we do this?”

Will has no idea how to do this. “We— we just act normal,” he says, floundering. “We just have to go out there before they can come in here. Like, now.”

Mike nods, glances at the entrance. “Okay, okay— should I go first, then?”

“Sure, yes, it doesn’t matter, just go!”

Will watches Mike’s awkward, hectic stumble out of the fort and sighs, briefly massaging his temples to calm himself down before following.

Dustin and Lucas are right there when Will emerges, which almost gives him another heart attack, but they seem more irritated than shocked, so he doubts they saw or heard anything.

“Hey,” Dustin starts in his scolding tone. “We’ve been looking for you guys. Jonathan said he saw you go into the woods, which was very non-specific.”

Lucas has his arms crossed, head tilted curiously. “What were you doing out here?”

“Talking,” Will replies immediately.

“Yep,” Mike affirms, right on Will’s heels. “Talking. We were just. Just talking.”

There’s a few moments of silence as Dustin and Lucas look back and forth between them, and then at each other, definitely more suspicious than they were. Will should have known that act normal was shit advice.

“Okay…” Dustin says, apparently deciding to ignore their weirdness. “Well, we were gonna go over to Max’s to get her and El so we can all grab some food.”

“Sounds good,” Mike says quickly.

“Yeah— good,” Will agrees. “Yep.”

Mike nods. “Good.”

The stares turn to squints and Will wants to kick himself and/or Mike for not having a single chill cell in their bodies right now.

When Dustin and Lucas fail to respond within five seconds, Mike claps his hands together. “Alright. Let’s go,” he declares, herding them all away from Castle Byers.

Will lingers, glances back at the fort and lets out a long breath, before turning to catch up with the others.

~<:>~

Dinner is decidedly awkward.

Max and El were very much in the middle of their romantic escapades when they heard the doorbell ring, but they managed to get it together quick enough to greet the four boys without arousing suspicion.

Now they’re all sitting around at the diner, waiting for their food in silence. Max glances across the table at Mike, whose leg is bouncing incessantly, fingers tapping on the plastic menus. Beside him, Will is completely still. Her curiosity is peaked and she so wants to ask, but this is not the time nor the place, what with Dustin and Lucas staring all of them down.

Max grabs her water and starts drinking to avoid engaging in conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees El do the same, and she has to stifle her laugh.

It takes five more minutes for Dustin to break. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” he demands. “Am I missing something here?”

Yes, definitely, Max doesn’t say. She catches Lucas’s eye and looks away immediately, hoping she hasn’t gone too red.

Will remains mute, reaching for his water now. Mike looks between him and El, then back over at Lucas and Dustin, clearing his throat. “Um. Yeah, maybe.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Dustin raises his eyebrows, gesturing for him to continue. Mike reinitiates eye contact with El, and the two of them seem to communicate something telepathically. Max doesn’t think they can actually do that. But she’s not ruling it out.

“Um…” Mike stalls, so El takes the reins.

“We broke up.”

The shock emanating from Dustin and Lucas is almost comical, and Max wonders if she should pretend to react. Probably not the best idea; she’s a horrible actress. She takes note of the fact that Will is also expressionless.

“Uh… wow,” Lucas summarizes, brows knit together. “Really?”

El and Mike nod simultaneously, looking back at each other and then down at the table. To the casual observer, they might appear upset, or even heartbroken, but Max knows better. She knows they’re still friends and they still love each other dearly. It just so happens that they both decided to go for different people, and that makes things somewhat uncomfortable between them.

And Max is no stranger to that discomfort, seeing as how she’s also in the middle of it. She’s really not looking forward to having this conversation with Mike, because despite everything they agreed upon, she still kissed his ex.

Dustin lets out a long whistle. “Damn. I gotta say, I did not see that coming.”

Mike’s shoulders tense. “Can we just… drop it?”

Oblivious to the situation, Dustin shoots Mike a sympathetic look and pats him on the back. “Yeah, buddy. Sorry.”

This is undoubtedly the most excruciating second-hand embarrassment that Max has ever experienced. She can feel Lucas staring at her, but she refuses to turn his way, biting her cheeks to keep from accidentally revealing anything.

They spend the rest of the meal trying to move on from the unpleasant start, half-talking about random shit. Dustin leads the conversation, of course. Max, Mike, and Lucas all humor him, El chimes in where she can, and Will says maybe two words the entire time.

It’s so bad that Max actually witnesses everyone’s collective relief when the check comes and they can all go their separate ways.

~<:>~

Mike has to wait until everyone else has gone to bed before he can sneak down to the basement.

Will’s sitting on the couch with a blanket over his legs, head bowed in contemplation. He looks up when he hears the creak of the bottom stair, and despite the fact that they spent the afternoon baring their souls and kissing the shit out of each other, Mike still freezes at the eye contact, anxiety knotting in his stomach.

It seems that Will’s having a similar reaction. So they just kind of stare at each other for a bit, Mike shifting uncertainly by the steps while trying to calm his nerves. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just that Will is holding Mike’s heart and lungs and sanity in the palm of his hand and could choose to crush all three at any given moment. And Mike really wouldn’t blame him.

But Will just pushes the blanket off and stands, coming into Mike’s space entirely, staring up at him with those eyes. And Mike is so weak. He leans down and catches Will’s lips, and Will wraps his arms around Mike’s neck, and they’re right back where they were as though they’d never forgotten the rhythm.

This has to be the strangest thing that Mike has ever done. And yes, he’s including every single upside down-related fiasco. Because kissing his best friend in the basement he grew up in is just beyond all that. It didn’t take much for him to grasp the supernatural, but he still hasn’t wrapped his head around this.

Somehow, through their unmediated movements, they end up switching positions, and then they’re back on the other side of the room, which Mike only realizes when his calves hit the couch. The impact makes his knees buckle and he’s forced to break away from Will, landing a bit ungracefully on his ass. He almost laughs, but then he sees the look on Will’s face, and all humor dries up in his mouth.

There’s a heavy moment of tension, Mike staring up at Will’s hovering figure, neither of them blinking. And then Will is on top of him, climbing into his lap and kissing him fiercely.

Overwhelmed is not sufficient to describe the stimulation that Mike is feeling now, and he’s pretty sure that every single rational thought has left his mind. He even forgets to panic, because there’s no need. Not when Will is taking control like this. And Mike will happily go along with literally anything, because he is that embarrassingly infatuated.

Will’s fingers are threading through his hair again and that action alone is enough to make him melt. Mike is just trying to match his intensity, kiss him back with equal ardor, but it’s getting harder and harder to breathe, and then their thighs brush too close together and that’s what startles Will into finally pulling back.

Even in the dim lighting, Mike can see the flush on Will’s face, and he knows he’s definitely also red, because he can feel how warm he is, through his whole body. He watches Will swallow carefully, whispering, “Sorry.”

Mike has no idea what he’s apologizing for, and he starts to say as much, but Will moves off of him, and the distance is far colder than it should be.

Mike watches, confused, as Will flees to the corner, and he sits forward. “Will—”

“Please,” Will cuts him off, sounding strained. He’s facing away from Mike, hands braced against the wall. “Please, just— just give me a minute.”

Will should know that Mike can’t refuse him, especially when he says please. “Okay,” Mike complies, shifting his gaze elsewhere. Actually, he thinks, reclining onto the cushions and breathing hard, he could probably use the minute as well.

It’s more like ten before Will lets his hands fall back down to his sides and turns around. Mike hasn’t moved at all. His brain is working on overdrive to try and catch up to his body right now.

But Will’s looking at him like he wants to disappear, and that prompts Mike to gather his strength and sit up, attentive. “I’m— I’m sorry,” Will says again. “I don’t, um.” He closes his eyes with a shaky sigh. “That was a lot.”

It was, in fact, a lot, Mike will concur. But it’s clear that Will is spiraling about something, so he rises from the couch and makes his way tentatively closer. “It’s okay,” Mike assures him. “I was fine.” He stops about foot away, tilting his head. “Are you?”

Will nods, eyes still shut. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

Will slowly releases a more controlled breath, finally looking at Mike, but he doesn’t answer this time. Mike takes that as a no.

“Okay,” he says. “Maybe we should… sit down and talk about it?” Insecurity flashes in Will’s expression and Mike backpedals. “Or not talk about it. Either one.”

It takes another few moments for Will to collect himself, and then he nods again, letting Mike guide him back to the couch (which Mike makes sure to not fall onto this time, given that he’s once again walking backwards). They leave a fair bit of space between them, though Mike still has to keep his knee from knocking into Will’s as he waits anxiously patiently for the other boy to take the lead.

When Will does eventually speak, all he says is, “I really, really don’t know what I’m doing.”

Mike doesn’t want to be insensitive, but he can’t help huffing a laugh at that, because does Will really think Mike has a clue? He’s so far out of his league. “Yeah, I mean. Me neither,” he admits. “But it’s okay.”

Will looks over at him, then, and his ever-expressive eyes read longing. “God, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

That hits Mike, square in the chest, knocking his breath away all over again. He would respond if he knew what the fuck to say to that. Will’s rendered him speechless, not for the first time, and probably not for the last time either.

“Sorry,” Will huffs, shaking his head. “Sorry, that was…” He presses his lips together. “I think today was just… too much too fast. You know?”

Mike relaxes. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Definitely. We can… we can take it slow. Slower.”

Will nods along, posture easing significantly. Mike feels the tension diffuse and exhales a quiet sigh of relief. The absolute emotional roller coaster they’ve been on for the past twelve hours has clearly worn them out.

“Do you want me to…” Mike gestures toward the stairs. “I can go back to my room—”

“No,” Will says, flushing a little at his quick response. He clears his throat. “Uh… you can stay.” Please stay, he means, and Mike fights to control the swell of affection it evokes.

“Okay.”

The longer they remain here, staring, the more they run the risk of getting stuck again, so Mike makes the executive decision to get up and head for the bedding corner. He retrieves a full load of blankets and pillows and returns to lay them out across the floor beside the couch, making sure to create enough space for both of them to fit comfortably. Once he’s satisfied with the fluffiness of the pile, he takes his place on the far side.

Will’s still sitting on the couch, watching him. Mike can’t tell if he’s wary or just doesn’t understand that he’s invited. Hoping it’s not too intimate, Mike meets his eyes and pulls back the covers, leaving it up to Will to decide. Will’s stare alternates between Mike and the makeshift bed, conflict evident on his face. Mike knows him well enough to pinpoint the second he relents, so he’s not surprised when Will crawls in beside him.

Mike embraces the warmth in his chest, adjusting the blankets to cradle them both. Will is curled up on his side. Mike mirrors the position so they’re facing each other, a safe distance apart.

Will’s gaze is downcast at first, until he blinks up at Mike through his eyelashes, still so cautious. Mike looks unashamedly back at him, lets his lips twitch into a small smile. And then he reaches for where Will’s hand lays between them and laces their fingers together, a symbol of reassurance, grounding them in this moment.

Will’s eyebrow crease fades back into his skin, and Mike feels a sense of triumph that he’s managed to conjure some semblance of peace. He keeps looking at Will until his eyelids grow heavy and he slips into a blissful sleep.

~<:>~

Chapter Text

Mike wakes to the sound of crackling static from somewhere behind his head.

In his half-conscious haze, he can’t quite pinpoint what it is, until he makes out his name amid the white noise.

“Mike? Mike, are you there?”

Blearily, he opens his eyes and looks around.

The first thing he registers is Will. The other boy is curled in against Mike’s side, head resting on his shoulder, effectively trapping Mike’s left arm beneath him. He’s breathing evenly, still asleep, and Mike can’t help the softness that works its way up to his cheeks at seeing Will like this. He’s so calm. And so cute. And—

“Mike!”

Right.

Mike cranes his neck and locates the discarded walkie lying next to the bin. He thinks he last left it on Max’s channel, which helps him identify the voice. He’s not sure why she’s radioing him at what feels like the crack of dawn (according to the watch lying on the table, it is in fact nine in the morning), but he has to reach the walkie to turn it off anyway or she’ll keep calling, so he might as well just answer.

Mike’s arms are long, but they’re not long enough, and one of them is currently out of commission. Trying his hardest not to disturb Will, Mike slides out from underneath him and rolls over, stretching his torso across the pillow to grab the walkie.

“Hello?” he slurs, then realizes that he hasn’t held the button down and tries again. “Hello?”

“Mike?”

“Yeah?” he responds, confused agitation leaking into his tone.

“Hey,” Max says, and Mike’s pretty sure it’s her, except that she sounds uncharacteristically anxious. “Um. Are you alone?”

“Uh…” Mike looks over his shoulder and curses internally when he sees Will shifting, stirring. Clearly his nimble escape did not go as unnoticed as he was hoping. “No…”

“Oh.” Max pauses, apparently thrown off by that. She delivers her next words with feigned innocence. “Are you with Will?”

Mike shouldn’t be surprised that she would jump to that conclusion, given everything they’ve been talking about for the past few months. Still, the nervous energy kicks up at her implication and Mike finds himself going red. “Um.” He stares down at Will, immensely grateful that Max isn’t physically here to make fun of him. “Maybe.”

There’s a knowing smile in Max’s voice when she speaks again. “Okay. Well, I won’t bother you, then. But, uh… come by later?”

Will’s eyes are open now, and he’s reciprocating Mike’s stare with evident curiosity. “Yeah. Will do,” Mike says, very distracted and itching to end the call. “Over and out.”

He doesn’t bother to wait for Max’s response, just flips the switch, jams the antenna down into the walkie, and drops it back on the floor.

When he turns to face Will again, the other boy is still looking at him. Unfortunately, the eye contact reignites the tension from last night, and Mike has to resist the urge to immediately renege on their agreement to take it slow.

Instead, he stays where he is, and tries to act casual. “Hi.”

Will blinks up at him. “Hi.”

Mike has not a single thought in his head. Actually, he has too many, which is making it very hard to focus. “Um.” He works furiously to find anything decent to say. “Did you… sleep okay?”

He is genuinely concerned about that, which Will seems to find funny, if the way his brows push together and his lips twitch is anything to go on. “Yeah.”

Mike nods. Good. Okay, now what? There should really be a manual for this. “Uh… are you hungry?”

Will’s amused expression remains intact. “Yeah.”

Aha! A task! Mike sits all the way up. “Do you…” He gestures toward the stairs. “Do you want me to…?”

“… What, make me breakfast?” Will finishes, eyebrows raised. At Mike’s nod of confirmation, Will half-laughs and sits up beside him. “Um, since when do you cook?”

That’s— okay, that’s fair. But just because Will has a point doesn’t mean Mike’s not offended. “I can… make toast,” he defends himself, weakly.

Will grins, shaking his head. “I think I’ll wait for your mom to get up.”

Mike is once again taken aback by how much he loves to see that smile. God, he has make Will smile more. This feeling pushing in his heart practically demands it.

They’re staring again, the light moment quickly fading, and Mike can sense them slipping back into dangerous territory. Will clearly senses it, too, because he tears his gaze away and redirects the conversation. “Um, who was on the radio?”

Mike forces himself to focus, following Will’s lead. “Oh, that was Max. She was just—” He pauses, considering. “Actually, I don’t know why she was calling. But, uh… she wants us to go over there later.”

“Us?” Will asks, sounding surprised.

Mike notes the error in his phrasing. “Well, me. But I assumed you were invited.”

Will seems to accept this, though he presses, “Did she say when later?”

All of these questions are making Mike realize that he probably shouldn’t have cut off the transmission so early. He stares at Will, more sheepish than tense this time. “Maybe I should call her back.”

“Yeah,” Will agrees. It looks like he’s biting his cheek again.

Mike goes to retrieve the walkie, but before his hand’s fully extended, he stops. There’s still something they have to discuss. “Hey, um…” He knows he has to proceed with caution. “Would you be okay if I… told her? About us?”

Will reacts as expected, startled disorientation spreading across his features, and Mike works to mollify him.

“It’s fine if you’re not. I get it. I don’t have to,” Mike assures him. “It’s just that she… she kind of already knows that I… you know.”

He’s hoping he won’t have to finish that sentence, but Will shakes his head, expression still mystified.

“That I— that I like you,” Mike clarifies, although like is far too shallow a description. “Like… she knows that I’m… not straight.”

Will seems to understand what Mike is saying now, but it doesn’t erase the confusion from his eyes. “Oh,” he says.

“Yeah,” Mike continues. “And she’s been really cool about it because she’s—” Wait. He cuts himself off before he can reveal anything too personal. “Uh, because… she’s just… not a shitty person, I guess.”

Mike watches Will process this in silence, only repeating, “Oh.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, Mike starts talking again, because that’s just what he does. “Anyway, it’s not a big deal. If you’re not okay with me telling her, I won’t.”

“No, it’s—” Will shakes his head. “It’s not that.” He’s staring down at the blankets in contemplation. “I’m just… surprised. That you would talk to Max.” He looks back up at Mike. “You know, instead of Dustin or Lucas.”

“Oh.” Mike contemplates his own answer. “Well, I guess that was an option. I’m sure they’d— I mean, I think they would be… understanding.” Mike shrugs. “But, I don’t know, it felt… weird, to talk to them about this. It’s… it’s the four of us. They know me too well, and they know you, and it— I don’t know, I just… didn’t want them to know and then… interfere, or… tease me or something.”

Will’s regarding him quietly, nodding along. “Yeah. I get that.” He pauses, looking skeptical. “Are you saying Max didn’t tease you?”

“Oh, no, she did,” Mike confirms. “But… not really. Not seriously. She mostly just tried to help me. You know… work through things.” He does not need to share how long it took or how volatile the whole process was. For the sake of his dignity alone, that will stay between him and Max.

“Huh,” is Will’s response.

Mike quirks his mouth. “I know,” he agrees. “I didn’t see it coming either, but… we’re kind of friends now?”

Will’s eyes are still narrowed, musing. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Now that I’m thinking about it… that actually makes a lot of sense. You and Max.”

Mike raises his eyebrows. “Does it?”

“Yeah,” Will nods. “It does.” He leaves Mike to absorb that for a few moments before he speaks again, raising a hand to the back of his neck. “Actually, I… I talked to someone, too. About us. I mean, my… feelings.”

Mike’s eyebrows shoot even higher, and he’s expecting Will to say Joyce or Jonathan or maybe even someone he met at their new place. He feels like an idiot when the name Will produces is, “El.” Because of course. They’re family now, too. And besides, Mike already knew from his conversation with El that Will confided in her at least somewhat.

“I didn’t think that would ever happen either,” Will is saying. “I mean, I was never really close with her. And I didn’t want to be at first because—” He snaps his mouth shut and Mike spots the red blooming on his cheeks.

“What?” he probes.

“Nothing,” Will dismisses. “It doesn’t matter. We’re good now. She’s… really kind, and brave, and loyal. I can see what you saw in her.”

Mike flicks his gaze over Will’s face and a sudden, swooping realization dawns on him. “Were you jealous?”

He gets his answer when Will’s blush deepens and he refuses to meet Mike’s eyes.

“Oh my God,” Mike says. “You were. You were jealous of me and El.”

Will’s shoulders stiffen. “Yeah, okay, can we not—”

“Sorry,” Mike apologizes immediately. “Sorry, that just— I didn’t realize…”

Wow, this is. This is a new feeling. Like a pleasant kind of embarrassment, if such a thing can even exist. Despite what Will said about El in the fort, Mike never imagined…

His brain abruptly retraces the conversation. “Wait, so you— you talked to my girlfriend about your… feelings for me?”

“Not intentionally,” Will says through gritted teeth. “She figured it out. So, funnily enough, I’m pretty sure you’re the only person on the planet who had no clue.”

Okay, Mike probably deserved that. He isn’t exactly known for his emotional intelligence. And he can be stubbornly oblivious when he wants to be.

He doesn’t like how tense the atmosphere has gotten and he wants to remedy it. Leaning forward, he takes Will’s hand, noticing with warmth how quickly Will relaxes, gives Mike his full attention. It’s rewarding and humbling at the same time.

“Sorry I’ve been such an idiot,” he says, sincere. “But you don’t have to be jealous anymore. I promise.”

The statement lands heavily and the discomfort dissipates, replaced by a familiar intensity. Mike should be wary, but he doesn’t want to resist. Will’s eyes are already a shade darker, and Mike’s already glancing down to his lips, and he’s held back admirably up to this point, so he gives himself permission, to take Will’s face in his free hand and pull him in for a kiss.

Will responds, hand rising to mirror Mike’s, curled soft around his neck. It’s sweet and warm and fairly chaste. They aren’t getting carried away this time. Mike will make sure of it.

And they do successfully break apart after too short a time, foreheads resting together as they take a moment to breathe. Will’s the one who pulls back first, looking at Mike with gratitude and affection in equal measure. “Okay,” he says, and Mike’s not entirely sure where the remark fits in their exchange, but he’ll take it.

Will’s thumb runs carefully along his jaw before he drops his hand, and Mike’s mind goes a bit numb from the tender action, but he lets his hand fall, too, so they’re once again on even ground. But Will really needs to stop fucking looking at him like that or Mike’s going to lose it.

“So,” Will says, harkening back. “My point, earlier, was, um. I have no… problem with you telling Max. About us. Because El already knows, too. So. We might as well.”

Mike is somewhat surprised, because he honestly wasn’t expecting him to agree. But Will appears to have made up his mind, so Mike goes with it. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay, cool.”

When the conversation drops off, they’re back to staring intensely. Mike doesn’t understand why, every time there’s a moment of silence, they start to do this.

But this is how it’s always been with Will, he realizes. Since the beginning, their friendship has been a series of long looks, piling up, each balanced on the precipice of something greater. And now they’ve finally crossed over, left the edge, and Mike is falling.

Oh, God.

Mike is falling.

He’s falling in love with Will.

~<:>~

Max’s day has gotten off to an interesting start.

Her impulsive decision to radio Mike as soon as she woke up was certainly profitable, and amusing, both when he hung up on her abruptly (perhaps to do something Will-related?) and then called her back shortly after to clarify the details re: them both coming over.

Following this, Max turned over her shoulder to catch El yawning, stretching, and blinking at her sleepily from beneath her mess of brown waves. Then, of course, Max had to rejoin her in bed so they could kiss and cuddle while Max tried to make her giggle as much as possible.

Now, they’re dressed and waiting downstairs for the boys. Joyce has already left to visit Karen, so they’re essentially swapping family members, which Max finds kind of funny. She’s mostly brimming with excitement— and a little bit of anxiety— to have a conversation, just the four of them.

El told Max last night that she’d confided in Will, and Max in turn revealed her heart-to-hearts with Mike, so everyone should be at least somewhat aware of the… situation. That doesn’t mean it won’t be awkward. But Max is hoping they’ll manage to clear the bar from dinner yesterday.

It should be fine if she and El take charge, because God knows Mike and Will are both evasive, stammering dorks.

There comes a hesitant knock and Max smirks to herself. Speak of the dorks. She looks to El for verification before crossing the room to let them in.

When she opens the door, she finds them standing as far apart as possible while still fitting in frame. Mike has his hands in his pockets and Will is looking very interested in her porch. Max shifts her weight to one hip and scrutinizes them. “Hi.”

“Hi,” they respond in unison. Glance at each other, then quickly away.

Max rolls her eyes at their lack of subtlety and gestures for them to come inside.

“Hi,” El greets them, cheerily, and they don’t chorus their “Hi’s” this time, but they’re still only a beat apart. And then they just stand there. Yeah, Max was definitely right about who would be taking charge here.

She returns to her place beside El, and they square off to face the two scared-looking boys. “There’s something we have to… discuss,” Max starts, directing the statement at Mike. “We thought you should know before we tell the others.”

Mike blanches. “Wait, tell the others? Why would we tell the others?”

“Because they deserve to know,” Max says, matter-of-factly.

Mike’s frowning, defensive. “Don’t you think that should be up to us?”

“No,” Max says, frowning now, too. “It’s up to El. And she’s decided to be open with everyone. At least, everyone who was involved before.”

“Involved before?” Mike looks so confused. “Wait, what are we talking about?”

“Just sit down and you’ll fucking see, Mike,” Max commands, exasperated.

She flicks her gaze over to Will in silent communication, and she watches the comprehension fade onto his face. He looks at Mike, abating. “Sit down, Mike.”

“What? Why?”

Instead of answering, Will just steps over, puts his hands on Mike’s shoulders, and pushes him down into the armchair, turning to Max for direction. Mike follows his gaze, questioning, until all three of them are looking at El.

El, who raises her arm, focused solely on Mike. And then, slowly but surely, both Mike and the chair lift from the floor.

Mike does spazz out at first, grips the arms and glances around at the wood above which he’s now hovering, suspended in the air. They all watch his expression melt from startled to shocked, and then there’s the switch: hope, relief, unfettered joy, all jumping to the surface. He locks eyes with El and the two of them stare as she lowers him back down.

There’s a beat once Mike has returned to solid ground, awestruck. And then he’s springing from the chair, and El meets him halfway, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, his around her waist.

It’s intimate enough that Max would normally look away, except that these are her friends and the sight of them together doesn’t ignite her anger anymore. She’s honestly grateful to be here, to be a witness to the incredible bond that they have. That they always will have, despite their separation.

They pull apart, far enough to see each other, but still connected. Mike’s eyes are glistening. “When?” he asks.

“August,” El replies, and Max is getting deja-vu. Mike reaches out, as though to put a hand on El’s cheek, but halts the motion halfway through, placing it on her shoulder instead.

“Shit,” he says. “And you didn’t tell me?”

His tone is unsteady, half-kidding, half-insecure. El does put both hands on his face, guiding him to look at her. “I wanted to. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Mike assures her. “It’s okay, I get it. I know now.”

El nods, removing her hands to hug him again.

Max steals a glance at Will, who is watching the interaction with the same guarded trepidation that she feels. Predictable, but still not quite confirmation enough.

When Mike and El finally, properly detach, Mike turns to Will immediately, focus shifting between him and Max. “So you two knew?”

Will’s nod is careful, apologetic. Whereas Max meets Mike’s eyes with nonchalance. “I only found out a couple days ago. But yeah.”

Mike puts a hand on his forehead. “Okay. Alright, well. Everything makes a lot more sense now. I thought—”

Whatever he thought, he stops wanting to share it. He looks at Will, drops his hand, then shoots a skittish glance at El and Max.

Max has gotten the hints, numerous as they’ve been, but Mike is clearly too chicken to go first, so she steps up and takes El’s hand. The brunette looks at her with those wide brown eyes, searching for meaning, and nodding her permission when she finds it, squeezing Max’s hand.

“Actually,” Max starts. “There is… something else.”

She divides her gaze between them and El, bites her lip, and waits for Mike and Will to get it.

In a shocking turn of events, it doesn’t take them very long. Both boys raise their eyebrows, Mike more incredulous, Will more surprised.

“Really?” Mike asks. “You two…?”

He’s focused on Max, but El is the one who answers.

“Yes,” she says. “We kissed.”

Max’s stomach flips and she can feel herself going red. Yeah, okay, so El’s just— just putting that out there, in proper El fashion. Max clears her throat, avoiding Mike’s eyes. “Uh, yeah. Anyway, that’s. That’s all.”

She waits in silence, no longer able to gauge reactions with her steadfast refusal to look at them. But she doesn’t miss Mike taking Will’s hand in her peripherals, and that gets her to raise her head.

Mike’s staring her down, not jealous or disappointed or angry, but relieved. “Yeah,” he says. “Uh. Same here.”

Of course, Max already guessed that based on yesterday’s dinner alone. But it’s still exciting to hear it, rush of pride filling her cheeks. “Really?” she echoes.

“Really,” Mike nods, and he starts to smile, too, and then they’re all smiling.

Except for Will, who still looks somewhat uncomfortable and lost.

Max deflates, feeling guilty. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to have this revelation with all four of them. It is clear that they need to speak in private pairs, anyway. Perhaps she’ll have to provide them with that opportunity.

“Okay,” she says. “Well, we better get Lucas and Dustin over here. Mike?” she prompts, backing up toward the hallway.

Mike gets the correct impression that he should follow. “Yeah,” he says, letting go of Will’s hand, hesitantly, and moving away with her.

Once they’re upstairs, safely behind Billy’s door, Max lets out a massive breath, turning to Mike with apprehension. “Okay. That was so fucking awkward but I’m glad we got it out of the way.”

“Agreed,” Mike says.

“I’m sorry for kissing your girlfriend.”

“Not my girlfriend anymore, but thanks.”

“Okay.” They stare in warped silence for another moment. “Holy shit, this is so weird,” Max comments. “We actually did it.”

“Yeah,” Mike agrees. “It is… pretty weird.”

There’s more unresolved tension hiding in Mike’s posture; Max recognizes it easily now. She takes a seat on the bed, gearing up for a longer conversation. “How did it go with Will?”

Mike remains standing in the middle of the room. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Max presses. “What happened? Are you guys, like… okay?”

The fact that Mike takes a while to answer is a clear indicator that they are not. “Yeah, I guess.” Mike sighs, joining her on the bed with his elbows braced atop his thighs. “It was just… a lot.”

Max waits for him to elaborate.

“It was good,” Mike says, definitive. “We talked. About everything. And—” He flushes and Max doesn’t have to ask. “And yeah. Other stuff. Anyway, I… I don’t really know what I’m doing. I feel like…” His eyes grow dim with self-defeat. “Like I’m just gonna hurt him again.”

A year ago, Max would have scoffed at the idea that Mike Wheeler’s feelings could tug at her heartstrings like this. “Oh,” she says, softly.

Upon seeing her reaction, Mike starts, closes off. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter. It’s not important. We should radio Lucas and Dustin—”

“No, Mike.” Max grabs his arm before he can get up. The action is familiar enough to halt Mike’s movement, and when he looks at Max, she gives him her best stop running face. Which seems to work, as Mike’s muscles relax under her hand. She releases her grip, adopting a temperate tone. “Why do you think you’re gonna hurt him?”

Mike takes a moment to speak, and when he does, it’s resigned. “Because I did. Because I do. Because this is all so new for me and it’s not for him and I just don’t think I’m ever going to be… what he wants, or what he needs. I’m just…” He shrugs. “I’m not good enough.”

In all their months talking, Max has picked up on how similar Mike’s thoughts are to hers. How dark and how far he can spiral. Maybe it should worry her. It certainly affects her, to see him in pain like this. But Max has a hold of her own emotions, which is what gives her confidence that she can handle his.

“Mike,” she starts. “What Will wants, and what he needs, is you.”

Mike opens his mouth to protest, but Max cuts him off.

“No. Listen to me.” His gaze stays on her, and she can tell that he is. “When I came to Hawkins, when I met you, and Will and Lucas and Dustin… I could see it. I didn’t know you guys yet, so… it was easy. Lucas and Dustin were so focused on flirting with me…” She laughs a little. “Unfortunately.” And that gets Mike’s eyes to lighten, ever so slightly. “But you didn’t give two shits. All you cared about was Will. He was yours. That was my impression, as a complete stranger. That’s what I walked into. Just, the two of you, completely wrapped up in each other and… inaccessible to anyone else. And you were… you were good together. You weren’t happy unless you knew Will was safe and Will was… barely alive unless you were beside him.”

Max pauses, giving Mike a moment to process. “So,” she continues, gentler. “Even if you fuck up, or think you fuck up… that doesn’t make you defective, or unworthy of him. Just keep going. Keep trying. You know how you feel. All you have to do is make sure that Will knows, too.”

The words, now that they’ve left her, seem too plush with inspiration and optimism, but Mike seems better, so Max supposes she’s said what he needed to hear. He nods his understanding. “Yeah.” And then he looks at her, and Max can’t quite place the emotion there. “Thank you.”

She shrugs. “Sure.”

“I mean it, Max,” Mike says, genuine gratitude pouring out of him, for once. “Thank you. For everything.”

There’s nothing stuck in her throat, so Max isn’t sure why it feels that way. It certainly couldn’t be because she’s moved or anything. “Yeah,” she dismisses. “Uh. You, too.”

They sit there quietly, shoulders brushing as they try to recollect themselves.

Max is the first to reinitiate, standing. “So,” she prompts. “Lucas and Dustin?”

“Yeah,” Mike says, rising to join her.

~<:>~

El watches her current and former lovers leave together, her heart still swelling with affection for both of them.

When she turns to face Will, there’s a look in his eyes that makes her stomach churn. She senses that she’s messed up somehow. But Will doesn’t say anything, and El doesn’t know where to start. She supposes congratulations are in order.

“You and Mike,” she says, sending Will a small smile. “I’m happy for you.”

Will keeps regarding her, colder than she’s used to. “Yeah,” he says. “Turns out you were right.”

He crosses his arms and turns his head to the side, jaw set. El knits her brows together, steps forward, reaching for him. “Will… what’s wrong?”

To her surprise, Will doesn’t flinch away from her touch. He shuts his eyes and sighs, reopening them into hers. “Why did you tell him?”

El’s frown twitches further down and she shakes her head, confused.

“Mike,” Will clarifies. “You told him how I felt.”

Oh. El’s not sure what the issue is, except that Will looks so hurt, and it sends an ache through her heart, too.

“Why did you do that?” Will demands. “I trusted you. I told you more than I’ve ever told anyone. You weren’t supposed to turn around and fucking expose me. Especially not to Mike.”

A hot rush of shame and regret courses through El’s blood. This feeling is familiar. It’s one that rears its head every time she misunderstands the complexities and conventions of the world outside the lab.

But it’s amplified now, because it’s not some simple mistake made at school. She’s hurt Will. She’s betrayed her friend and her brother.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, tears welling with aggravating ease. “I— I didn’t mean to.”

Will’s eyes have softened somewhat, but they’re still guarded. “What did you mean to do, then?” he asks. “Were you just trying to help? Because that’s not okay. You can’t just share things like that without permission.”

The scolding is making it worse. El can feel the liquid slipping through her eyelashes, desperate as she is to contain it.

“You can’t, El,” Will stresses. “Do you understand? Anything you and I talk about, I keep to myself. And I’m asking you to do the same. Please.”

El nods rapidly, wiping at her cheeks. “I understand,” she says, unsteadily. “I will— I will be better.”

She feels like such a failure, and the guilt only increases when she sees the compassion in Will’s eyes. He should not be nice to her. She messed up. She hurt him. He should hate her.

But Will’s never been capable of hate, especially not for the people he already loves. El remembers this when he puts his hands on her shoulders, thumbs tracing soothing circles. “Hey,” he says. “You’re okay. It’s okay. I’m not mad anymore.”

El just keeps nodding, struggling to regulate her breathing. Will moves one hand to the back of her neck, putting pressure there to help her, like they’ve done so many times. He should not be comforting her. She should be comforting him. She has to get it together.

And she does, quicker than she would have on her own. And once her breathing’s returned to normal and she doesn’t feel the slightest need to cry, she apologizes again. “I’m sorry. I should not have hurt you. I will be better, I promise.”

“I know,” Will says. “I know you will. It’s okay.”

El lets his words sink in, forcing herself to believe them. Eventually, she reaches up and removes his hands, and they’re back in a tentative peace.

Will speaks first this time. “So. You and Max.” He raises his eyebrows, gently teasing.

El blushes, lips twitching. “Yes.”

“I’m happy for you,” Will says, echoing her previous sentiment.

His unwavering kindness warms her, and El is ever so grateful that she has him. “Thank you,” she says. Her eyes glaze over in memory. “She is a good kisser.” After a pleasant moment of recollection, she refocuses on Will and her half-smile grows. It’s her turn to tease. “I know Mike is, too.”

As predicted, Will goes beet-red, stuttering and refusing to look at her. “Ha. Um. Yeah.”

Maybe it’s mean of El to find this so amusing. She hopes it isn’t. She just thinks that Will’s embarrassment is cute. But she understands that she shouldn’t push it too far. She doesn’t want to disregard his comfort (again).

They’re allowed a few more seconds of sheepish eye contact before footsteps come thumping down the stairs, Mike and Max turning the corner to rejoin them.

“Hey,” Max says. “Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee are on the way.”

El assumes she means Lucas and Dustin, and Will makes a choked noise at the nicknames, grinning with the redhead as she comes to stand beside El, sliding an arm around her waist.

Max takes one look at El’s face and concern flickers behind her eyes. “You okay?” she murmurs.

El should have known she’d be able to tell, attentive as she’s always been. El nods to reassure her, fluttering warmth spreading in her chest.

They don’t have to wait long for the last of their party to arrive. Given how calm the two of them are upon entering, El assumes that Mike and Max did not tell them the purpose of their visit.

She remedies that quickly, after Max gives another serious prelude to the reveal. It’s not as intense as it was with Mike— she just lifts Dustin’s hat and transfers it to Lucas’s head— but they still have to pick their jaws up off the floor, and then Lucas swears and Dustin rushes toward her, catching her in another one of his bear hugs.

El can’t help her laughter when he’s practically squeezing it out of her, and his excited, drawn-out yelling gets them all smiling, upbeat.

When Dustin sets her back down, he puts his hands on her shoulders and looks her directly in the eyes. “Thank you. Seriously, you have no idea how goddamn nervous we all were that we would have to fight shit without you.”

El puts her hand over his, and the action triggers a surge of home. “Never.”

~<:>~

Later, after they’ve finished freaking out and sufficiently tested El’s powers, after they’ve eaten a much less awkward dinner in Max’s house than the night before, after they’ve all separated and Mike and Will are in the basement again, Will finally says it.

“It is your fault, you know.”

They’re sitting on the floor with their backs against the couch, both recovering from another intense kissing session. Mike starts at the comment, turning to look at him. “What?”

Will almost considers not elaborating. But it’s a sentiment that’s been sitting in his mind for months. And he’s already started it, so he might as well finish. “It’s your fault,” he continues, lightly. “That I don’t like girls.”

As expected, Mike’s reaction is trapped somewhere between shocked and embarrassed. “O-oh,” he stutters. “Uh… sorry…?”

It’s always funny to get Mike flustered, and Will does enjoy the moment, briefly, before letting him off the hook. “I’m— I’m kidding.”

There’s a beat, and then Mike relaxes. “Oh.”

“But it is kinda true.”

Okay, Will should probably stop giving Mike whiplash.

“Sorry,” he scoffs. “It’s just— do you know how ridiculously ironic it was to hear you say that me? To hear you say that?”

He’s going for mutual amusement, but Mike’s eyes flash with guilt. “Yeah,” he agrees, laughing along weakly.

Damn. Will forgot about Mike’s self-sabotaging need to make everything his fault. And how advanced he is at holding grudges, particularly against himself. That’s on Will, for trying to make light of the fight that caused them so much grief in the first place.

He reaches over, takes Mike’s hand from atop his knee and pulls it into his lap. “Hey,” he says. “I forgave you, remember?”

Mike glances at him and nods, “Yeah.” But he still looks pained.

“We can joke about it now,” Will assures him. “It’s okay. It’s funny.”

“Yeah.” Mike considers this for a few moments before shaking his head. “I don’t know if I’m ready to do that yet.”

Of course, avoidance is Mike’s default. Will should have guessed that, too. “Okay,” he says. “We have time.”

That statement is far from the truth, and they both know it, considering how often they’ve nearly died in the past three years. Mike sends Will a small smile anyway, the mood shifted a shade warmer. Will squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back.

The basement door bangs open suddenly, forcing them to spring apart, hands back in their own laps as they snap their gazes to the top of the stairs.

“Do not be alarmed!” Dustin announces, either totally or willfully ignorant of his dramatic entrance. “We have a proposition for you guys.”

Lucas follows Dustin down the steps and the two of them stop on the other side of the table, standing. Will shoots Mike a questioning stare, and then the two of them get to their feet as well.

“In light of recent events,” Dustin continues. “For which I was not present and therefore am shoving all the blame onto you two—” he points at Lucas and Mike “—I have decided to dust off the old robes, as it were, and prepare a glorious campaign for the four of us to embark on.” He finishes the sentence with a flourish.

Will is almost sick of the universe’s insistence on dredging up the horrific summer past.

Almost. The grin that Dustin is sporting is kinda worth it.

“Really?” Will asks, starting to smile now, too.

“Yes!” Dustin nudges Lucas. “This guy here thought it was a good idea. But I’m taking credit for the epic adventure I’ve created.”

Will’s heart clenches a bit and he looks to Lucas, who shrinks under his gaze. “Yeah, I… I’m sorry for ruining your other campaign. We’re sorry, right, Mike?”

The prompting is stern enough that Will doubts Mike had anything to do with this. But Will already knows how sorry Mike is given the sheer number of times he’s said it in the past thirty-six hours. “Uh, yeah,” Mike agrees hastily. “We’re sorry.”

It’s evident from the scattered eye contact and awkward body language that Mike has no idea how to interact with him around those who aren’t looped in regarding their whole… thing. And Will can’t really blame him. He doesn’t know how to act either. “Um. Thanks.” Clearly.

He redirects his attention toward Dustin and Lucas, working to keep his many conflicting emotions in check.

“Thank you guys. I…” Don’t know what to say. He really doesn’t, because he never expected his friends to care so much about his feelings. Which sounds bad, but he supposes it’s good, that he’s been proven wrong. “I’m sure it’ll be an… interesting time.”

He settles for that, watching as Dustin crosses his arms, eyes narrowing. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Will shrugs. “Just that the last time you DM’d, you killed the entire party—”

“Hey! Gareth survived! Don’t you consider the NPC who traveled with you across four kingdoms a member of the party?” The three of them suppress their smiles while Dustin tries to defend himself. “Besides, I didn’t have a good grasp of how squishy you all were back then and I set the challenge level too high. I was young and inexperienced. I’ve got three more years of D&D under my belt, plus three actual encounters with monsters, so. I think I know what I’m doing this time.”

They all balk somewhat, and Mike looks concerned. “You didn’t…” he starts, wary. “You didn’t base this campaign on our shit, did you?”

“No!” Dustin shakes his head violently. “No, no, no. Strictly fantasy.”

“Okay,” Mike says. “Okay, good.”

He and Dustin and Lucas are all looking at Will now, and Will’s hyper-aware of the various reasons why. He clears his throat. “So, when would we be… embarking on this journey?”

“Well, you’re leaving soon, so we were thinking tomorrow,” Lucas explains.

“Okay,” Will nods. “And is this an all-day thing or is it just a one-shot?”

Dustin winks. “All day, baby.”

“Right,” Mike says. “Assuming you don’t kill us all within the first hour.”

Dustin shoves him, but they’re all smiling. It feels so normal that Will wants to cry, because they haven’t done this in forever. They haven’t been like this— stupid, teasing, unburdened. Not since all the supernatural shit started. Not even after they thought it was over.

When Dustin and Lucas leave, Will’s still in his head about it, to the extent that he nearly misses it when Mike asks. “Should we tell them?”

Will turns toward him, frowning. “What?”

“Lucas and Dustin,” Mike states, unnecessarily, because that was not the part Will was confused about. “Should we tell them? About us?”

Will is pretty sure he’ll never get over Mike saying us, like that, in reference to the two of them. Still, the question throws him off. “I thought you didn’t want to tell them.”

Mike hesitates, shrugs. “Well, I… it seemed like maybe you wanted to.”

“Oh.” Will doesn’t recall ever saying that, but he’s certainly been feeling it. “I mean, I do want to tell them. But I…” He ponders a better way to phrase his thoughts and comes up blank. “I don’t want to tell them.”

Mike just grimaces. “Yeah, that’s about where I’m at.”

With a put-upon exhale, he takes Will’s hand and tugs, pulling them into a sitting position across from one another on the floor. It’s such a casual gesture, so innocently intimate, that Will is hit with a massive wave of affection for the boy in front of him, which is weird, because Will didn’t think he could get any more in love with Mike.

…

Wait.

Wait.

Will runs that back, and yeah. That’s. He’s.

It may be the first time he’s actually, consciously thought it— except no, it’s not, because El hit him with it a while ago and he super didn’t want to confront it then, even if he already very much knew that it was true. That it is true.

That he’s been in love with Mike since they were in elementary school. Since the first time Mike stood up for him. Maybe even from the first time they fucking met. And Will hates himself a little bit for that, but he can’t help it. He never could.

“I don’t know what to do,” Mike is saying, still holding Will’s hand, running his thumb over it absently. He’s too fucking pretty. “I do want them to know, but I don’t want to tell them. But I don’t want them to figure it out.” He sighs. “I just want them to know already and have it be fine. You know?”

Okay, he’s asking Will a question. That means Will has to answer. Don’t think about how you’re in love with him. “Uh, yeah,” Will agrees. “Yeah, it’s. I… don’t know what to do either.”

Mike twists his mouth in anxious contemplation for another minute. “It’s not like I don’t think they’ll be fine,” he rambles. “They will! Of course they will. It’s Lucas and Dustin. They’re… good people. And they’re our friends. And Max was right, they do deserve to know. They deserve to be included, and trusted.”

Will’s just staring at him, silently tracing the outline of his facial features like a goddamn idiot, so when Mike meets his eyes again, he has to quickly pretend he wasn’t doing that.

“But we don’t have to,” Mike tells him. “It’s up to you.”

Will re-evaluates what Mike has said, this time without the lovestruck haze clouding his judgement, and he nods. “Yeah. No, I think we should tell them.”

Mike worries his lip. “Are you sure?”

That gives Will pause, because no, he’s not totally sure. “Well, we’ll be with them all day tomorrow,” he points out. “So… I guess, if it comes up… then we can agree now that it’s okay to tell them. But we don’t have to, like, sit them down and lay it out.”

“Yeah,” Mike agrees. “Totally. We’ll just… see what happens.”

“Yeah.”

They’ve trailed off towards an ending and it’s getting pretty late. Mike hasn’t let go of Will’s hand. Will is desperate to kiss him.

“Do you want me to stay?” Mike asks, like it’s even a fucking question.

Will studies him some more, drinking him in, before answering, “Yes.”

They set up the way they did last night, tucked into a nest of blankets and pillows, curled up close. Will’s heart is in his throat, anxiety burning him like Mike’s quiet, intense stare. He reaches out, slips his hand around the curve of Mike’s jaw, strokes his thumb over Mike’s cheekbone, and pulls himself to Mike’s lips.

Given his earlier revelation, Will is expecting this kiss to feel different.

It feels exactly the same.

It feels the same when Mike kisses him back, slides an arm around his waist and draws him closer. It feels the same when he curls his fingers into Mike’s hair, when he hears the muffled sound Mike makes in response.

It feels the same because it is the same. Because this is how it’s felt from the moment Mike first kissed him. Because Will was in love long before that.

He relishes the familiar feeling anyway, anchoring himself here, against Mike’s body, rescued and drowning.

~<:>~

Chapter Text

Since leaving the lab and joining the wider world, there hasn’t been a single day that El can remember where she hasn’t been reminded that she’s different.

Typically, it happens within the first few hours of waking, and more often than not, the instances multiply. The good days are the ones where she only stumbles, dwells on her memories, once or twice. The bad days leave her paralyzed.

Today is neither a good day nor a bad day. Today is an unprecedented day. Because El spends it entirely in the moment.

She wakes up beside Max, just like she’s done the past three mornings. And she smiles, scoots forward, arms encircling Max’s torso as she tucks herself against the redhead’s back. El can hear her breath turn unsteady as she stirs. Her hands shift to cover where El’s rest on her stomach and there’s sleepy warmth in her voice when she speaks. “Hey, koala bear.”

El gets that bloom of light through her chest and she curls in closer.

Max chuckles. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Not morning,” El replies cheekily, because she can see the clock and Max can’t, and the second hand is about five ticks over noon.

Max makes a noncommittal noise, runs her fingers over El’s forearms, prodding her to loosen her grip. El complies so Max can roll over and face her, still wrapped in her embrace, and Max locks her wrists behind El’s neck. “God,” she groans, stretching. “I need to stop going to bed so late.”

They both do, El agrees, but it’s not like they’re trying to stay up. Neither of them have an easy time falling asleep. El normally doesn’t have an easy time staying asleep either, but her nightmares have subsided since she’s been here. She’s not sure if it’s the location or just Max, but she has a good guess.

Max has finally opened her eyes, soft smile on her lips as she stares. “Hi.”

“Hi,” El echoes.

There’s that fuzzy beat before they both lean in, Max using her leverage to pull their lips together. And there’s that spark, ever-present, rushing out to El’s limbs. She draws Max into her, into their safe space, savoring the comfort and the warmth.

After a while, Max breaks their connection. “So,” she asks, low-volume, intent. “What do you want to do today?”

El reaches up to brush the hair away from Max’s temple. “This,” she answers, kissing her again.

She could kiss Max forever. She could stay here forever, enveloped in their mutual affection, protected bubble untouchable to the outside world. She wants to stay here, to hold onto this. She’s desperate to hold onto it.

She didn’t use to have anything worth losing. Now, she has everything— friends, brothers, lovers. Family. And she’s already lost… so much. She can’t lose this.

The truth is, she does feel different, with Max. But it’s not the kind of difference that glares, mocks, or disappoints. It shines, brazen and boundless, from her heart.

“Okay,” Max says, parting brief before she reseals their lips, sinking into the beautiful side of her that only El gets to see.

Special. El feels special.

~<:>~

The basement is silent as the four boys sit, looking at the table where there was once a full cast of characters.

Mike waits for anyone else to speak, but it seems they’re either reluctant or still in shock. He clears his throat. “So—”

“Okay, in my defense,” Dustin starts, jabbing an accusatory finger at Mike. “You throwing your torch away when you have no darkvision—” he points to Lucas “—you rolling three consecutive ones—” then to Will “—and you trying to befriend the monster—” he throws up his hands “—were all very bad ideas!”

“How are the ones my fault?” Lucas asks, indignant.

“Your dice are clearly defective,” Dustin snaps.

“You could have set the bar a little lower.”

“Ah, yes. A clearance level of zero.”

“You’re the DM!”

“And how am I supposed to make ones work, Lucas?!”

They all shift in quiet, begrudging amusement for a few moments. Mike glances at his watch. “Well, at least we made it past the first hour.”

Dustin groans. “I give up. I wasn’t built for this.”

“Pretty sure that’s what we said,” Will teases, earning a light shove.

“Asshole,” Dustin declares, without malice. He sighs, flicking his folder so it tips open onto the table. “Whatever. Did you at least have fun?”

“Yes!” Will replies, at the same time that Lucas and Mike hedge.

“No.”

“Not really, no.”

“Yeah, hardly at all.”

“Barely.”

“Maybe for a minute there in the middle.”

“I’m gonna stick with no.”

“Okay, fuck you guys,” Dustin interrupts. “This was for Will anyway, not you jerks, so I’d call that mission success.”

Mike would riff even more, were it not for the look Will’s giving him. So he bites his tongue, watching Will turn back to Dustin. “I do wish you’d let me befriend the monster, though.”

“It had no languages! It couldn’t understand you!”

Will shrugs.

Dustin narrows his eyes, looking around at them. “You’re all crazy. That’s what this is. It’s not my skills, it’s your stupidity.”

“Sounds about right,” Mike agrees, exchanging a conspiratorial grin with Lucas.

Dustin scoffs. “You know what? You would all be dead by now without me. That’s a fact.”

“Seems like we’re pretty dead with you, too,” Lucas fires back, because what was Dustin expecting? It was right there.

Mike jumps off that before Dustin can protest. “Yeah, I think El might have had more to do with the whole ‘keeping us alive’ thing.”

“Hey, good point,” Lucas concurs, eyes wide with false wonder. “Maybe she should lead a campaign.”

“Okay, that’s just low,” Dustin says, sounding pitiful now. “She doesn’t even know how to play, let alone plan.”

“She could learn,” Will chimes in. “I’ve been letting her read my dungeon master’s guide.”

Dustin gapes. “Seriously?”

None of them are trying to hide their smiles anymore. There must be some part of Dustin that understands they’re just fucking with him, but he plays up his offense anyway.

“Wow. No, I get it. Use every opportunity to bully Dustin and crush his dreams. Just keep it coming, guys. I can take it.”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Dude, shut up. We’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Mike asserts. “I would love to play something El planned.”

He’s not actually joking this time, and the others can clearly tell, because the mood shifts out of extreme teasing mode and into more genuine, casual mode. Mike is slightly apprehensive with the change in atmosphere. He knows he’s right to be when Dustin opens his mouth again.

“Hey, so why did you and El break up?”

Mike immediately flushes, panicking, as Lucas hisses, “Dustin!”

“What? I’m just curious.”

Fucking shit. Will has undoubtedly stiffened beside him, and Mike searches for a way to approach the question without setting anything into motion that he can’t take back. “Um.” He does glance at Will, briefly. “It’s… it’s complicated.”

Dustin nods, musing. “So she dumped you?”

Mike balks. “What? No, she didn’t dump me.”

“I’m just saying, she’s done it before.”

“That was—” Mike shakes his head. “Whatever, no, it wasn’t like that this time.”

Dustin and Lucas are both looking at him now, waiting for an explanation. Mike remembers the deal that he and Will made last night, and he looks to the other boy for permission, or guidance, or something. Will finally reciprocates, and his eyes are scared at first. Anxious, uncertain, lost. Everything that Mike is also feeling.

The sight activates Mike’s protective gene, and he goes to dismiss Dustin’s queries, put the matter to rest. But Will stops him, takes his hand under the table, and gives him the most determined stare Mike’s ever seen, no trace of hesitation. And he nods.

Relief and nervousness collide in Mike’s chest. Unfortunately, this means he feels like he’s going to throw up. And Dustin and Lucas are still staring, and the acceptable time frame to answer is quickly running out, so he’s gotta say something.

“Um,” he starts. “We… we talked. And we both just… realized… that, um. That we were… interested in… other people.”

It’s not an explicit confession, but Lucas and Dustin are now looking between Mike and Will with suspicion, sporting similar expressions to the ones they had two days prior.

“Other people,” Dustin repeats. “As in…?”

“W- um…” Mike looks at Will again, and the action is apparently clear enough, because they follow his gaze.

“No shit,” Dustin utters. “You two?”

It’s still a question. They’re still fishing for confirmation. It’s the last, biggest step, and Mike leaves it to Will, squeezing his hand in support.

Will sends him a tiny, closed-lipped smile, grateful and resigned, before he turns to their friends with a definitive, “Yeah,” his voice barely cracking on the word.

The five seconds of silence that follow are some of the most excruciating Mike’s ever experienced. Lucas and Dustin both have their eyebrows raised, frozen.

And then Dustin breaks into a smile. “Dude, no way!” He smacks Lucas’s arm. “And you said my theory was bullshit.”

Lucas frowns, splaying his hands. “I did not,” he refutes. “I said that we should wait and see and not jump to conclusions.”

Dustin looks smug. “Whatever, I was still right.”

“Just because you said it first doesn’t mean I wasn’t also thinking it.”

Well, Mike thinks. Alright. He pushes down his humiliation and blinks at them drily. “So, you guys. You guys knew, then.”

The directness gives Dustin and Lucas pause, and they stall, glancing at each other. “I mean…”

Will puts everyone out of their misery, sighing, “We weren’t exactly subtle, Mike.”

Which, okay. That’s, like, objectively true. They are shit liars. But Mike will uphold that he was at least trying to be subtle.

“It wasn’t… obvious,” Dustin says, appeasing. “We knew you guys were hiding something. Just didn’t know what it was. For sure.”

Hiding. That’s exactly what they were doing, Mike supposes. Doesn’t make the word any less needling. 

“Yeah,” Lucas agrees. “We didn’t want to push it. At least, I didn’t.”

Dustin looks exasperated. “Well, what if it was something life or death, Lucas? What then?”

“Then they would have told us,” Lucas retorts.

“Not necessarily. If you recall, I’m the only one in this group with any sense.”

Their familiar banter is definitely easing Mike’s anxiety. He checks on Will, and it seems to helping him, too. They’re still gripping each other’s hands, though, for anchorage and reassurance.

“Sure,” Lucas snarks, making a face. “Anyway…” He returns his gaze to Mike and Will. “Thanks. For telling us, and… for trusting us.”

Now the moment has turned sweet, and Mike swallows back his emotions, nodding. “Yeah. Um. Thank you, too. For. You know.” He can’t say it. Lucas understands regardless.

“Of course, man. We’re friends.” Lucas claps Mike on the shoulder. “Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Dustin mirrors him, placing his hand on Will. “Exactly.”

They’re so fucking sincere. Mike wishes he could tell them how much it means. He wants to run and he wants to stay, to push them away and to tell them everything. He’s struggling to decide where to land, and then he looks to his left. And Will is crying.

It’s not intense yet, just a few trails down his cheeks. But it’s enough that they all notice, and start; Mike reaches for him on instinct. “Will—”

“Sorry,” Will says, wiping hastily at his face. “Sorry, I just—” He looks around at all of them, more liquid welling up. And then he buries his face in his hands, curling inward.

Mike’s heart is bleeding. Without a word, he kneels on the floor beside Will’s chair, wraps him in his arms, and holds him there as his eyes start to sting because he knows. He knows how long Will has kept this secret, and how terrified he’s been of letting it out. Mike’s been terrified, too. It’s not the same, but it is, and Mike feels guilty all over again for making them both suffer alone.

After a few moments, Lucas and Dustin join the hug from either side, and then they’re all cradling Will. Mike’s mind flashes back to the quarry, and the radio, and the hospital bed, to a time when the three of them were living every moment feeling his absence like an open wound. That they’ve gotten him back is a gift. That they’ve saved him, twice, is a miracle.

Mike doesn’t care if his affection is stronger. He knows Lucas and Dustin will do anything to protect Will, too. Mike would do it on his own if he had to, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t. They’re in this together, and they have been from the start.

They stay there until Mike feels Will’s hands shift and his shoulders stop shaking. Mike opens his eyes, signaling to Lucas and Dustin, and they all slowly loosen their grip, pulling back to look at Will. They let him sit there, giving him a moment to collect himself, while Mike runs soothing patterns over his arm.

“I’m sorry,” Will repeats, stuffy. “I just… I never thought… I’d have this. This moment. I mean, you guys have always known. We just… didn’t talk about it.” He looks up at Mike first, eyes shining as they move along the line. “I’ve never… been like… any of you. And I’ve… I’ve never understood why you’d accept me… when I’ve never belonged.”

That is like a knife in Mike’s chest. “Will,” he murmurs, reaching one hand out to cup his face, their audience no longer a factor in the intimacy. “That’s not true.”

“It didn’t matter to us,” Lucas assures him. “It doesn’t matter. We accept you.”

“You’ve always belonged,” Dustin adds.

They’re all sufficiently teary now. Will searches every pair of eyes before closing his, leaning into Mike’s palm. The truth— unspoken, now acknowledged— hangs over them, its weight dissipating with every breath.

Mike will admit he didn’t think they’d ever have this moment either. Like Will, he was fully prepared to repress his feelings for the rest of his life. He didn’t think, after all this time, any of them were brave enough to talk about it.

Of course, it was Max who made him brave. Mike really would be in the trenches without her.

They hold each other for another few minutes before they reach a more stable mood. Will rubs at his cheeks to clear away the moisture, prompting the other three to copy the action.

“Wow,” Dustin sniffs. “This is really not how I thought this day was gonna go.”

“Yeah,” Will laughs, rueful. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Lucas and Mike scold him in unison: “Stop apologizing.” Which makes Will laugh again, but it’s brighter this time. Mike’s brain replays the same old mantra: As long as Will’s laughing. As long as he’s happy. As long as he’s okay.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Dustin affirms. “We’ve got you.”

“Yeah, we’ve got you,” Lucas echoes. “Both of you. Idiots.”

Now they’re all laughing. It’s still tender enough that it cuts to Mike’s core, but no one’s in danger of crying anymore, so that’s good.

This is good. The four of them, protecting each other. They’d do it in a heartbeat if it came down to the wire, and they have. But it’s important, Mike thinks, to have this for the everyday. To know that his childhood friends have his back, no matter what.

He wonders, sometimes, if they’d still be this close without all their shared trauma. It’s moments like these where he realizes what a stupid hypothetical that is.

~<:>~

The day spent alone in the house with El is complete bliss.

Max has never done this before. She’s never embraced the domesticity of sleeping in, cuddling, cooking, kissing. Of course, she’s not even sixteen yet, and she’s never had great role models for this kind of stuff, and she’s a lesbian with a limited dating pool, so. It’s not surprising. The novelty of it still strikes her, in the best possible way.

She doesn’t think she’s ever been this happy. Which, again, is a pretty low bar, because Max can’t remember if she’s ever really been happy, period. And if she was, those memories are locked away, too old to access. It’s been years and years of the same empty, boring routine. And anger. So much anger.

She does feel. She knows that. It’s just that the brighter emotions get overshadowed a lot.

And El is like a fucking lighthouse beacon.

Max was drawn to her from minute one, lost and helpless in the waves. She thought she’d wreck on the shores, but here she is. And she’s going to savor it, for as long as it dares to last.

Point being: the day is as close to perfect as Max has ever gotten. It’s so perfect that she nearly forgets anything else exists outside the two of them.

So she’s a little thrown off when the doorbell rings the next morning.

Joyce is out with Karen again, and their visits tend to last longer than a few hours, so Max doubts it’s her. She leaves El in bed, not wanting to disturb her, and trudges down the stairs. She really hopes it’s not a salesperson or some religious missionary. Or a government agent coming to kill her.

The steady decline in desirable possibilities makes the sight of Lucas on her porch a rather pleasant one.

“Oh,” she breathes, setting aside the bat she had behind her back. “It’s you.”

“Yeah,” Lucas says. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Max leans casually against the doorframe. “What’s up?”

Lucas shifts, knitting his brows together. “Can I talk to you?”

Max doesn’t think she’ll ever stop being entertained by these boys and their awkward uncertainty. “Uh, sure,” she says. “Do you wanna come in?”

“Yeah,” Lucas nods.

Max moves aside so he can walk past, closing the door behind him. When she turns back around, he still has his hands in his pockets, staring.

Max spreads her arms. “So…”

“Right.” Lucas hesitates briefly, then heads for the couch.

Max follows, somewhat confused. She feels weird sitting next to him if they’re going to have a conversation. She supposes she could have chosen a different location, but she’s. Not entirely sure what’s happening here.

Lucas doesn’t speak for a long while, and Max doesn’t feel like prompting him. He seems to be gathering his thoughts, so. She tries not to be too impatient.

Finally, he starts. “So. We all played D&D yesterday.”

Max blinks at him. “… Yeah, I know.”

“Yeah.” Lucas rubs a hand over his mouth. “So. Um. So, Mike and Will kinda… told me and Dustin… you know.”

The information is somehow both unsurprising and unexpected. Max raises her eyebrows. “Really? They told you…”

“… that they’re together,” Lucas finishes. “Yeah. Or— I don’t know. They didn’t really specify, but. I got the picture.” He quickly adds, “And Mike told me you knew, so I’m not—”

“It’s fine,” Max confirms. “Yeah, I knew.” She worries her lip. “Is… that what you came here to talk about?”

Lucas takes a beat to answer. “Yeah. I mean. Sort of.” His gaze shifts to scrutinize her, careful and contemplative. “Mike said that he and El broke up because… they were both interested in other people.”

Shit. Max tries her best not to react to that. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Lucas muses. “And I’ve been thinking. About our… talk, on Friday. When I caught you pining.” He searches her eyes. “You weren’t pining after Mike.”

Max swallows. “No.”

They sit silently as the confession sinks in, and Lucas nods, expression muddled. “So… you like El.”

Jesus Christ, this is embarrassing. “Uh.” Max runs a hand through her hair. “Yeah.”

Lucas just keeps watching her with those deductive eyes. “I think she likes you, too.”

Her face has to be on fire by now. “Yeah, I would say that’s a safe bet.”

It only takes a few seconds for the realization to click, and now Lucas has gone from tentative to teasing. “Really?” he says, grin forming. “So, you guys, too?”

“Yes.” Max glares at him. “Stop imagining it.”

“I’m not, I’m not!” Lucas laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m just… that’s cool. I’m happy for you.”

He sounds sincere enough. Max twists her mouth. “Yeah, whatever. Thanks.”

Lucas shakes his head, still smiling, and nudges her knee with his. “You’re welcome.”

Max groans, covering her face. “Stop making it weird.”

“Well, what am I supposed to say? It is kinda weird.”

He’s got her there. Max removes her hands and sighs. “Yeah. You’re right. This whole thing is… a mess.”

“You mean the love square?” Lucas asks. 

Max shoots him her signature withering stare. “Yes, but never call it that again.”

“Alright,” Lucas acquiesces, before continuing down his own train of thought. “I mean, it makes sense when you think about it. Mike and Will… kinda always saw that coming. You and El… maybe a little less predictable, but. Not shocking.”

His confidence is amusing. “Okay, Mr. Know-It-All,” Max smirks. “And where exactly does the assumption that I was into Mike factor in?”

Lucas falters, tries to play it off. “Listen, I did not have key information at the time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Max grins. “You’re an idiot.”

She doesn’t have to wait for Lucas to concede, because she knows he will. As it was after their first conversation, she’s still incredibly fucking glad that she has him. That they have this. That she didn’t ruin their friendship permanently.

Lucas will always be special to her. As her first (and hopefully last) boyfriend, as the one who brought her into their cursed but wonderful little group. And as the boy who accepted that she didn’t love him back. The boy who wanted to be close to her anyway.

Rare as they are to find, Max somehow ended up with decent straight friends. In Hawkins, Indiana of all places.

Maybe there is something about this town, she thinks. Maybe it’s not all bad.

~<:>~

The apparent lack of adult supervision at Max’s, given that the Joyce-Karen thing is still going strong, makes it the ideal location for the six of them to have a sleepover.

Will’s not sure it’s the best idea at first, but Mike, Lucas, and Dustin manage to convince him otherwise. (Mostly Mike. Obviously. With his fucking doe eyes.)

At least there’s nothing to hide anymore, and that makes everything a bit easier. It’s certainly fun to see Dustin’s expression when Max and El reveal their secret.

He stares at their joined hands, and then at their faces, mouth hanging open. “Are you serious right now?” he asks, in awe.

Max laughs, a little tense. “I mean, there’s… really no point in pranking you.” She pauses, lifting one shoulder. “Well, except it would be funny.”

Dustin looks confused, like he’s caught between suspicion and shock. “Wait, are you—”

“No, Dustin,” Max says, firm. “We’re not actually pranking you. This is… actually a thing.”

Will watches the gears turn, and settle, and then Dustin is slapping a hand to his forehead. “Oh my God. Everything makes so much sense now.” He points, swiveling to catch the four culprits in his line of sight. “That’s why you guys have all been so awkward.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees Lucas massaging his temples.

“Yes, thank you for pointing that out,” Max responds sarcastically.

Dustin raises his hands. “Hey, I just tell it like it is. It’s not my fault you guys didn’t know how to act.”

That’s entirely fair, Will thinks. They have not been the most graceful about this whole process. But who could expect them to be? They’re teenagers juggling interpersonal and romantic relationships.

Everyone else seems to agree, because no one jumps to contradict the point.

Dustin looks around appraisingly, hands on his hips. “Wow. This friend group turned out a lot gayer than anticipated.”

Fucking hell. Now Will’s the one shielding his face with one hand, desperate to get away from the embarrassment that comes with this acknowledgement. If the ground wanted to open up and swallow him, that would be great.

“Well,” Mike says, sudden in the silence. “I mean, I’m not. Like, gay gay.”

That gets everyone’s attention.

“You’re not?” Dustin asks, nose wrinkling.

“Well— no,” Mike affirms. “Obviously not. I dated El.”

“Yeah, but Max dated Lucas,” Dustin points out. He pauses. “Wait, are you saying none of you are really gay?”

“I am,” Max interjects, emphasizing the words. “Just, for the record. Completely, one hundred percent, not into guys.”

Everyone’s gaze is on her now, including Will’s. And goddamnit, against his more vigilant instincts, the admission gives Will some courage.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’m, um. Same. But like. The opposite.” Fuck it. He takes a deep breath. “Definitely gay.”

It feels absolutely terrifying to say that, despite the fact that everyone in the room already knows. He catches Mike’s supportive gaze, which makes him feel a bit better. And then he looks to El, who sends him a soft smile, and beside her, Max is radiating empathy. Of course, Max is the only one who really gets exactly how Will feels.

He files that away as an untapped resource, tuning in when Mike speaks again. “Yeah, so. Some of us are. But, El and I…” He stops, glancing over to her with apprehension. “Well, I guess I can only speak for myself. But I, um. I guess I… like both?”

Dustin’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “Both?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Mike says. “You know, both. Guys and girls.”

“Holy shit.” Dustin looks as though his worldview has shifted. “I didn’t know you could like both.”

The rest of them exchange confused glances, apparently more in the know than Dustin. “I think it’s… pretty common, actually,” Max says, looking around for confirmation.

“Wait, so if you like both,” Dustin continues, clearly hung up. “That means you could have dated. Like, any of us.”

Mike looks shocked for a moment before he frowns. “What? No, Dustin, that’s not how it works.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you don’t just have a crush on every girl who exists, do you?”

Dustin ponders this. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Come on,” Lucas teases. “That’s just pathetic.”

“Shut up,” Dustin dismisses, still focused on Mike. “Wait. But do you find all of us attractive, then?”

Will raises his eyebrows. Oh, shit.

“Wha— I—” Mike stammers, turning red. “Dustin, you can’t just ask me that!”

“So you do?” Dustin grins.

Will watches Mike flounder for a few moments before Max saves him. “Hey, lay off,” she says, but there’s amusement laced in her voice. “We don’t wanna break him.”

“Too late,” Lucas comments.

Mike is adorably flushed at this point, and he crosses his arms, avoiding eye contact with any of them. Will feels a little bad that he finds it so cute. He certainly wouldn’t enjoy being grilled like that in front of everyone.

His instinct is to comfort Mike, and maybe if they were alone, he would— take his hand, touch his shoulder, rub his back.

But that kind of public intimacy is still… hard, for Will. Despite how much he trusts his friends… that familiar, looming presence in the back of his mind continues to berate him.

“Damn, though,” Dustin says, breaking Will from his thoughts. “That’s two, like, not-straight couples, in a group of six.” He turns to Lucas. “Dude, you know what this means.”

Lucas stares at him blankly. “… What?”

“We have to date now.”

Will has to stifle his laugh, feeling the collective skepticism in the room as Lucas scoffs. “Alright.”

But Dustin doesn’t back down. “I’m serious, Lucas.”

“You’re really not.”

Dustin moves in a bit closer. “Everyone else is doing it.”

Lucas starts backing away. “You have a girlfriend.”

“Suzie-poo will understand.”

“Dustin.”

“We have to balance the party.”

“If you touch me, I will punch you so hard.”

“You know you love me,” Dustin sing-songs, wiggling his fingers.

Lucas smacks his hands away. “I hate you.”

Dustin unleashes a dramatic, shocked gasp, clutching at his chest. Will has no idea what’s happening, but it is admittedly hilarious, and he’s glad the teasing has shifted off of Mike.

In the brief lapse, Max takes up the bit. “Wow, Lucas,” she says with fake disapproval. “Way to make your boyfriend cry.”

Dustin turns to her, pouting in exaggerated disbelief. “Was he like this when you guys were dating?”

“All the time,” Max confirms, grinning.

Lucas gestures wildly between himself and Dustin. “We’re not dating!”

Will can’t help joining in, too. “Look at him,” he implores. “You’re breaking his heart.”

He sees the second Lucas gives up and turns away. “Okay, I hate all of you, actually.”

“Hey, lighten up,” Dustin smiles, persona dropped. “You should know I’d never leave Suzie for you.”

Lucas starts to spin on his heel. “You know what, Henderson—”

But Dustin doesn’t give him the chance, wrangling him into a hug that he only half-tries to shrug off. And then Max moves to entrap Lucas, too, and then they’re all huddled close, laughing and shoving each other.

There’s no dark force inhibiting their interaction, no pressing doom to suck them down. They’re just… here, together. And Will feels so incredibly light, to the extent that he wants to cry.

He doesn’t, though. He just looks around at his friends. At Mike. And he lets himself breathe.

~<:>~

Chapter Text

Max is inexplicably fucking exhausted when she finally wakes.

Actually, it’s not so unexplainable. There are a number of factors that have contributed to her weariness: she had everyone over last night, they stayed up well into the morning, she slept on the couch.

And she’s had such good dreams for so many consecutive days that she almost forgot how much nightmares drain her.

It wasn’t a big one, this time. She’s not bursting into consciousness, panting in a cold sweat. But she feels the strike of panic in her chest as her eyes snap open. And as soon as the living room fades into view, all her energy leaves her.

The memory of the dream is already slipping away. Max is somewhat glad she can’t recall whatever it was that the darkness in her brain played up to unsettle her. She feels a warm weight on top of her, and her anxiety eases significantly when she realizes that it’s El.

Max breathes, as deep as she can, grounding herself with the image of her friends. Will is over on the other couch, one arm dangling down toward the floor where Mike is. Lucas and Dustin are lying comfortably in the space between the two couches. And El is with Max, of course, wrapped around her like always.

They’re all still fast asleep. Max doesn’t think she’ll be able to fall back under, but she can’t exactly move. So she lays there, thinking, absently stroking El’s hair.

It’s not long before El stirs. Max can see the clock on the wall this time, and she’s only been watching it for about ten minutes. Unsurprisingly, it’s almost noon again. Max has long since lost hope of ever being an early riser.

El shifts in her arms, lifts her head, and there’s a troubling tint to her expression. “Are you okay?”

She sounds earnest, and Max’s brows twitch. “Yeah?”

The answer fails to dissuade El. She reaches for Max’s temple, grazing her fingers there, but she doesn’t say anything. Max watches her frown deepen.

Nothing more comes of it, for the moment. El removes her hand and rolls back, leaving room for Max to sit up. Which she does, slowly, peering at El with concern.

A groan from the floor prevents Max from poking any further. “God, why does everything hurt?” She doesn’t have to look to recognize the voice as Dustin’s.

“Because you’re on my leg,” comes Lucas’s more mumbled reply.

“Why are people talking?” Mike murmurs, covering his face with the blanket.

The three of them are acting like they’re hungover or something, which is both hilarious and impossible; Max would definitely remember if there was any drinking. That and she knows for a fact that all of the alcohol in the house is locked away.

She shakes her head as she stands. “Rise and shine, idiots,” she says, stepping over them and heading for the kitchen.

The cabinets are almost bare, and Max doesn’t feel like making anything from scratch. She gets the milk and Eggos out from the fridge, and then reaches under the island to acquire what’s left of the cereal.

When she comes back up, Will and El are standing there like the twins from The Shining and Max nearly has a fucking heart attack.

“Sorry,” Will says, noticing her start. “We just…”

“… want to help,” El finishes.

Max recovers, setting the cereal box on the counter with the rest of the items. “Well, this is what we have. Go wild.”

The two of them glance at each other, and then back at Max. They really have started acting like siblings.

El moves for the Eggos first, while Will starts in on the cereal. Max resigns herself to pulling plates and bowls and silverware from the dishwasher for them. Once she’s finished doing that, she ducks into the fridge again and grabs their last bag of bread, wielding it in one hand as she walks back out to where the three boys are sleeping.

“Hey,” she says, and chucks the bread at Mike.

It hits him in the face, of course, because that’s where she aimed it. “Ow!”

“Get up.”

“What the hell?” Mike struggles to sit up, now holding the bag.

Not very firmly, though, as Dustin rolls over and snatches it from him. “Food, yes.”

Max kicks the lump that is Lucas to rouse him, too, and then she leaves them there.

Back in the kitchen, Will and El have created a feast from what Max gave them. That is, they’ve prepared six plates of Eggos and six bowls of cereal. When Max re-enters, Will is pouring juice into whatever dusty glasses he found, and El is laying out the syrup and various condiments.

They’re so cute that it cures some of Max’s grumpiness. And then they both look up at her at the same time, ridiculously in sync as they are this morning.

Max bites back her amusement at their expectant eyes. “Nice work,” she comments.

She hears the boys trekking in behind her. “Praise,” Dustin says, tossing the bag of bread back to Mike as he passes in favor of digging into the waffles. Mike proceeds to shove the bread into Max’s hands with a glare, and she only gets to hold it for a few seconds before Lucas reaches over her shoulder and takes it to make toast.

Their antics don’t bother Max. Instead, she claims the victory of successfully getting everyone to consume breakfast together.

And it is nice, for a while. They eat in relative peace, shuffling conversation around mouthfuls of food. They almost get through the whole meal before the front door opens.

They all hear it and turn toward the noise. Max frowns, puts her plate down, and goes to investigate, aware of all the eyes on her. It’s her house, though. She’s the one who should be out front, and she’ll be the one defending it, if it comes to that.

When she turns the corner, she’s surprised to find her mother in the foyer, given that her parents weren’t supposed to be back for another day. It’s not unlike them to change plans without telling her. But it is unusual for her mother to look this disheveled.

“Mom?”

It gets worse when her mother raises her head and Max can see the mascara running down her cheeks. “Oh. Max,” she says, wiping at her face. “I didn’t realize you would be home.”

“Yeah, I’m still on break,” Max reminds her, distractedly.

Her mother’s gaze shifts behind her head. “And you have company.”

Max looks over her shoulder to see Mike and El hovering. Lucas, Dustin, and Will stand a bit further back, all of them apprehensive. “Uh— yeah,” she says again, turning back to her mother. “Mom, what—”

“It’s fine,” her mother says, adjusting her coat. “That’s fine. I’ll just leave you to it—”

“Mom.” Max steps closer, anxiety building in her chest. “What’s going on? Where’s…?”

The longer her mother remains quiet, the smaller Max feels. Her brain is racing to produce reasonable explanations, but she keeps coming up empty. She’s never seen her mom like this, so utterly scrambled. It can only be something awful.

“Why don’t we talk upstairs?” her mother suggests, finally, worn eyes lined with defeat, and Max knows, instantly, what’s happened.

She watches her mother cross to the staircase and start to ascend without waiting for her. Max can’t bring herself to follow at first. Her body is stuck in place, her mind whirring.

But she forces herself to move, casting one final look back at her friends, all crowded together in her hallway, staring at her with varying levels of confusion and concern.

She doesn’t know what to tell them.

So she leaves.

~<:>~

They all witness the hollow disquiet as Max turns away and pursues her mother, still reeling from the encounter.

No one says anything until she vanishes completely. “What was that?” Dustin questions, keeping his voice down for once.

“I don’t know,” Mike replies, gaze fixed on the stairs.

There’s another silent stretch as they continue processing. Lucas is the next one to speak. “What should we do?”

Will’s not sure who these questions are for, but they’re all sort of instinctually looking to Mike for direction. And it’s Mike who answers, cautiously stoic. “We should go.”

“Are you sure?” Lucas asks, and Will has to concur. Even though he’s not super close with Max, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to leave her with whatever’s going on.

But Mike seems certain. “Yeah,” he says. “We should go.” He finally tears his eyes away from where Max last was and looks at them. “Come on, get your stuff.”

Hesitantly, Will obeys, guiding Lucas and Dustin to join him, and the four boys gather what little they brought. All the while, El remains at the edge of the landing, wringing her hands.

Before they depart, Mike goes over and brushes El’s arm, asking softly, “You got her?”

El nods, holding his gaze. Will can tell she’s stressed, but she’s trying not to be. He does feel a bit better knowing that El’s sticking around, considering how close she is with Max, and how much she cares for her.

“Call us,” Mike says. “If you need to.”

El just nods again, and Will catches her eye, briefly, as Mike closes the door behind them.

And then they’re standing on the porch, backs to the house, reservation still clouding them.

Mike moves forward first, impenetrable aura indicative of his worry. Lucas and Dustin and Will hang back, exchanging uncertain glances. But they do all eventually trail after him.

~<:>~

Max and her mother are upstairs for a long time.

El can hear their voices, sporadically, but she can’t make out what’s being said. Judging from the general tone, they’re upset. El just doesn’t know what about.

She passes the time by cleaning up the kitchen as best she can. She decides not to use her powers, for fear of breaking something, and focusing on the work ends up being a good distraction.

When she finishes, she looks around for anything else that needs doing, restless energy coursing through her. Fortunately, the front door opens again, and the house is spared from her well-intentioned chaos.

It’s Joyce who walks in this time, initially oblivious to the situation. “Hey, there’s a car out front,” she says, pointing behind her as she approaches El. “Is that someone’s…?”

El has trouble articulating, which Joyce notices right away. She drops her bag and moves closer, placing a hand on El’s arm as she searches her eyes. The physical contact helps, and El concentrates on answering the question. “Max,” she manages. “Her mom…”

She doesn’t get the chance to finish, because Max’s mom appears at that very moment, descending the steps. She halts when she sees Joyce. “Hello?”

Joyce keeps a gentle hold of El as she addresses the other woman. “Hi! Sorry, I’m Joyce. I’m El’s mom. Hope you don’t mind that we’ve been staying here. Keeping Max company.”

“Right,” Max’s mother replies, a bit standoffish. “Yes, that’s fine. I’m sorry, I just have to get my things and then I’ll be out of your way.”

“Oh, n-no trouble, uh…” Joyce trails off as Max’s mom exits. “It’s your house…?” she mutters, turning back to El with confusion. “Is everything alright?”

El shakes her head. “I don’t think so.” There’s a muffled noise above their heads, prompting them both to glance at the ceiling, momentarily. When Joyce meets her eyes again, El tries to explain. “Max,” she repeats. “She’s…” El doesn’t know what she is, but she’s up there alone, and El’s itching to comfort her.

Joyce nods. “Okay, sweetie. You go to her. I’ll see what I can do down here.” She squeezes El’s arm, reassuring, as they separate.

Given how precarious the situation seems, El works to control her impulses, taking the steps one at a time rather than flying up them. No matter how much she wants to run to Max, she knows she has to be careful, lest she stumble and go too far.

When she gets upstairs, El checks Max’s room first, confused when she finds it empty. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that the door to the adjacent room, which is normally closed, now stands ajar.

Tentatively, she advances toward it, pushes on the wood, and the door creaks open wider to reveal the redhead.

Max is sitting on the bed, immobile, hands gripping the edge of the mattress. Her face is blank as she stares into the empty space in front of her. The lack of emotion is almost worse than what El was expecting, because now she has no idea how to read Max’s mood.

She slips into the room anyway, only a few paces away when Max finally looks up. Her expression changes, then, but the lightness there is only a fraction of what she normally possesses. “Hey.”

“Hi,” El replies, sitting down next to her. She leaves some distance between them, not sure if she should touch her or take her hand. “Are you okay?”

Just like when El asked earlier, Max’s reaction is neutral. “Yeah,” she lies, again.

El’s heart clenches.

Max continues, stilted. “Yeah, it’s. It’s not a big deal, um.” She sets her jaw, tiny crack of pain in her eyes. “Just. My step-dad… Billy’s dad.” She has to pause there to take an unsteady breath. “He, uh. He left. My mom. He… he left her.” Her voice drops a few decibels. “Us. He left us.”

Left. El’s heard the term before. Left, like Will’s dad. Like Dustin’s dad. Like so many fathers have. El feels the sympathy twisting in her sternum, and she can’t decide whether to be angry or sad. She settles for devastated, thoughts running rampant while she waits for Max to finish.

“It’s fine,” Max says. “We’ll be fine. We managed without him before.” She releases a quick, bitter laugh. “And he was a fucking asshole, so. Good fucking riddance.”

Despite how hard Max is trying, El’s not convinced by her cavalier words. “I’m sorry,” she says, because it’s all she has.

“Don’t be,” Max tells her, firm. “It’s better this way.”

Maybe it is. El still sees Max breaking. “Are you sure?” she asks.

“Absolutely.” Max nods, a little too vigorously. “Fuck him. Fucking Neil Hargrove. He should have fucked off a long time ago.”

She’s spiraling, El knows, but she’s refusing to let it show. Everything is buried, too deep for El to reach. She tries all the same. “What can I do?”

There’s a heavy silence while Max considers the question, likely debating whether to answer with what’s true or what’s easiest. “Nothing,” she decides, easy. “Nothing, just. Don’t worry about it.”

El fights the ugly feelings clawing their way up her throat, lips parted in desperation, but her words are drowned out by the voices that resurface from downstairs.

They both turn their gazes to the floor. The interruption is a perfect excuse for Max to flee, and El expects her to, but their eyes catch before she can, long enough for El to spot the sorrow hiding there.

Max rips her gaze away, closes off completely. “I have to help my mom,” she says, standing.

El watches her leave, again, heart stinging.

The rest of the day passes quietly. Max and her mom stay holed up in the downstairs bedroom, Joyce and El left outside to worry. They emerge around dinner time, only for Max’s mom to take one look at the empty kitchen and turn on her heel. They all gaze after her, and El expects Max to follow, but the redhead remains, scrounging up what she can find to eat.

Joyce and El help her, where she lets them. And then, when the so-called ‘meal’ is prepared, Max picks up two of the plates and retreats.

El hates this helplessness that’s consuming her. She wishes she could do something to fix their circumstances, or even just to make Max feel better. She’s gotten her powers back. What good are they if she can’t use them to protect the people she loves?

Eventually, Max rejoins them in the kitchen, and starts rinsing the dirty dishes without a word. Joyce tries to engage with her, to no avail. Max keeps her back to them, and she doesn’t turn until after Joyce bids them both goodnight, and it’s finally just her and El again.

El takes note of her guarded eyes, attempting— unsuccessfully— to glean anything from them. Max isn’t looking at her, clouded gaze cast out toward the floor. And then she bows her head, pushes off from the counter, and starts moving toward El, hair hanging down to shroud her face.

El stays where she is, seated at the island. Max doesn’t say anything upon reaching her. She just trails her fingers over El’s hand, studying it, while El studies her.

“Max,” she murmurs.

To El’s surprise, Max flicks her eyes up immediately, locking them in an intense stare. She’s still unreadable. El curves her knuckles, grips Max’s hand properly, breath caught in her chest.

But Max remains impassive. She adjusts her hold on El’s hand, tugging her gently from the stool, and guides them up to bed.

As they settle in, Max curled on her side and facing the wall, El resolves to stay awake. There’s nothing else she can do. At least, not now. Not yet. Max isn’t ready to let her in.

But she can stay awake. She can do that. She can watch over Max as she sleeps, pull her from any more nightmares. She can take care of her that way.

Her efforts, valiant as they are, fail. She wakes up in the dark, a cold space beside her where Max should be.

~<:>~

For the second time in as many days, Mike is roused from sleep by radio static.

This time it’s El, repeating his name with increasing urgency. This time, Lucas and Dustin and Will are all here with him, waiting for this very call, and the four of them stir together.

“Mike!”

He flails, surging forward to grab the walkie off the table. “I’m here, El. What’s wrong?”

“Max,” El says, bringing them all to attention. “She’s gone.”

Mike meets Lucas’s eyes, holding the button down. “What do you mean gone?”

“I searched the house. She’s not here.”

“Shit,” Dustin mutters, raising his hands to his hair. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Mike’s mind flashes through all the horrible possibilities, dread pooling in his gut. “When did she leave?” he asks El.

“I don’t know,” is her distressed reply.

“Okay,” Mike says, working to calm her even as he panics. “It’s okay. We’re gonna come get you, and then we’re gonna find her together. Okay?”

On the other end, El sounds shaky. “Okay.”

“Stay right there,” Mike tells her. “Promise me.”

He senses her trepidation in the static pause, but she says it. “I promise.”

“We’re coming,” Mike repeats, and ends the transmission, standing from the couch to join Will, Lucas, and Dustin in conference.

Lucas wastes no time. “Where would she go?”

“I don’t know,” Mike starts, but Lucas grabs his shoulders roughly.

“Mike,” he pleads. “Think. Where would she go?”

It’s strange to have Lucas deferring to him like this. And Mike still can’t answer, paralyzed by the idea that she could be anywhere. She could have just left her house and kept walking. Or running. She could have let her mind go blank, which means there’s no point in trying to imagine where she would go, because there’s no guarantee that any conscious thought went into it—

Mike stops there, breath hitching as he realizes. “I know where she is.”

Lucas loosens his grip. “You do?” he asks, searching and desperate. “You know?”

“Yes,” Mike affirms. “Let’s go.”

He leads the charge up the stairs, the other three hot on his heels.

They make it to the Mayfield residence in record time. To Mike’s relief, El did wait for them. She’s standing on the porch, dressed and ready when they pull up. Mike tells her they have a location and she climbs onto the back of his bike without hesitation, clinging to him as they pedal away.

It only takes them another few minutes to reach the empty Byers house.

None of them bother flipping their kickstands down, the bikes crashing, discarded, to the ground. The front door is hanging open, a good enough sign that she’s there, but Mike still runs in shouting her name. “Max!”

The others spread out while Mike heads to the back of the house, hoping to God that he was right about this.

Sure enough, Will’s door is closed. Mike reaches for the handle. Only to hesitate.

“Did you find her?” Lucas asks, coming up behind him.

“Yeah,” Mike says. “Yeah, I think so.”

He sees the others flock down the hallway toward them, El at the front of the pack. Her eyes are shining in the darkness, and Mike feels like an asshole, but he has to say it.

“Just—” He keeps his body in front of the door. “I don’t think we should all go in at once.”

It takes a beat, and then understanding washes over El’s face, a slight delay before it spreads to Lucas’s as well. El gives Mike a nod as she moves up to stand beside Lucas, who looks conflicted. But he relents. “Okay.”

Mike scans all their faces one more time, holding El’s gaze a bit longer, before he turns and opens the door.

It’s not quite as dark as the hallway, moonlight streaming in through the windows to illuminate the room. It’s still hard to perceive the fuzzy shape in the corner. Mike approaches, slowly. The closer he gets, the more he sees her. Hunched over, hugging her knees, hair splayed out across her bare arms.

“Max?” he tries.

He’s not really expecting a response, and he doesn’t get one. She’s motionless, rooted in place. Mike has to cross the room and sink down beside her, letting his knees hit the floor.

“Max?”

It’s like she’s not even there. Mike has never seen her like this. But he knows how he gets, and how Max deals with his freak-outs. He knows what works for him. It may not work for her, but that’s all he has to go on.

He reaches out, gentle as he can, and touches her. “Max?”

It does the trick. Max whips her head up, breaking from her position to search her surroundings, until her gaze finally lands on him. “Mike?”

“Hey,” he says, relief coursing through him as he looks at her.

He can’t make out her face, totally, but he does sense her unease. “What are you doing here?”

Mike notes the tremor in her voice and treads carefully. “El called me. She couldn’t find you.”

His vision adjusts to the dim lighting, settling in on Max’s ruined expression. “But you found me,” she says, and the way she says it sets Mike’s eyes prickling.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

They sit with that for a while, Max making an admirable attempt to steady her breathing as she stares out at the floor. Mike doesn’t say or do anything. He just watches, and waits.

When Max speaks again, she sounds more like herself. Clearer, less disoriented. “Did you bring everyone here?”

Mike can’t tell from her tone what response she’s seeking. “If by ‘everyone’ you mean El, Lucas, Dustin, and Will,” he quips. “Then yeah.”

Max doesn’t laugh. She frowns at the space around them. “Where are they?”

“They’re outside,” Mike tells her. “They’re waiting for me to give the all-clear.”

“Oh.” Max looks back down at her feet. “They might be waiting a while.”

Her honesty is mildly unsettling, and Mike tries not to let it show. “That’s okay,” he says. “There’s no rush.”

Max’s nod quickly morphs into a head shake as she wipes the tear tracks from her face. Mike knows how resistant she is to appearing vulnerable, and he can see her trying to tuck her emotions away before anyone else can witness them.

This is the Max he’s used to— stoic and armored, always shutting herself down. He wishes he could tell her she doesn’t have to. But he doesn’t know how. Because he’s exactly the same way.

Warily, he peers over his shoulder, and spots Lucas and El hovering by the crack in the doorway, as expected. Mike can’t keep them out forever. But he doesn’t want to overwhelm Max either. A half-baked proposition pops into his head.

“Hey,” he starts, cautious. “Would it… would it be okay if… we let, just, one other person come in?”

Max looks at him over her knuckles, grazing down her cheek, indifferent. “Why?”

Mike goes for the truth. “Because they’re worried about you.”

This seems to register, at least somewhat. Max finishes the swiping motion and drops her hand, tips her head back against the wall. “Do I get to pick?”

“Who comes in?” Mike clarifies, and she nods. “Uh, sure.”

He’s expecting three names before the one she says. “Will.”

Mike raises his eyebrows. “Will?”

Max gives another nod.

“Okay.” Mike glances over his shoulder again, then back to her, briefly, before he stands and makes his way over to the door.

He opens it slightly, holding out his hand. “Will,” he says.

Everyone seems just as startled as Mike was, including Will, who steps forward uncertainly. “Me?”

“Yeah,” Mike confirms. “Come on.”

After a moment exchanging confused looks with the others, Will takes Mike’s hand, and Mike pulls him into his old bedroom, almost-shutting the door behind them.

They walk back over to Max, who appears significantly calmer than she did when Mike first entered. He kneels down where he was before and Will takes the other side, their hands still entwined.

“Hey,” Will says, focused on Max. “You okay?”

“Hey,” Max echoes. “Not really.”

Will looks sympathetic, if a little lost. “I’m sorry.”

Max glances at their hands and scoffs. “You two are so cute.” She watches them separate and squirm self-consciously, and then she locks onto Will. “Did Mike tell you why we’re here?”

Oh, Mike thinks. She’s teasing now. She’s ignoring her shit in favor of theirs.

And it’s working, unfortunately, as Mike’s already fighting his embarrassment under Will’s curious gaze. “Uh, no.”

“Damn,” Max says. “That means I can’t make fun of him for it.”

Will turns to Mike, quirks a brow, and Mike sighs, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck. “Yeah, I might’ve… turned this into a kind of… hideout. Sanctuary. Whatever.”

“He kept coming here to pine over you,” Max elaborates, and Mike is definitely actually red now, even if they can’t see it.

“Did he?” Will asks, rhetorical, moonlight dancing in his eyes as he looks at Mike.

“Oh, yeah,” Max answers anyway. “Wore through the floors. Convinced me to do it, too.” She pauses there, flicking her gaze over to Mike. “Kinda knew you’d find me if I came here,” she admits.

It’s more than she’s ever offered him, and Mike accepts the confession with no small amount of sentiment, consoled by the knowledge that she did want to be found. That she wanted Mike to find her.

They’re breaking through to something, now. As much as Mike has enjoyed the familiarity of her teasing, he was growing worried about her deflecting. But she seems to be gearing up, preparing to actually expose her emotions, and Mike, while apprehensive, is at least glad that she’s trusting them.

He tries to convey this with his face, maintaining eye contact with Max until she slides her stare back over beside him.

“Will,” she says. “Can I ask you something, personal?”

Will blinks at her. “Yeah. Sure.”

Max studies him a moment longer, then lets her gaze drift up to the ceiling. “Your dad…” she starts, and Mike tenses. “He left, didn’t he?”

Will doesn’t seem nearly as on-edge as Mike is, but he still shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah,” he tells her. “I mean… my mom also, kinda… kicked him out.”

That prompts Max to look at him again, intent and tactless. “Why?”

Mike can’t stop himself from interjecting. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s okay,” Will assures him, and he turns back to Max with tentative openness. “Um. She just finally… saw him.” Will pauses, bracing. “Hit me.”

The reminder of Lonnie’s abuse unlocks that old, deep, all-consuming rage, and Mike steels himself against it, curling his fists where they rest on his thighs.

Max has a similar reaction, jaw clenched and eyes shining. “Fuckwad,” she declares, almost spitting it. Mike has to concur, sharing her murderous look, which slowly morphs into something more earnest. “Is it better now?” she asks Will. “Now that he’s gone? Now that he can’t hurt you anymore?”

Will takes a while to answer. “I guess,” he says. “But it—” His voice cuts off, throat bobbing. “It’s never really… stopped hurting. Even though he’s… gone. He’s not really gone.”

As always, Will’s pain takes up space in Mike’s chest. He feels the tears building behind his eyes, sorrow and anger colliding, and when he glances left, Max is crying, too.

Really crying. She’s letting actual tears fall, without moving to wipe them away.

Mike doesn’t have time to process the shock of that, because Max immediately one-ups herself, moving forward and pulling Will into a hug.

Will is understandably startled for a moment. But then he wraps his arms around her, reciprocating the contact. Max is clinging to him with a raw desperation that Mike’s never seen in her before.

“Fuck that,” she whispers. “Fuck that, why can’t he just be gone?”

Will shifts his hands on her back, holding her tighter. “I don’t know.”

“He shouldn’t have hurt you,” Max says. “Someone should have stopped him.”

“My mom did,” Will reminds her.

Max pulls back abruptly, brow furrowed in an accusatory glare. “Yeah, after how long? How many times did he have to hit you before she realized it?” Her tone is decidedly more aggressive than it was a few seconds ago, eyes angry and red. “What, am I supposed to believe she didn’t know? That she didn’t see it? Or did she just look the other way until she couldn’t?”

“Woah, Max,” Mike starts, protective urge flaring, and he’s about to shut her down, put her in her place, because she might be hurting, but that’s no excuse to jump down Will’s throat.

Will stops him, a gentle hand on his knee. Mike meets his eyes and finds that familiar streak of empathy and understanding. It must be keeping Will from taking any of this personally.

When he turns back to Max, Will seems far more composed. “She did the right thing,” he states. “It doesn’t matter when she did it.”

Mike watches Max’s anger start to dissolve, turning watery. “And what if—” She blinks rapidly, lifting her shoulders. “What if she hadn’t? What if she— she never did the right thing? What if she didn’t get the chance, and— and you died?”

Mike’s still not following these hypotheticals, but it doesn’t matter, because Will clearly is. He’s looking at Max with such unbridled compassion. “Then I would blame my dad,” he says, slow and deliberate. “And only my dad. And I would consider that maybe he was threatening her, too. Maybe she couldn’t risk it.”

There are more tears slipping out from Max’s lashes. “But you’re her family,” she says, voice trembling. “She’s supposed to protect you.”

Will regards her, soft. “Max…”

She closes her eyes. “I didn’t protect him,” she whispers, and that’s when Mike finally gets it.

The conversation plays in reverse as he catches up, understanding crushing him, and Will’s sympathy suddenly makes a lot more sense. Will, who’s still trying to comfort her. “It wasn’t your—”

“No, don’t—” Max holds up a finger, shaking. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t my fault.”

Memories of Starcourt replay in Mike’s head, flashes of Max screaming Billy’s name.

Will stands his ground. “I will,” he says. “Because it wasn’t.”

Mike recalls, in the silence, Max’s frantic pleading over her brother’s body. He remembers how lost he felt, watching her sob in El’s arms, unable to reconcile her agony with the unbreakable person he knew.

She shakes her head now. “I was such a coward.”

“You were a kid,” Will asserts. “You’re still a kid. It wasn’t your responsibility.”

“Yes, it was!” Max argues, adamant. “I should have done something! I knew what a piece of shit he was and I didn’t stop him— God, what did I have to lose? He’s not even my father!”

More pieces fall into place, and Mike’s not sure anymore, if Max is blaming herself for Billy’s death or his abuse. Not that it would be out of character for her to claim responsibility for both.

“You can’t think like that,” Will tells her. “You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

Max throws up her hands with a choked sob. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s what I deserve.”

“Max.” Will’s voice has gone impossibly low, commanding both Max and Mike’s attention in its ferocity, and Will waits for Max to meet his eyes before he continues. “It. Was. Not. Your. Fault.”

The punctuated words, finally, make an impact. At least, Max quiets, stops trying to protest. She just stares at Will, more tears welling up as she shakes her head again, burying her face in her hands.

She doesn’t believe it, Mike knows. She won’t for a while. If she ever does.

He swallows thickly and turns to Will, whose broken expression is fixed on Max. And then Will leans forward and envelopes her the same way she did him.

Mike looks on for a moment before he joins them, their position reminiscent of another three-way hug that Mike remembers cherishing, though this one is far more tinged with sorrow.

Mike can’t fix this. He can’t erase what’s been done to them. He’s well aware of that. So he pushes down the urge, seals Max and Will in his embrace, and he pretends that it’s enough.

~<:>~

Chapter Text

It takes a while for Max to regain her composure.

There isn’t much Will can do besides hold her while she cries out her heartache and regret. He suspects this won’t be the last time she has to do that. God knows Will’s still haunted by his past almost every night.

He feels Mike’s hand on his shoulder, a reminder of how much Will still hasn’t told him. Tonight is probably the most Mike’s ever heard about his trauma. And that’s not even touching the upside down, or the mind flayer…

And Will is leaving in three days, and then he won’t see Mike for a while, and they’ve just started something that’s barely off the ground. And now any slim chance they had of lightness or normalcy has vanished.

But this is not the time to be focusing on that shit, so Will pushes it all away in favor of helping Max.

She does stop shaking, eventually, and she lets go of Will’s arm, prompting him and Mike to pull back. The moonlight on her face crisscrosses with the darkness in the room, shattered pattern matching her emotional state. But she’s not crying anymore. Instead, she’s forced down a hard shell of neutrality to cover everything up, smooth it over.

“Thank you guys,” she says as she wipes her cheeks, removing the last bits of evidence to her pain. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Will frowns. “It’s okay, Max.”

She ignores that, looking to Mike with her blank yet intense stare. She tilts her chin toward the door. “You can let them in now.”

Mike holds her gaze momentarily, checking, before he turns to follow the instructions. Will’s eyes trail after him, like always. So he’s a bit startled when Max moves in the corner of his vision, rising unsteadily from the floor. Will joins her in standing, hand hovering to catch her if she sways.

But she’s good. She’s really good, at closing herself off. Will watches her brace her hands behind her hips and flick her hair out of her face, totally unbothered by the fact that she was just sobbing. She’s not actually unbothered, Will knows. But she’s scarily successful at acting like it.

Dustin, Lucas, and El are all crowded outside the door when Mike opens it. Will presumes the three of them heard at least some of the conversation, given that he and Mike and Max were not very vigilant about keeping their voices down. Judging by their expressions, his presumption is correct.

Lucas moves through the doorway first, heading for Max with no reservation. “Are you okay?” he asks, hands on her shoulders.

Max nods, barely meeting his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Lucas takes another look at her and knits his brows together, shifts his palms down her arms. “You’re freezing.” And yeah, Will notices, feeling rather unobservant— Max is in a t-shirt and shorts, and her feet are fucking bare.

“I’m fine,” Max repeats, but Lucas is already removing his jacket. “Lucas…”

He ignores her protest, drapes it over her shoulders and pulls it tight around her. Despite her apparent reluctance, Will sees her clutch at it once Lucas removes his hands. It almost looks like she’s going to roll her eyes, but she gives in at the last minute, pushes her arms through the sleeves and shrugs it all the way on.

El steps up to her next, holding a pair of socks that she must have grabbed from the house and stuffed in her pocket. Max takes them, carefully, but doesn’t move to put them on. She meets El’s gaze, and they stare in silence for a moment, before Max opens her arms.

The gesture brings tears to El’s eyes. She lets out a breath as she surges forward to throw her arms around Max’s neck. Will almost swears he hears Max sigh, too, locking her hands against El’s back, soft and swallowed in Lucas’s jacket. It’s a sweet scene. Even if Max is still subdued.

El keeps her hands on Max’s shoulders when she pulls back, reaches up with her right to brush her fingers through Max’s hair and cup her jaw.

“I’m sorry,” Max tells her, quiet and guilty.

El shakes her head. “It’s okay.”

Will can’t help glancing over at Mike, who is watching the interaction from the other corner. He still has that guarded look. It’s the one he gets when he’s protecting them, ready to leap into action at the drop of a hat. Will’s been on the receiving end enough times to recognize it. God, he’s so in love.

Dustin sidles up to Max as she and El detach, gingerly pats her arm. “You scared us there,” he says. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Max’s lips twitch briefly. “Thanks.” Her eyes are so hollow.

“We should get out of here,” Lucas suggests, nodding at the socks in Max’s hand. “Before you get hypothermia.”

“I’m not gonna…” Max starts, trailing off when Lucas takes the socks from her and starts to bend, like he’s about to drop to his knees. She snatches them back indignantly, using El’s shoulder as a prop as she pulls the socks on herself.

The three of them exit first, Lucas and El flanking Max on either side. Dustin and Mike move to follow. But Will hangs back, sentiment rooting him in place, not quite ready to leave the room he grew up in.

It’s so dark, and vacant, both bigger and smaller with nothing filling the space. He can see the outlines of everything he used to have here, and it stings him a lot more than he thought it would. The ghosts that remain are a poor mix of good and bad, pushing past his skin far enough to make him shiver.

“Will?”

Mike’s voice comes from his left. Will turns over his shoulder to find him standing much closer than anticipated. He’s looking at Will with concern, and some remorse.

“You okay?” he asks. I’m sorry for bringing you here, he means.

Will gazes back, allows himself to stare the way he used to, quietly aching. Mike seems wary, but he doesn’t look away. He’s waiting for Will to do something.

So, Will does something. He does something he’s wanted to do in this room for years.

He takes Mike’s face in his hands and pulls him down to his lips.

It’s a little bit of everything, this kiss. It’s the way Mike looks at him. It’s the way Mike touches him. It’s the way Mike takes care of him, and all of them. It’s the steadfast dedication Mike shows him. It’s the knowledge that Mike was thinking about him, too, finding solace in all the empty spaces Will left behind.

Will loves him. He loves him, and he’s sick with how much.

He wishes he could tell Mike everything, but he’s far too terrified for that. So he pours his feelings into the kiss, into the contact, and he hopes that Mike understands.

Eventually, they break apart, and Will has approximately zero seconds to look at Mike before they’re interrupted by an outcry from the doorway.

“Woah!”

They both turn, sharp, and Will removes his hands from Mike’s face. Dustin is standing there with a palm up, shielding his eyes.

“Dustin!” Mike intones, exasperated.

“Sorry, sorry!” Dustin apologizes, eyes still closed. “I was just— making sure you were coming. Didn’t mean to see that.”

He shuffles away, leaving them alone again.

Will steps back farther from Mike, the action drawing Mike’s attention. He looks like he wants to ask— about what, Will doesn’t know. So he speaks before Mike can. “We should go.”

He turns without waiting for Mike to follow, desperate to sort through the mess of memories and emotions this night has brought.

~<:>~

When El wakes up again, the first thing she does is look for Max.

This time, the space beside her is occupied, and she smooths down her panic as she stares at the red halo of hair spread over the pillow. Max is still asleep, breathing steadily. For now.

They managed to get her home on the back of Lucas’s bike, climbed the stairs as the boys sped away, without her mother or Joyce noticing. Not that it was difficult. The house was just as eerily quiet as when El left, no movement from either bedroom. El doubts they’ll see Max’s mom at all today. If they ever do get out of bed.

She doesn’t mind. She knows Max needs the rest.

What she doesn’t know is whether or not Max is truly resting. Her body is tranquil, but her mind could still be torturing her. The dream— nightmare— that El accidentally witnessed yesterday was a slow build, so she’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She really didn’t mean to cross over into the black space as she slept, let alone reach out and touch Max’s mind. But they were lying closer than they ever had, and the contact must have triggered the connection. El supposes she could have walked away when she saw Max kneeling in the dark water. She’s never been able to do that, though. Her curiosity and concern consistently overpower her more cautious instincts.

El’s tempted to try it now, to check on her, but it feels wrong. If Max wanted El in her head, she would have told her how deeply she was suffering.

The thing is, El understands the urge to run. She probably understands it better than any of the others. She’s just not very well-versed in the more abstract version— hiding her emotions, pretending everything’s okay. She’s never felt the need to do that. Especially not with the people she trusts.

Maybe Max doesn’t trust El as much as El trusts her.

The thought stings, but it doesn’t have time to fester, because Max starts to shiver and mutter in her sleep.

El’s immediate reaction is to prop herself up, blood pumping out with nowhere to go as she stares, stuck watching in suspense. Max’s turmoil only gets worse, to the point where El reaches out to wake her. She hesitates before she makes contact, wondering if this is really the best course of action. But she doesn’t see any other way. She’s not going to leave Max paralyzed in her subconscious.

Her gentle touch and whispered words take a few seconds to do the trick, and then Max is gasping, eyes open as she rockets forward into a sitting position.

El joins her, places one hand on her arm and the other on her back, soothing. “It’s okay,” she tells her. “You’re okay. It’s not real.”

Max is still heaving shuddering breaths, her skin damp with sweat. She takes a few seconds, and then she covers her face, scrubbing away the haunting visions. El keeps looking at her until she stops, stares straight ahead, eyes burning.

“Did you see that one, too?” she asks.

She sounds guarded, both fearful and biting. El recoils, lets her hands slip back down onto the blanket. She didn’t realize Max had figured it out. “No,” she answers, stomach twisting with shame.

Max sighs, closes her eyes, and rolls back onto the mattress, head flopping against the pillow. Her exhaustion is palpable, and it’s crushing El to see her like this. This void of passion at her core. It’s so much worse than sorrow.

She lays down beside Max, curls up facing her. Max is staring at the ceiling, but she’s not seeing anything, El knows. She’s lost in thought, or maybe in memory. El waits for her to speak.

When she eventually does, her voice is laden with weariness. “Why did it have to be him?”

El recalls what little she heard last night, combines it with the flashes of Billy’s face in Max’s nightmare. And she listens with a sinking in her heart.

“Of all the— the fucked up people in this town,” Max continues. “Why did that monster choose him?”

El can’t answer. She can’t tell if Max wants her to. It would be fair of Max to assume that she has some inside knowledge. The mind flayer came straight for her, after all. But El is in the dark, too. She has no idea what’s happening, or why, and she hates it. She hates not being able to help.

“It could have taken Neil,” Max says, with an edge of venom. “It should have. Should have ripped him apart. Maybe then we wouldn’t be here. And maybe I wouldn’t feel so…”

She drifts off, gaze clouding. El looks on in silence, growing more and more guilty.

“Doesn’t matter,” Max decides, quieter. “They’re both gone now.”

And that’s what sends the last of El’s resolve crumbling. She feels the tears gathering, fueled by the screams in her mind, and she forces herself to speak.

“I should have saved him.”

Max turns her head atop the pillow, confusion dawning in her eyes.

El blinks through her next words. “I couldn’t,” she admits. “I was weak.”

The memory of that powerlessness is still fresh— lying, cold, on the floor of the mall. Reaching out, but not far enough. Not strong enough. Not fast enough. Not smart enough to see it coming.

“He’s dead because of me,” she whispers, tasting the salt that’s run down to her lips.

With a deep frown, Max shifts to fully face her, strokes a hand along her cheek to brush the tears away. “No,” she commands, soft. “No, don’t think that. Don’t ever think that. It wasn’t your fault.”

El has a hard time believing that, even if she knows there was nothing she could do. She turns Max’s words back on her. “It wasn’t your fault either.”

And she sees the doubt flicker, same as hers. With a hurt this deep, it’s not surprising.

“God,” Max half-whispers, pained expression consuming her. “We are such a mess.”

El doesn’t sense any malice in the observation. And besides, she agrees. “Yeah.” 

There’s a long stretch of eye contact, both of them searching, waiting, wanting. They have no more need for words, and no more capacity to speak them. So they communicate in silence, accepting their mutual defeat.

Max draws in close, moves onto El’s pillow and tips their foreheads together. “It’s okay,” she says. “We’re okay.”

It’s not quite a lie, but it’s not the truth. Not yet. El lets Max convince her, the repeated phrase echoing up the walls as they both work to stay tethered to the ground.

~<:>~

There’s the familiar creak as the basement door opens, and Will is honestly so tired.

The four of them had to sneak back into the house late last night— or rather, this morning. And none of them actually got to sleep once they did, so Will’s running on about two hours.

On top of that, he hasn’t been actively alone with Mike since Monday, and it’s making him really fucking anxious, now that they’ve broached such a serious subject.

Because there’s a chance that Mike will want to talk about it. And Will doesn’t want to fucking talk about it.

He opened up with Max. He had no problem doing that, for her, in the moment. But now, he’d rather do anything else. He might just have to distract Mike without words to avoid the inevitable confrontation.

That’s what he’s planning on doing. That’s what he stands up, ready to do.

But it’s not Mike who comes down the stairs. It’s Jonathan.

The sight of his brother throws Will off-balance, and he tries not to let it show as Jonathan greets him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Will responds, flicking his gaze up behind Jonathan, now extremely wary of Mike opening the door and interrupting them.

Jonathan glances over his shoulder. “Were you… expecting someone else?” he asks.

“No,” Will says. It’s quick, dismissive, but hopefully not suspicious.

Jonathan doesn’t seem bothered. “Okay,” he says, wringing his hands absently. “I just… I just wanted to check in because… I noticed you— you didn’t eat anything at dinner, and… it looked like you were in your head.” He pauses there, treading carefully. “And I saw you— flinch. Away from Ted.”

Dread and embarrassment rush through Will’s veins, and he curses himself for being such an obvious idiot. Clearly, he’s been triggered enough times that Jonathan can pick up on the signs. And as if that isn’t enough, now Jonathan is all worried about him, when there’s virtually nothing he can do to fix it.

His brother keeps speaking anyway, meandering. “So, I’m just wondering if— if something happened, or… if you needed anything. Or wanted to talk.”

Will is unavoidably moved by Jonathan’s gentle concern. But he still doesn’t really want to talk about it. He squirms under the scrutiny. “Uh. It’s… it’s just…” He won’t bother denying that something’s wrong; Jonathan can clearly tell that much. “Max,” he says, spinning off the truth. “She’s… she’s having a rough time right now.”

Will can’t tell if the answer is enough to convince Jonathan. His brother always has that uncertain look about him. “Oh,” he says. And then, “Is… she gonna be okay?”

There’s a deeper layer to the question, Will knows. Even though Jonathan does care about their group’s collective well-being, he doesn’t know Max very well. Under the formality, he’s fishing for something else.

Will’s answer is honest in both regards. “I don’t know.”

Jonathan gives him a careful nod. “I’m sorry.”

Will’s not sure how to respond. Somehow, his brother has managed to shift the conversation in the exact direction Will didn’t want it to go, breaking down Will’s barriers with his quiet, familiar energy.

There’s a thought that’s been festering all day, brought on by Max’s insistent guilt. And Will hates himself for asking, but he has to know.

“Did you ever regret it?”

Jonathan takes the question in stride, though his gaze darts to the side in confusion. “Regret what?”

It takes more than a few seconds for Will to get the courage, swallow back his trepidation. “When you would… stand up to him.”

Jonathan understands immediately, his expression flashing through phases of pain. “What? No.” He steps closer, brows touching. “Will, no. Never. Not once.”

Will doesn’t quite believe him. “But it— it wasn’t you he wanted to hurt.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Jonathan assures him. “He’s a piece of shit. He would have found another reason.” He emphasizes his next words, looking Will in the eye. “I don’t regret protecting you.”

Will thinks of Max, fights the lump building in his throat. “I wouldn’t have blamed you,” he says. “If you hadn’t.”

Jonathan shakes his head. “That was never an option.”

“It was sometimes,” Will reminds him, jumping on the defensive. “Sometimes you weren’t there. Sometimes you didn’t see it.” He can feel the tears prickling in the back of his skull. “I didn’t want you to see it.”

The statement rings true for both of them, and Jonathan’s looking at him with such devastation. “I know,” he murmurs. “But I did. And I when I did, I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.”

It’s not fair, Will thinks. “I couldn’t protect you, though.” 

“It wasn’t your job to protect me,” Jonathan says, firm. “Okay? That was my responsibility.”

“But it’s my fault you got hit,” Will stresses. “If I was just— if I was just normal—”

“No, no, no, Will, stop.” Jonathan has to cut him off, because he knows what will happen if he touches him, or looms any closer. Will can see he’s struggling with it as he speaks, holding Will’s gaze with a broken intensity. “It was not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Please, believe me.” His voice wavers slightly. “You didn’t deserve it, okay? You didn’t deserve it.”

Will squeezes his eyes shut, lets the affirmation thread itself through his brain, disappearing into the darkness almost instantly, before he reopens them in shaky defiance. “Neither did you.”

Jonathan doesn’t acknowledge that, pushing off the hurt. “I made my choice,” he says. “And it was the right one. And I would do it again.”

There’s nothing either one of them can say to convince the other of their perspective. There’s no changing what’s happened, and how much it’s affected them. It still helps, to hear the words. To have talked about it, finally. After six fucking years.

Jonathan hovers where he is, so obviously wanting to hug him, but too afraid of pushing his boundaries. Will has to be the one to make the first move.

So he does, stepping forward and burying himself in Jonathan’s chest.

He doesn’t flinch when his brother’s arms encircle him. He knows he’s safe here. He’s always safe here. It’s just been a while since he’s let himself feel it.

~<:>~

The past twenty-four hours have been shit.

Mike is trying not to let it affect him, but he’s not a robot, no matter how much he wishes that were true. He’s been lying in his bed for an hour, replaying Max’s breakdown over and over in his head. Really, he hasn’t stopped replaying it. Her anguish affected him so much.

He doesn’t know how to do this. Mike is not the one that people run to for comfort. He doesn’t have a bedside manner. He’ll protect his friends in the moment, but in the aftermath… it’s like his mind can’t process how to deal with that.

And it’s eating at him, this time, because it’s Max. Max, who was there for him through his entire sexuality crisis. She’s been there for months, whenever he needed her. She just knows how to handle this stuff. She’s never said anything mean or off-kilter. And if she has, it was probably Mike’s fault. He’s always the one fucking it up.

He wasn’t even the one who helped her, last night. He deflected, brought Will in, and he was the one who really got it. Mike just sat there.

Maybe he is defective, despite Max’s claims to the contrary. Maybe his empathy meter is just broken beyond repair.

The thought of Will pulls Mike out of his spiral, somewhat. At least, it reminds him to look at the clock. And yeah, he should probably head downstairs before it gets too late.

He gets up, throws on a sweatshirt, and carefully twists his bedroom door open. He’s used to doing this by now, and everything goes exactly like it always does.

Except that the moment he turns around, Nancy is standing in the hallway, fingertips on her doorknob, looking similarly caught.

She recovers quickly, furrowing her brows. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” Mike counters.

Nancy doesn’t respond. She just keeps scrutinizing him as something dawns on her. “Are you sneaking out to see El?”

Mike forgets to curb his reaction. “What? No.”

He can tell his answer has surprised her, and he quickly smooths it over.

“No,” he repeats, with less vigor, and then he turns it back on her. “Are you sneaking downstairs to see Jonathan?”

Nancy crosses her arms, indignant. “Maybe.”

“Oh, ew!” Mike gags.

“You asked!”

“Well, I didn’t wanna know!”

Mike doesn’t particularly care if she’s offended; he did not need that information. “Okay,” Nancy scoffs. “And what weird thing are you up to, then?”

“None of your business,” Mike snaps.

“So, what, I’m just supposed to assume you’re getting a late night snack?”

“Yes.”

Mike holds his ground until Nancy gives in, or just decides it’s not worth fighting over. She narrows her eyes. “Whatever.” She passes him to descend, pointing a commanding finger at him as she does. “Do not leave this house.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Mike snarks.

She twists around, calling up, “And don’t go in my room!”

“Shut up!” Mike hisses, casting a cursory glance at their parents’ bedroom door. Nancy has already vanished down the stairs, so any consequences will fall on Mike alone.

He really can’t remember if there ever was a time when she didn’t annoy the shit out of him.

He waits a few minutes, makes sure Nancy is fully out of sight before following. When he gets to the ground floor, he finds her standing outside the open guest room door, looking confused.

There’s no sign of Jonathan. Which is slightly worrying, Mike supposes, and the mounting distress on Nancy’s face is inspiring him to maybe panic, too. But they only make eye contact briefly before muffled noises drift up from the basement, and their gazes simultaneously shift in that direction.

Nancy moves before he does, listening in once she reaches the door. Mike trails behind her, cautiously, and stands close. Nancy’s frown is more curious, Mike’s more wary. They can’t really hear anything, but the voices are distinctly Jonathan and Will.

Mike has no idea what they could possibly be talking about, nor does he have a meter to judge the intensity of their conversation, so eavesdropping is firmly off the table. He has to encourage Nancy to move away, though, which he does by tugging on her shirtsleeve. “Hey. We shouldn’t.”

Nancy obviously wants to protest, but she shakes her head, distracted. “Right, yeah.”

They retreat farther into the kitchen, somewhat awkwardly. Mike briefly considers actually getting a late night snack, Nancy’s assumption from earlier inspiring his stomach. But she’s staring at him now, so intently, so clearly trying and failing to be casual with it.

“Were you going to the basement?” she asks.

Mike has to stop himself from glaring at her. “Yeah.”

She nods carefully, lost in thought, before she flicks her gaze back over to him. “You were going to Will?”

Mike shrugs, defensive. “So, what?”

“Nothing,” Nancy says innocently, eyebrows raised. “Nothing, I just…”

She looks at him, then, like she’s figuring something out, and Mike is so incredibly scared that he knows what it is.

“Mike,” she says, and she’s taken on her serious, older sister voice. “Is there something going on? Something I should… maybe know about?”

From tone alone, Mike can’t tell if she’s inquiring about his relationship to Will, or if she thinks, like Lucas and Dustin did, that there’s something more nefarious at work. He gets the feeling it is the latter, which is fortunate, because it gives him the space to work around her question. “No,” he dismisses. “No, there’s nothing… going on.”

Nancy levels him with a suspicious look, clearly not buying it, even though Mike is telling the truth.

Well. Partially.

They’re miraculously interrupted as Jonathan emerges from the basement. He stops short at the sight of them. “Uh. Hey?”

“Hey,” Nancy echoes, brightly.

They stare at each other for long enough that Mike rolls his eyes in disgust, shouldering past his sister and through the basement door.

When he gets down the stairs, Will is standing with his arms wrapped around his middle, only a slight delay before he looks up at Mike. “Hey,” Mike says.

“Hi,” Will replies, and he’s giving nothing away.

Mike doesn’t know how to ask. He doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to make Will tell him. He just needs a sign. “Are you… okay?”

And that gets a flicker of something genuine. Will’s face smooths over, pleasant and peaceful. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

The funny thing is, Mike believes him. Which is strange, because he was expecting to come down here and find him barely holding it together. But maybe Mike’s the only one doing that.

“Are you—” He doesn’t get to finish asking if Will is sure, because Will steps forward and hugs him.

It’s so gently startling that Mike has to take a half-second to reciprocate. And then he’s wrapping his arms around Will’s back, sinking into the embrace.

He recalls that it’s been quite a while since they’ve just held each other like this. Their last hug was almost a week ago, but even then they didn’t let it last this long. Mike forgot how calming the contact can be.

“Thank you,” Will mumbles into his shoulder.

“For what?” Mike asks.

Will squeezes him tighter. “For everything.”

Mike is so ridiculously in love with him.

There’s no way he’s going to say it. Not right now. It’s too daunting for right now. But he’ll still feel it. He’ll still show it. In everything he does, and everything he will do. He’ll make sure Will knows.

For right now, he savors the hug, breathes against Will’s chest. “Thank you, too,” he says. “For Max.” He starts to sag, relaxing into Will’s grip. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Will says, pulling back to assure him. “I’m okay.”

He’s not, Mike knows. Neither of them are. But they can’t change that in a single night.

So he reinitiates the embrace, clings to Will’s body, shielding it with his own. Because this is the only way Mike can be sure that Will is safe.

~<:>~

When Max wakes up again, the first thing she does is look for El.

She’s alone, though. The room is light and empty. Max stares absently into the blank wall. Her head is throbbing, she can barely catch her breath. God, she’s so fucking tired of being so fucking tired.

She closes her eyes again in an attempt to shut everything out, but all it does is make the thinking worse. She doesn’t want to slip back into her subconscious. So she sits up, runs her hands over her face, throws the covers back, swings her legs over the side of the bed. And she pauses there, feet hovering above the carpet for a moment, before she can muster the strength to stand.

The sweatshirt folded on top of her dresser looks very inviting. She hasn’t changed her clothes since yesterday and she’s starting to feel gross. And being in fresh cotton does help, somewhat. Not as much as a shower would. Not as much as reversing time would.

The throbbing in her head dulls to an ache as the door opens and El steps around it, halting when she sees that Max is awake.

“Hi,” she says, uncertain.

Max brushes the hood of her sweatshirt back off her tangled hair. “Hi.”

El pushes the door half-closed behind her and approaches. “How are you feeling?”

Her questions are always so earnest. Max’s instinct is to mask, to brighten, to shrug it off and say she’s fine. But there’s no point. El can see through that.

Max still controls her response. “I’m okay,” she says, and it’s honest enough.

El stops about a foot in front of her, assessing. “Okay,” she echoes, apparently satisfied with the answer. She glances over her shoulder. “The… boys are here. Downstairs.”

Oh. Max wasn’t exactly prepared to see anyone else today. Still, the mere mention of her friends’ presence melts the tiniest bit of sadness away.

Her head swims with unwelcome thoughts— they shouldn’t be here, they shouldn’t care about her, they should just leave her alone, she doesn’t deserve them— that she has to shut down in favor of nodding.

That visual cue isn’t permission enough for El, so Max moves forward, brushing their hands together as she passes. Partly to reassure El. But mostly because she wanted to. For the contact, to ground herself. Because even if she’s accepted that El can and will comfort her, she’s still stuck fast in the habit of disguising her vulnerability.

The boys are already engaged in conversation when she reaches the bottom of the staircase.

“Listen, I’m telling you. You’re saying it wrong.”

“I guarantee you I’m not.”

Dustin and Lucas, of course. Their voices drift in clearer the closer Max gets.

“When have you ever pronounced a ‘p’ if it’s followed by a ‘t’?” Dustin asks.

“You can’t,” Will chimes in. “That’s a rule in English, isn’t it?”

Max hears Mike scoff. “Since when?”

“Besides, I don’t think an Egyptian-based fantasy god follows the rules of English,” Lucas counters.

Dustin does not relent. “But it sounds so stupid when you say it like that!”

“It sounds a lot stupider to just say ‘tah’ though,” Mike points out. “What is that? That’s not even a name. That’s a sound.”

“Exactly,” Lucas agrees. “The ‘p’ is what makes it cool.”

Max is standing behind their circle of chairs now, and they have yet to notice her.

“There’s no pronunciation guide in the back of the book,” Will states. “So, technically, we can say it whichever way we want.”

His diplomacy is lost on the others.

“Nah,” Dustin shakes his head. “There has to be a popular consensus. And that consensus has to be that there’s no ‘p’ sound.”

Lucas groans. “Why can’t you ever admit that you’re wrong?”

“Because, I’m not—”

“Guys,” Mike cuts Dustin off, having finally spotted Max.

The other three turn. And then they all stand from their chairs in an awkward rush.

“Hi,” Max says.

“Hi,” they all collectively stutter.

She shifts on her feet. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Oh,” Dustin starts. “Uh, we… we were thinking…” He looks around at the others as he continues. “That maybe it would be cool to… get you a change of scenery.” He refocuses in on her. “My house.”

The gesture is so sweet and well-intentioned. Max wants to throw up.

Dustin senses her trepidation and keeps rambling. “Just for the day. Or the night. If you want. My mom loves having you guys over.”

Max has to put a stop to this. She lets out a half-chuckle and shakes her head. “Look, guys, I’m not—” She shrugs, lets her arms flare out and fall against her sides in a casual, resigned gesture. “I’m okay.”

There’s a rare flash of uncertainty behind Dustin’s eyes. “We know,” he says. “We just…” He looks like he wants to check in with the others again, but his gaze never leaves hers. “We wanted to see you.”

In those few seconds that their stares are locked, Max is hit with a monstrous wave of emotion. Which she does manage to hold back, but she has no time to sort through. All she can pick out is affection, gratitude, and some other intense feeling that she’s too insecure to name.

She blinks away from Dustin, letting her gaze drift to the others. Lucas, who appears more worried than anything, arms semi-crossed, hands gripping his elbows. Mike, who looks guilty for whatever new reason he’s conjured, posture stiff and precarious. And Will, who holds only empathy in his kind eyes, everything in his body language desperate to reassure her.

Max can feel El at her shoulder, so she looks at her, too. And there, just like her brother, the softest sort of compassion.

Max knows she doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve any of this. They shouldn’t be wasting their care and attention on her. She’s too far gone for it to matter.

But she doesn’t want to disappoint them. And she knows that pushing them away won’t work.

She’ll just have to make peace with keeping everything inside, where it belongs. Where it can’t hurt them.

She releases an inaudible sigh and looks back at Dustin. “Okay.”

~<:>~

Chapter Text

They don’t end up staying the night at Dustin’s.

They do spend several hours there, though. Talking about dumb shit, snacking on the food Dustin’s mom keeps bringing out to them, watching the buddy-cop VHS set that Steve so highly recommended.

Max barely registers any of it. She just sees the smiles on her friends’ faces, and that’s all she needs. Even if she’s not smiling like that. The most important thing is that they stay happy.

She does catch each of them staring at her at various points, likely worried that she’s not engaging. But Max never promised them that. She’ll pull herself out of her stupor enough to be another body in the room, but she can’t pretend that everything’s fine. Especially when they all know it’s not.

At least there’s the cat— Tews, Max remembers— which weaves around the room, brushing up against their legs and softening everyone’s demeanor. Including Max’s. She reaches down to trail a hand through its fur whenever it passes her chair. She’s not entirely sure of the cat’s gender, but she doesn’t need to know to appreciate the calming effect. Tews spends the latter portion of the visit curled up on Will’s lap, jumping down only when it hears Dustin’s mom pouring treats into its food dish.

As the evening draws nearer, the conversation devolves significantly, to the point where Max tunes in and has no idea what they’re going on about.

“I’m just saying, I think he gets a bad rap,” Dustin is explaining.

“Really?” Lucas scoffs. “You think the metal-head drug dealer who flunked senior year five times and routinely freaks out on people is secretly a good guy?”

Ah. Max is caught up now.

“It wasn’t five times,” Dustin argues. “And yeah, maybe he is. I mean, he runs a D&D club.”

Lucas raises his eyebrows. “And that’s an automatic get-out-of-jail-free card for you?”

“Look, the few times I’ve gotten to interact with him, he’s been nice to me, okay?” Dustin says, glaring. He smacks the arm to his right. “Mike, back me up here.”

Though clearly startled, Mike does. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, Eddie’s… he’s alright.”

“Alright?” Lucas and Dustin harmonize, forcing Mike to elaborate.

“Well, I don’t know. I’ve barely spoken to him.”

“My point exactly,” Lucas emphasizes. “We don’t know him, and we can’t get a good read on him. It’s better to steer clear of people like that.”

“I strongly disagree,” Dustin counters, and Lucas rolls his eyes.

“Of course you do.”

Before Dustin can retort, there comes a call from the kitchen. “Hey, Dusty!”

And they all turn their gazes to his mother as she approaches, wiping her hands on a paper towel.

“Sorry to interrupt, sweetie, but could you help me take out the trash?” she asks, anxious lines forming on her face. “I would get it myself, but it’s very full.”

Lucas immediately jumps to apologize. “Sorry, Ms. Claudia. That’s probably our fault.”

“Oh— no, no, no, you all are absolutely fine,” Dustin’s mom assures them. “I just forgot about it last week and now it’s… well, overflowing.”

Dustin hesitates, grimacing in mild disgust. “Uh…”

“I’ll do it,” Max volunteers, standing.

She can feel everyone’s eyes on her and tries not to let their staring get under her skin, focusing only on Dustin’s mother, who blinks in surprise.

“Oh. Well, that’s very kind, honey, but it really is a lot to carry—”

“I can help.”

Max turns to see Will rising from his seat as well. They lock eyes briefly before Max looks back at Dustin’s mother, and it’s clear from what she glimpses on everyone’s faces that no one is going to dispute this— because it’s her, and because it’s Will. The others are all too wary around both of them of late.

“Okay, then,” Dustin’s mom caves, sporting an uncertain smile. “Thank you, dears. It’s just around the corner.”

Max follows her to the kitchen, Will trailing close behind. There are two enormous black bags sitting on the tile floor, one of which is still open and leaking. Max gathers up the pieces of trash littered around it and stuffs them all down into the bag, hefting it over her shoulder as she heads for the back door. Her clothes are likely going to stink now, and there’s something sticky on her back, but it’s a mindless enough task to be exactly what she needs right now. And, as an added bonus, it’s more motivation for her to take a shower later.

The garbage bin doors have already been laid open, so all Max has to do is toss the bag up into the center. She’s not sure the Hendersons will be able to get the doors closed again, given how bulky the pile of bags has become.

Will shoulders his way out of the house and down the steps carrying his own bag, which he heaves into the bin with more ease than Max would have expected. The pile is definitely sticking up over the sides now. It’s not her problem, but Max keeps looking at it like it is, if only to distract herself further.

She can see Will hovering in the corner of her vision. Waiting for her to move. And it is her move. It’s on her. But Max can’t decide what to do unless she really looks at him, so she gives in, turns her head.

And he’s still so perfectly compassionate. His expression is earnest, muted, worried, and passive all at once. And somehow those contradictions make sense. It’s nowhere near the typical, awkward pity that Max so loathes. The kind that would make her want to run inside.

She’s not ready to go back in there, back to the others. Not yet. So she stays, stares. Waits for Will to make his move.

His decision is just as predictable as hers. “Hey,” he says, striking up the conversation with tentative assuredness. “Um.”

He keeps looking at her until the tension in his body language breaks, and Max recognizes the boy from the empty house. The confident anomaly whose empathic powers border on the extraordinary.

“I won’t ask if you’re okay,” Will starts. “Because I know you aren’t.”

And fuck, that hits Max harder than she thought it would.

“I mean, maybe you are,” Will continues, backtracking slightly. “But I know it’s… hard. To stay that way.” He sighs as he surges onward. “And I know that I’m leaving tomorrow, and there’s nothing I can say that’ll help you feel any better, but… if you ever need… someone to talk to…” The depth of his sincerity peeks through as he finishes, “You can call me.”

Max clenches her jaw against the gratitude moving through her, and she recalls the exchange mere months ago, when she was on the other side. When she reached out to Mike, desperate for him to take her hand. And now she’s the one they’re reaching for. And she wants to take Will’s hand, but she just.

She doesn’t know if she can.

Will seems to sense this in her failure to respond, tacks more onto the end of his speech. “You don’t have to, but. The offer’s open.”

I’m… always willing to listen.

Max keeps her mouth shut, not trusting herself to speak. Coward, her mind whispers, the familiar taunt still crushing her.

She’s not sure if Will takes her silence as rejection, but he does break their stare, steps back and turns to head inside. There’s panic rattling around Max’s chest at the thought of leaving it like this, enough to overpower her fear. She has to stop him.

“Will.”

Her voice pulls his gaze back to her. And as soon as he registers the look on her face, he takes his foot off the bottom stair and rotates back around, awaiting her next words with patient anticipation.

It takes longer than it should, and even then Max has to force the words out. “What you said, the other night…”

You were a kid.

It wasn’t your fault.

She struggles to maintain her composure, focusing on what she wants to say to him. “It helped.”

Will studies her, quiet, only nodding in acknowledgement. There’s some relief behind his eyes, and more understanding than Max knows what to do with.

You can’t think like that. You’ll drive yourself crazy.

It. Was. Not. Your. Fault.

She ignores the lump in her throat. “I just don’t know if…” Tucks her tongue between her teeth, stalling. “If I’ll ever…”

Believe it.

With a shaky exhale, she pivots, the confession screaming to be heard. “I don’t know if I can forgive myself.”

Will hasn’t stopped looking at her with that silent commiseration. “That’s okay,” he says. “I still haven’t. Forgiven myself. Not totally.” He brushes past his own confession, lightness in his demeanor as he shrugs. “But that’s why we have friends, I guess. To tell us when we’re wrong.”

Friends don’t lie.

Isn’t that your bullshit saying?

Max swallows back all the memories that have resurfaced, nodding along to give Will some signal that she’s heard him. His expression hasn’t changed, brows still knit together and eyes still overly kind.

There’s a spike in volume from inside the house, prompting both Max and Will to look as the voices drift out to them. The thought of going back in there remains too daunting to pursue. Max feels so much calmer out here. With Will.

“Could we…” she starts, drawing Will’s attention. “Could we just… stay out here for a while?”

Will doesn’t question it, doesn’t hesitate to nod. “Yeah.”

They sit on the steps, side by side, neither speaking for the longest time. Which is exactly what Max wanted, and she’s surprised by how comfortable it feels. She can’t believe how much she’s missed without this friendship. This connection. It’s like their little circle is finally complete, now that she and Will have found something real between them.

Despite the peaceful atmosphere they’ve established, the stench of their clothes starts to waft up, and after a while it gets too strong to ignore.

Max coughs a little, wrinkling her nose. “God, I reek.”

She’s not expecting Will to respond, let alone the way he does, so casually agreeing, “Yeah, you do.”

Max is actually offended for all of one second, and then she’s turning to look at him with mock outrage. Will just shrugs, and it’s that callous attitude that finally gets Max to smile.

She smiles, and then Will smiles, and the ridiculous reality of their situation hits her all over again, until she’s laughing down at her lap. Not fully, but still.

Will doesn’t laugh beside her, but there’s a real smile on his face, genuine affection in his eyes, all the while.

~<:>~

El is definitively in distress.

No surprise there, since she’s spent the past two days feeling nothing but crippling anxiety. About leaving, about Max, about leaving Max. It’s just another sure sign of a cruel universe, tearing them apart when they’re both already fragile.

El hates this. She hates it. Her typical emotional fury cannot even begin to encompass how much she actively, viciously loathes their situation. Her situation. This useless, helpless, powerless state that she thought she’d escaped months ago, and yet she remains trapped. How long is she going to be trapped here?

The lamp starts to flicker beside her, in rhythm with her bouncing leg. Luckily, there’s no one around to see her losing control; Max is still in the shower and El is still waiting here, on Max’s bed. Alone. Anxious. Trapped.

The electric buzzing gets louder, to the point where El fears she’ll break the lightbulb. She shoots a hand down to stop her leg, forcing it into stillness. None of the tension has left her body, but the lamp has gone quiet. The silence is almost worse.

With a sigh, El tips backward to lay flat on the mattress, palms over her eyes. She can’t keep doing this. She can’t keep feeling this way. It’s debilitating. But she doesn’t know how to change. How could she, when this gnawing darkness has been part of her for as long as she can remember?

Amid her swirling thoughts, she hears the running water shut off, and it switches off something inside her, too. She opens her eyes and sits up. The ripples of her spiral are slowly disappearing from her mind’s eye, chased away by her newer and more pleasant ongoing priority: Max.

El has enough time to steady her breathing, center herself, before the redhead wanders through the doorway in her pajamas, looking clean but exhausted, still scrunching the ends of her hair with a towel. Their eyes meet for a brief, tender moment. And then Max resumes her routine, hangs her towel on the doorknob and heads for the dresser to grab her brush and hair ties.

Observing this sparks an idea. El waits until Max is finished brushing to voice it. “Maybe,” she starts, soft tone audible enough in the quiet room. “I could do it?”

Max looks at her in the mirror first, then turns to face El when she responds. “What, braid my hair?”

El nods.

She watches Max consider the offer, sharpness melting from her expression. “Okay,” the redhead agrees, fondly. She grabs the hair ties and makes her way over to sit down in front of El, back pressed against the bed.

The angle is a little high, though it’s not like El really knows what she’s doing anyway. The few summer weeks she got to be with Max were largely spent recovering from recent losses. Max did give her a bit of a crash course on braiding during their last night together in July, and El has retained what she learned. But applying techniques is always easier in theory than in practice.

El has to concentrate. She wants to at least try to do this properly. She starts at the crown of Max’s head, parting the hair into two sections. Pick a side and start small, El remembers. She chooses the right, separates the surface into three separate pieces. Weave them together, all the way down. She has to fold them in with the rest of the hair, too. Somehow. She’ll manage.

And she does manage, if a bit messily. The left braid is tighter than the right, and she missed some strands, and the ends don’t quite line up. But when Max looks in the mirror at the work El has done, she actually smiles.

Her radiance pours warmth into El’s heart, easing so much of the dread that was pooling there. “Wow,” Max says, admiring her braids. “You learn fast.” She turns to El with an earnest look that suits her far more than the hard lines of sadness. “Want me to braid yours?”

El embraces the giddy feeling that’s rising inside of her, doesn’t fight her smile or the blush on her cheeks, too elated to find them embarrassing. She nods, and Max’s eyes brighten, and El’s heart reacts, again, to the radiant image.

They switch positions, Max on the bed and El on the floor. Max’s fingers are gentle and familiar as they card through El’s hair. She closes her eyes, relaxing under Max’s touch.

“You’re so pretty,” Max murmurs, after a while. It’s soft enough and El is distracted enough that she almost misses it. Max just keeps braiding, absent and focused. El doesn’t think Max is aware of how much that particular compliment means to her, which makes it even more lovely to hear.

She sits patiently while Max ties off the second braid, then swivels around so she can respond properly, stretching up from her knees to take Max’s hands. “So are you,” El says, and runs her fingers over one of Max’s fiery plaits. “Pretty.”

To El’s delight, Max softens even further at that, blue eyes projecting the depth of her feeling. She reaches out with her right hand, caresses El’s cheek with such careful pressure. It looks as though the words should be bursting from her lips, but Max is quiet. Stoic, controlled. Even now.

Even as they lean into each other and kiss for the first time in three days. The action reignites something pure and passionate at El’s core. She doesn’t push, so Max pulls; she pulls El up onto the bed, into her arms, and they fall backward together.

As wonderful as it is, the kissing doesn’t last very long. It doesn’t need to. The most important part of this, of them, is the peace that comes from their contact. El rests her head on Max’s shoulder, and Max holds her, as their chests rise and fall in tandem.

There’s still this inescapable weight in the air, tinging their tranquility with sorrow. “I’m sorry,” Max says, gaze fixed on nothing. “I wish… everything didn’t have to be so… heavy.”

El understands. She doesn’t have to say it for Max to know.

Despite the futile nature of the redhead’s statement, the wording does inspire another idea that El has been contemplating.

Reluctantly, she detaches herself from Max and sits up. Max looks at her with warranted confusion. “Do you trust me?” El asks, searching her eyes.

Max’s brows twitch closer. “Yeah.”

The confirmation comes quicker than expected, sending another pulse of affection through El’s chest. She knows that this will work.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and holds out her hands, palms up. She has to concentrate on tapping into the energy, around her and inside her. Within seconds, that familiar force starts to hum in her skull, beneath her skin. She can feel it slowly squeezing the blood from her nose, and then she hears a quiet gasp that prompts her to reopen her eyes.

Max is hovering several inches above the mattress, hanging weightless the same way Mike did at the quarry. This time, El is trying to hold her there, supporting her body with a cushion of air. Max doesn’t seem confused anymore, thankfully. Instead, she looks lighter, happier, worry fading gradually from her expression.

El still has to check, making eye contact as she asks, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Max breathes, short puff of laughter escaping her. “Yeah, this feels… amazing.”

The assurance grants El the strength to keep her powers active for much longer than she normally would. Because she wants Max to feel this— to feel something good.

El watches Max float there, eyes alight with wonder, and wishes she could join her.

~<:>~

Will is used to taking quick showers. For many reasons, all of which inevitably lead back to growing up poor. They couldn’t waste water they didn’t have. The new place is better, but the household’s still the same. None of them are ever in the bathroom for more than ten minutes.

The Wheelers, on the other hand, have an abundance of water. Hot water, specifically. And Will doesn’t feel all that guilty about wasting it. The pressure is soothing, as is the steam that wraps around him— and yeah, Will might have a thing now about warmth. It’s not his fault that he associates it with safety.

He’s definitely been in here for more than ten minutes. But nobody has come knocking on the door. It’s nice. Will can relax under the water, let his mind go blank. Actually getting clean is secondary to all that.

After what feels like an hour but is probably closer to thirty minutes, Will shuts the shower off and steps out. It’s only been twenty minutes, according to the clock on the wall. The realization that he likely could have stayed in there longer bothers him, a little. Because without the water, he’s already back to his incessant thinking.

He doesn’t want to leave. Of course he doesn’t. This is Hawkins. This is home. Will belongs here, same as they all do. How is he supposed to go back across the country, after everything that’s happened? How is he supposed to do this again?

There’s no changing it, though. They don’t live here anymore. Will can’t stay. Knowing that does nothing to ease his heartache.

Trying his best to ignore it— the persistent fucking sting in his chest— Will scrubs the towel through his hair and starts to dress. It’s their last night. He should be taking advantage of that instead of brooding up here by himself.

Mike is already waiting on the basement couch when Will opens the door. He looks disheveled, quiet exhaustion radiating off his hunched figure; he’s curled over his lap, elbows resting on his knees, head caught between his forearms as he clutches the back of his skull. It’s a familiar position— one Will knows to be both calming and suffocating, and Mike is edging toward the latter. No doubt caught in the same sort of thinking spiral Will experienced earlier (Mike’s spirals tend to be more worrying, though).

Will makes it all the way around the table and sits down on the cushion beside him before Mike registers his presence, raising his head and lowering his hands. Normally, they would use this space to start speaking, and Mike opens his mouth like he’s going to initiate. But there’s nothing to say, really. No point in filling the silence with fumbling attempts at conversation.

So, they just stare at each other. They’re good at that. They’re also good at stewing in awkward tension. So they do that, too. Mike looks away first, glances down at his lap and then out at the room; Will stares a little bit longer before doing the same.

The muted, mutual suffering provides an odd sense of comradery, although Will takes no comfort in the fact that they’re both emotionally stunted idiots. All these feelings spinning inside him that he can’t bear to voice. It’s excruciating, being stuck in the bitter prison of almost.

They’ve made more progress this past week than they have in years, but it’s like Will’s impending departure is eroding it, breaking them back down to their base insecurities. And the weight of everything that’s happened is still hanging over their heads. And they have no time to dissect the massive collection of traumas piled between them.

And yet, Mike speaks into the silence with the casualness of someone who has decided to ignore all of that. “Do you remember,” he starts, slow. “That really weird comic we found in the woods?”

Will has to shake off the suddenness of the question, furrowing his brow as he searches for the memory. It doesn’t take him long to find it. “The one with the ghost horse?”

“Yeah, the main guy had a talking ghost horse,” Mike nods. “Except he was the only one who could understand what it was saying. And, like, nobody acknowledged it. And I think the horse ended up being the spirit of a cowboy or something.” He pauses to ponder, expression much lighter than it was just a little while ago. “But that wasn’t even the weird part.”

Will takes the prompt, pleased with how apparently insignificant this topic of conversation is. “What was the weird part?”

Mike swivels to look at him dead-on. “That they walked everywhere. Side-by-side.”

He sounds mildly outraged, which is both funny and confusing. “Well, yeah,” Will says. “He couldn’t ride the horse. It wasn’t corporeal.”

“But why even have it, then?” Mike presses. “What’s the point in creating a horse that nobody can ride?”

Will quirks his lips and shrugs. “It was probably a metaphor or something. We were too young to understand.”

Mike’s eyes roam Will’s face, somewhere between teasing and affectionate. “Yeah, maybe. But you loved it anyway.”

“I loved it for the twenty minutes we had it,” Will reminds him. “I have a more vivid memory of the wind blowing it into a tree and you trying to climb up and get it, like an idiot.”

“I did climb up and get it!” Mike claims, indignant. “I had it in my hand. The wind was being fucking weird that day.”

Will’s tone turns a bit more serious as he recalls what happened next. “Whatever. You still fell.”

He doesn’t like to remember this part. The paralyzing fear that overtook him when Mike’s foot slipped, one story higher than he should have been. No broken bones, no lasting injuries, but Mike’s body scraping down the tree and the impact when he hit the ground are burned into Will’s memory.

Mike can sense the switch in his mood and immediately works to appease him. “It wasn’t that bad,” Mike says. “That’s what you told me, when I was freaking out about the blood.”

Ah, yes. The blood. On Mike’s hands and knees and ribs and face. Mere scratches, Will knew, though it turned his stomach to see Mike like that. Still does.

“You said we could fix it,” Mike continues. “You said the bruises would… heal in a week or two.”

That statement, and the hesitation with which Mike delivers it, drops the heaviness right back into the conversation. Will grimaces, half-heartedly. “Yeah, I did.” They’d been free of him for almost three years at that point. But it’s not like that knowledge, that instinct, is ever going to fade.

Will doesn’t want to dwell on it, and Mike clearly doesn’t want that either. Will can feel him searching for a redirect, his body language more strained than usual, as though he’s gathering the courage to confess something. “You know, I remember thinking,” Mike starts, tentative. “When we went back to your house, and you cleaned me up…”

He hesitates there, long enough for flashes of that intimacy to soothe Will’s uneasiness. He had to wash out the bits of dirt and bark from Mike’s wounds, dab on the disinfectant, and then bandage them, all while trying to maintain his own composure. Mike was quiet, Will recalls, letting Will work without interfering or complaining.

Mike speaks now, professing all in one breath, “I remember thinking that I needed you.”

The admission is startling, to say the least. Will barely has time to be stunned before Mike scrambles to elaborate.

“Like. In my life. Always.”

And none of those specifications do anything to lessen the impact of his original statement, which Mike seems to realize.

Will watches him sit there, fighting against his fluster. There’s no way for him to take it back, though. Mike’s shoulders are tense as he shakes his head. “I don’t know, it was a really strong… feeling.” He swallows, voice smaller with his next words. “It kinda scared me, to be honest.”

Will isn’t quite used to this level of vulnerability from Mike. At least, not where it concerns their relationship. Which makes it even more special every time Will gets to see it. God, he’s so fucking in love that it makes him look fucking stupid.

He knows he has to give something back. And he wants to, it’s just— it is really hard, to be that unabashedly open. The amount of time Will has spent loving Mike is… embarrassing to admit. He’s always been careful not to cut too close to that truth.

But he has to, now. It’s only fair. And it’s not like Will hasn’t already revealed plenty of deep-seated feelings to Mike this past week. So. What’s one more confession?

“Fourth grade.”

Without context, Mike is understandably confused. “What?” he asks, cute crease appearing between his eyebrows.

Will doesn’t look at him as he continues, focusing instead on the corner of the table. “It was a Wednesday, I think. You were late for class again, and Mrs. Blake called you out in front of everyone.” Will exhales a little laugh through his nose. “But you didn’t care. You ignored her, came over and sat next to me… and you asked me why I hadn’t been in school the day before.”

It was one of the first “sick” days Will had taken in a while. And it ended up being one of the last. Mike probably already knew, as all three boys did, the reason for Will’s absence. But he still asked. He still wanted to make sure Will was okay.

Will tucks back the surge of emotion, finishes the memory. “And you pulled out the notes you copied for me.”

Mike is gazing at him. “I remember,” he says, softly.

Will nods, still unable to meet Mike’s eyes. “That was it for me,” he declares. “When I realized I needed you.” Of course, it was more than that for Will— so very much more— but he’s not about to divulge that right now. “And it kinda scared me, too,” he admits. “But in a… good way. If that makes sense.”

There’s a beat before Mike responds. “Yeah. It does.”

And Will finally, finally looks back at him. And the second he does, they’re on the precipice again, both desperate and terrified of making the wrong move. Will can see the sorrow spreading on the other boy’s face. “Mike…”

He can’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t even know where he was going with it in the first place. Mike understands, somehow, like always.

And instead of holding back, he dives forward. Takes Will’s hand and fixes him with a poignant, shattered stare. “I don’t wanna lose you again.” He tightens his grip, lets out a breath that’s half-laugh, half-sigh. “I need you.”

He says it like he’s making fun of himself, most likely to avoid confronting the raw, painful truth. Will knows how much Mike hates feeling powerless, how often he refuses to accept defeat. Their situation is undoubtedly haunting him, crushing him, and there’s nothing that either of them can do to change that.

But Will can at least try to console him. Earnestly, he places both of his hands over Mike’s. “You won’t lose me.”

Mike’s eyes remain somber, unconvinced. “You don’t know that.”

Unfortunately true, Will thinks. But that doesn’t matter right now. That reality is not going to help them feel better. And so, very carefully, Will lifts one hand, reaches out to brush the hair back from Mike’s forehead, letting his palm linger on Mike’s cheek. “Yes, I do,” he says. “Because I need you, too.”

It’s no solid argument, no unshakeable reasoning, but still. It’s enough. Mike leans into Will’s touch, shuts his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, when their gazes reunite, they both swiftly and officially fall off the edge.

They move at the same time, lips colliding in the middle. And they kiss with a fervor that surpasses everything that came before it.

~<:>~

Chapter Text

Mike wakes up early the next morning.

In truth, he didn’t get much rest. Maybe two or three hours, right after he and Will fell asleep. That was nice. Will managed to calm him down a lot last night. But now, without that gentle, conscious presence, Mike’s anxiety is creeping up on him again.

He lays there, tucked beneath Will’s body, until the tiniest bit of light peeks in from under the door and he can hear the birds chirping outside. Slowly, using the expertise he’s gained from their recent nights together, Mike extracts himself from the blanket pile. He has to shift Will’s position as he does, and then pull the covers back up around him.

Mike’s methods still aren’t perfect, and Will stirs momentarily, reaching for him and mumbling something that sounds like his name. Fortunately, Mike has a solution for this too, and he only has to pet Will’s head a few times before the other boy relaxes enough to fall back under.

The basement is quiet, save for Will’s steady breathing. Mike looks around for something to occupy his hands and therefore his mind. On the desk in the corner, he spots the stack of bonus assignments that he agreed to do over the break and subsequently forgot about in all the chaos. It’s a lot of math— calculus, geometry, physics. All stimulating subjects that Mike enjoys. Perfect.

Solving problems is usually the best way to stop overthinking, Mike has found. So, he settles in and works for at least an hour, throwing his focus at these creatively challenging equations, erasing and rewriting and erasing again. He actually makes significant progress, until his ears pick up that familiar crinkling.

“Mike?”

It takes a second for him to snap out of the zone, and then he’s glancing behind him to where his walkie is lying by the corner of the table. Very near to where Will is trying to sleep.

Mike surges from his chair and crosses the space to grab it before it goes off again. Taking a few steps away, he faces the wall and holds the button down. “El?”

It’s not really a question. Mike knows it’s her. He could recognize her voice anywhere, after all those months he spent searching for it over radio waves. And El, after all those months she spent listening on the other end, could probably recognize his voice anywhere, too.

They’ve both established that they’re present and waiting, so El skips the pleasantries. “Can you meet me?”

Not the strangest ask, though it is somewhat unexpected. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

Mike checks the time. It’s still incredibly early. No one else in either household will be up for at least another hour. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “Sure. Where?”

El’s voice is strained as it cuts through the static. “The cabin.”

Ignoring the mild tightness in his chest, Mike responds, “Okay. Yeah. I can be there in ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” El says, sincerity bleeding through her otherwise detached tone.

The transmission ends. Immediately, Mike starts to panic. But it’s the good sort of panic, if such a thing exists. He’s hurrying to throw on his jacket and shoes, attempting to shove the walkie into one of his pockets and failing, tossing it into his backpack instead and slinging that over his shoulder, all while struggling to maintain a sense of stealth.

He makes it halfway to the door before he hears his name, once again coming from behind him.

“Mike?”

Damn. He turns to see Will’s eyes peeling open ever so slightly, body still slumped in the blankets. “Hey,” Mike says, taking cautious steps back toward the pile of bedding.

“Where’re you going?” Will asks, words slurring together.

Mike crouches down beside him. “Out,” he replies. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

He’s not sure how much of this Will is actually processing. That is, until Will’s brow furrows and he squints with sleepy concern. “Are you okay?”

And the question really shouldn’t throw Mike so off-balance; he is uncommonly familiar with it, after all. It’s just that. It’s Mike’s question. He’s supposed to be the one asking it. In fact, he’s so used to asking it that he doesn’t quite know how to answer. He seriously can’t remember the last time he was on the receiving end.

Focus, Mike. Now is not the time to get analytical. “Yeah,” he says, half-forcing the word out. “I’m okay.” He reaches out to stroke Will’s hair again, soothing. “Go back to sleep.”

Being only partially conscious and still in a highly suggestive state, Will does. Mike lingers for a few extra moments, debating. And ultimately gives in. Reaches out to trace his finger between Will’s eyebrows, down the bridge of his nose. He watches Will’s eyelids twitch at the contact, innocently, subtly disturbed, and has to leave before he’s tempted to repeat the action.

El is already at the cabin when Mike arrives.

He can spot her from outside, given that the structural integrity of this place is no longer all that great, and she’s standing under a partially-collapsed part of the roof, which is slightly worrying. Why do both of them insist on spiking Mike’s heart rate like this?

Maybe they just can’t help it, Mike considers, as he props his bike by the porch, hangs his bag from the handlebars, and climbs the stairs to join El inside.

The gaps in the walls mean it’s fucking cold in here as well. At least El had the good sense to bundle up. Her hands are bare, though, and she’s running her palm along the kitchen counter, sweeping up the light layer of dust and snow that’s collected there. Looking lonelier than Mike’s ever seen her.

Normally, he would wait until she noticed him to say anything, but she seems unusually withdrawn. Mike doubts she’ll want to initiate regardless. So. He has to.

Still unsure if she’s registered his presence or not, Mike goes for it. “Hey.”

There is a slight delay before El blinks over at him, and her expression softens, marginally. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” Mike asks, automatically, and then wants to kick himself for how stupid the question sounds.

But El nods. It’s small and solemn, but it’s something. Unfortunately, Mike doesn’t know how to continue from here. All he has is his standard follow-up: Are you sure? Which isn’t likely to get him more than another nod, and therefore feels pointless to ask.

In an unexpected but pleasant turn of events, El picks up the conversation for him. She places both hands on the lampshade in front of her, staring down at it as she speaks. “I… do not want to do this.”

Mike is too uncertain of the pieces to try and put them together. “Do what?”

El’s reply is almost a whisper. “Leave you.” She looks up at him, eyes shining. “Leave her.”

Her voice is so sad, so full of pain, that it cuts right to Mike’s heart. He understands the sentiment well enough, of course. But he hasn’t yet had the displeasure of confronting it with El. “I don’t wanna let you go,” he admits, in the same tone.

They’ve shifted closer with this exchange, no more barriers between their bodies. Mike notes the break in El’s resolve, so he’s ready when she steps forward and hugs him. Despite their unambiguous separation, there’s nothing tentative about this embrace. They fit together just like they always have; El wraps her arms around his back and Mike holds her head against his chest, and they cling to each other, both unapologetically seeking that solid warmth.

El is shaking more with each passing second, and Mike knows why. He lets her take refuge for a while, but eventually loosens his grip so he can draw back and look at her.

And she is crying, tears trailing silently from her lashes. “I’m sorry,” she manages, clearly fighting off sobs.

Mike sets his palms on her shoulders. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“For you,” El clarifies. “For Will. For Max.” She moves her hands from Mike’s waist to his forearms, breathing unsteadily. “You are all hurting. And I can’t fix it.”

Her inclination to assign herself full responsibility for any and all circumstances they find themselves in does not come as a shock to Mike, though it does still agitate him. There’s a voice in the corner of his brain that whispers something like hypocrite, which he has to ignore right now, for El’s sake.

“Hey,” he says, cupping her face. “Listen to me.” He wipes some of the tear tracks from her cheeks before he continues. “You will always be our supergirl. But you don’t have to save us every time. You don’t have to fix everything.”

El shakes her head, stuttering. “But… I worry.”

“I know you do,” Mike assures her. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay.”

She’s not quite convinced, staring up at him with those eyes that are so like Will’s, it’s no wonder Mike fell for her so instantly. “Really?”

Mike nods with more confidence than he feels. “Yeah. Really.” To further dissuade her doubts, he pivots away from the collective. “I worry about you too, you know. We all do.” His hands slide back down to grip her shoulders. “Don’t you ever stop to think about your own well-being?” he asks, shamelessly injecting his personal concern into the question. “I know you’re hurting, too. And you can’t pretend you’re not.” He squeezes her arm, lightly. “You deserve care just as much as the rest of us.”

Instead of addressing any of that, El fixes him with a knowing look. “Just as much as you?”

Her jab succeeds in getting Mike to falter, words dying on his tongue as he flounders for excuses.

This creates a spacious enough pause for El to hijack Mike’s point, twisting it back on him. “You need to take care of yourself, too.”

Mike simply shrugs, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Yeah, I know.”

He’s trying very hard to play it off as nothing, but El doesn’t let him. She reaches out and lifts his chin with her knuckles, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Do you?”

Mike has no valid response. Damn her. He forgot how easily she can see through his bullshit. Exhaling a frustrated huff, he brings his hand up to pull her wrist down. “Why did this become about me? You’re deflecting.”

“So are you,” El retorts, holding fast to that stubborn streak.

They stare in mutual defiance for an absurdly long time before Mike gives in and sighs. “Alright. Fine.” He steps away slightly, extending his hand. “I will promise to take care of myself, if—” he emphasizes, seriously “—you promise to take care of yourself. Deal?”

El studies him for a moment, likely contemplating the merits of an agreement that forbids her from throwing herself into danger at the first sign of it. But Mike has her cornered, because he’s thinking exactly the same thing. So, El does accept the handshake, with equal seriousness. “Deal.”

Now that their hands are properly intertwined, it’s difficult to let go. Their fingertips catch when they try to pull apart. So, Mike stops trying; instead, he cups El’s palms, encasing them in the meager warmth his own bare skin has to offer. And they both keep their gazes fixed there, determined to savor the contact.

“I can’t believe I have to miss you again,” Mike murmurs, absently, brutal rip down his sternum, because severing this bond never ceases to tear him up inside. It almost feels like they’re cheating time, with all these drawn-out goodbyes.

El’s response comes later and softer than expected. “You could… write to me.”

The suggestion stirs a wave of intense fondness in Mike’s core, and he raises his head to find her staring straight at him.

“I would write back,” she adds. “I know how.”

Mike is well aware of her abilities, impressive as her growth has been. He can see from the twinge of anxiety in her expression that El really wants this to be a thing, so he replies before she can convince herself it was a stupid idea. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we can do that.”

El does brighten at this, briefly, before they lapse into another silence, this one a little less precarious than the last. And yet, still strained. Still grasping at the tendrils of time they have left.

“We’ll see each other again,” Mike declares, even though the only basis for the statement is how deeply he desires it to be true.

El understands. She plays along anyway, likely just as desperate to ignore that uncertainty. “Soon?”

Mike nods. “Soon.”

Out of sync, their gazes drop down to where their hands remain connected. Mike watches El’s thumb brush back and forth across his as she gathers her thoughts. There’s not a whole lot left to say, so he is admittedly curious to hear whatever final sentiment has her chewing on her lip like this.

When she does finally speak, her tone has reverted to that careful state, where it’s clear she’s just barely holding it together. “While I’m gone…” she starts, and then stops. Lifts her stare to meet his, blinking twice. “You will protect her, right?”

Mike has to release the tension from his jaw to adequately respond. “Of course I will.” Then swallows to keep his feelings from betraying him. “And you’ll protect him?”

El sends a reassuring squeeze through their joined hands. “Always.”

There’s power in that word, because they both know the promise is real. That El has always protected her brother. And Mike trusts that she always will.

Her eyes swim with bittersweet melancholy as she breaks out from their entwinement, taking Mike’s face in her hands. “I love you,” she swears, with a fierceness.

The declaration knocks away the last, microscopic bits of Mike’s resolve, melts him down to a state of pure affection. He copies El’s action, and then her words, injecting them with the full extent of his feeling. “I love you, too.”

~<:>~

El’s side of the bed is empty when Max stirs, the first time.

She doesn’t have the motivation to get up; fortunately, all she has to do is lift her head a bit to see that El’s coat and shoes are gone from their usual spot. Maybe, under different circumstances, Max would be worried. Not now, though. Her capacity for panic has been effectively crushed by her lethargy.

Besides, El can handle herself. She doesn’t need Max to look after her, anymore.

The thought lulls Max back to sleep, and when she wakes again, she’s not alone.

El is laying on top of the covers, fully clothed, curled up and facing Max. Staring, like she does. Somehow, it’s never unsettling— then again, Max is rather biased when it comes to receiving El’s attention.

“Hi,” Max croaks, voice protesting the sudden use.

“Hi,” El echoes. Her voice, in contrast, sounds melodic.

Max takes a moment to collect herself, stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes before returning her focus to the conversation. To El. “Where were you?”

“With Mike,” El replies, steadily. “At the cabin.”

The admission isn’t inherently troubling, but Max still feels a note of concern strike up through her chest. It couldn’t have been easy for El to go back to that place. “Is everything okay?”

El’s expression hasn’t changed in the slightest. “Yes.”

Max accepts the answer, nodding. She tries not to let it bother her, that El turned to Mike for support. Because it’s not exactly a surprise, considering how much of a disaster Max has been. How much of a disaster she is. She can’t blame El for seeking comfort elsewhere.

She also can’t dwell on it. They have to get ready to say goodbye.

El shifts back, giving Max room to rise from the bed. Intuition on point, as usual. As far as Max knows, El isn’t a traditional telepath. But she’s something. Max often wonders how far that ability extends. To the subconscious, certainly, but the conscious? Unlikely. If El could actually read minds, she would have left a long time ago. Max is sure of that.

She stands, ignores the stabbing in her skull, and heads for the dresser. Her clothes from yesterday are stinking up the laundry, which is the only reason she’s not throwing them back on. Attempting to think as little as possible, Max grabs the first weather-appropriate item she sees in each drawer and gets to getting changed.

After that, it’s just steps, and Max can fully, truly stop thinking, ease into the routine with her body on autopilot. This doesn’t last as long as she wants it to, however, because suddenly she’s going from brushing her teeth to standing outside Billy’s door.

And then the autopilot feels like a betrayal, as it carries her inside. There’s nothing new for her here, no space that Max hasn’t thoroughly studied over the past five months. But here she is anyway. Again. Always.

Her senses, though muted, do pick up the creak of the floorboards and the shadow running across them. So she’s not startled when El’s arms slide around her waist, encircling her from behind. Max closes her eyes, breathes deeply, and she lets the contact warm her.

Neither of them speak for a while. Max holds El’s hands against her abdomen, El rests her nose against Max’s neck. And they cling to this moment of peace. Undeserved on Max’s part, but she’s not above being selfish. She’ll take any scrap of tenderness she can get, to be revisited in the many lonely nights to come.

El sighs into Max’s skin, shifts her chin on Max’s shoulder. “I wish I could stay.”

There’s pressure in Max’s head and throat, like someone is squeezing her brainstem. “I know,” she manages.

With some reluctance, she taps her fingers over El’s forearms, and El loosens her grip automatically. Max only mourns the loss of connection for the seconds it takes her to turn around, and then she’s pulling El’s lips to hers, and El is kissing her back, each of them trying to make the most of it in their own way.

When they break apart again, Max has gathered the courage to deliver her final request. She’s still holding El’s face in her hands, thumbs sweeping across her jaw. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

It’s meant to be more reassuring than it probably is, judging by the way El’s eyebrows push together. But she doesn’t say anything back. Just reaches up and trails her knuckles down the curve of Max’s cheek.

Max searches those dark eyes, even though El’s not looking back. She’s gazing past the surface of Max’s skin, in reverence. Contemplating something recognizable, and yet entirely unknown. After a while, El’s left hand rises to join her right, solidifying her careful grip; and she draws herself to Max’s forehead, her temples, her cheekbones, planting gentle kisses in every spot, before she finds Max’s lips again.

They’ve successfully exhausted their verbal range. The only thing left now is this physical manifestation of their feelings. And Max embraces it, as El floors her with a properly passionate farewell.

~<:>~

“You ready?”

Will turns to where Mike is standing, a few feet to his right. He has one hand on Will’s suitcase, the other clenched anxiously at his side. Looking like he’d rather be doing anything else.

As is his default, Will moves closer, intent on soothing Mike’s nerves. “Yeah,” he lies. “Are you?”

There’s a flicker of outstanding pain in Mike’s expression that he works very hard to hide. “Yeah,” he says. The tension in his body has not dissipated at all.

They’re stuck again. Caught in each other’s orbits, unable and unwilling to break apart. They’ve been here enough times that Will knows now, how to remedy the situation. He knows there’s only one way to get them unstuck.

He reaches for Mike’s free hand— the one not gripping the suitcase handle— and holds it in both of his, using two fingers to stroke the inside of Mike’s wrist until his fist unfurls. Mike offers no resistance to these actions. Not even when Will, while maintaining direct eye contact, raises the hand to his lips and presses a kiss to Mike’s palm. Their fingers curl around each other as Will lowers Mike’s hand back down, and Will can almost see the conflict dying behind Mike’s eyes.

He’s made the first move; now it’s Mike’s turn. And Mike does deliver. He lifts his other hand from the suitcase and guides it to cradle Will’s cheek, also refusing to break the intensity of their stare. “I’m not ready.”

That truth puts them one step closer to reprieve. Will leans into the touch, brings his right hand up to cover Mike’s, uses the leverage to tilt his head and kiss that palm too, without ever looking away. “Me neither.”

It takes Mike approximately four seconds to close the gap between them, and there. Full catharsis, as Mike kisses Will in much the same manner as he did that first time, detangling their joined hands to cup the other side of Will’s face. Will is a much more active participant this time around. He pushes back against Mike’s lips, brushes his newly freed hand over Mike’s jaw. And they stay anchored there, kissing until they run the risk of losing oxygen.

It is only after this, after they rest their foreheads together and recollect themselves, that they are finally willing and able to depart.

Everyone is gathered outside. Jonathan and Nancy are deep in conversation, right next to where their moms are embracing. El, Max, Lucas, and Dustin are all clumped on the Wheelers’ front lawn, no doubt waiting for Mike and Will to emerge before they commence with the goodbye hugs. New location, Will thinks. Same shitty feeling.

“At last,” Dustin says, once they reach him. “We were starting to wonder if you’d eloped.”

“No one was wondering that,” Lucas refutes immediately.

Dustin shrugs with a half-hearted smile. “Just me, then.”

Will’s chest is aching already with how desperately he is going to miss them.

They still have to load Will’s suitcase into the trunk. Which is very much a one-person job, and yet all four boys find it necessary to participate. Not that Will is complaining; watching the other three try to rearrange the luggage and collaborate with their collective geometry skills is an incredibly entertaining experience.

As soon as Lucas shuts the trunk, the heavy atmosphere returns, and the four of them just stand there beside the car, looking around at each other. Will locks eyes with Dustin first, and then he can’t bring himself to look away. Dustin appears similarly reluctant. God fucking damnit, they’re really doing this again.

“Well,” Dustin starts. Will waits for him to elaborate, but that’s all Dustin says before he moves forward and crushes Will in a hug.

It’s so familiar, being wrapped in Dustin’s embrace; Will is already tearing up, even though he promised himself he wouldn’t cry again. It’s just so fucking hard to leave them.

“I love you, dude,” Dustin says. “You have to come back.”

Will tightens his grip on Dustin’s back, speaks around the lump in his throat. “I will.”

After they pull apart, Will moves to Lucas, and the two of them embrace with that same, sad intensity. “Stay safe, okay?” Lucas says, his concern equal parts wonderful and devastating, and Will nods as best he can from this angle.

Eventually, they separate as well, and Will turns to his left, to where the other four are gathered. He catches Mike pulling back from El so that Dustin can seize her waist and pick her up, as is tradition. Lucas moves toward that trio, leaving Max and Will on their own.

There’s a mildly awkward moment, which Max covers quickly enough. “So,” she says. “I can call you whenever I want to, right?”

Her tone is playful, but Will knows she’s serious. “Whenever,” he promises, gratified when he spots genuine emotion in her eyes.

She steps forward and hugs him, likely to keep herself from breaking any further. “Bye, Will.”

Will relaxes into the embrace. “Bye, Max.”

Once they’ve pulled apart, and Lucas and El have pulled apart, there’s a stretch of suspense among the six of them, as Will and El each have one person left to hug. Their most important person, respectively.

And no, Will doesn’t want to be this emotionally vulnerable in front of his friends, especially not with his mom and brother standing a few feet away. But he can’t keep himself from hugging Mike. And he can’t stop Mike from hugging him.

They do shift towards each other rather slowly, pausing briefly to stare once they’re close enough to touch. And then Will lets go of all hesitation, throws his arms around Mike’s neck, and Mike holds him so, so tightly.

“Are you okay?” Mike whispers. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Will answers, burying his face in Mike’s shoulder.

They stay like that as long as they can without drawing unwanted suspicion from certain observers. Which is nowhere near long enough for Will, but it has to be. And Will is no stranger to following what has to be.

Max and El are still hugging when Mike and Will pull apart. El has her eyes closed, but her expression is quivering, the way it does when she’s about to cry. She’s trying to hold it together just as much as Will is.

He watches a few tears leak out once they separate, and he watches Max wipe them away. And eventually, El turns her gaze to Will, who holds out his hand to help her along.

As she takes it, as they move through their friends and toward the car, Jonathan and Joyce move to follow. The four of them pack into the vehicle, buckle their seatbelts one-by-one, and Joyce backs out of the driveway, all while enduring the looming presence of those who remain on the lawn. Will can still see them in the rearview all the way down the street. Until they turn the corner, and the familiar figures disappear.

The second they’re out of sight, Will feels the burn in the back of his throat. El is already weeping silently beside him. Will places his hand on the seat between them, palm up for El to grab, which she does. And they sit together in their misery, part of the pain alleviated where their hands are joined.

~<:>~

Chapter Text

Max vanishes almost immediately after they finish saying goodbye.

Mike and the others are distracted, still staring down the street at the retreating Byers car. It’s not until the license plate fully disappears from view and everyone starts to turn around that Mike even realizes she’s gone.

He’s not worried, at first. He knows she needs space. It’s a little concerning that she’s shut her walkie off, static greeting Mike every time he goes to check on her. But it’s not completely abnormal behavior. It’s not an issue, that they don’t see her for the rest of the day, or at all the next day.

It becomes a problem when she doesn’t show up to school on Monday.

Mike is sitting in homeroom, glancing at the empty desk beside him and forcing himself not to panic. Maybe she’s just late. The thought feels fragile, and its plausibility quickly crumbles as the bell rings and classes commence and she’s still nowhere. Mike can’t even spot her in the halls, which is normally an easy feat with how vibrantly her hair stands out from the pack.

She’s fine, he tells himself. She’s just sulking. The longer the morning drags on with no sign of her, the harder it is to believe that.

As soon as calc wraps up, Mike is out the door, headed straight for Lucas’s locker. Lucas isn’t there yet, so Mike has to wait awkwardly until the other boy emerges from the classroom across the hall, understandably confused to find Mike already hovering.

Mike wastes no time. “Hey,” he starts, stepping closer. “Have you seen Max at all today?”

Predictably, Lucas’s face takes on an acute level of stress. “No, she wasn’t in history.” He searches Mike’s eyes. “She wasn’t in homeroom either?”

The second Mike shakes his head, Lucas simultaneously tenses and deflates. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Mike agrees.

“Where’s Dustin?”

“I don’t know.”

Lucas’s brow furrows at that. “Don’t you guys normally eat together—”

“Yeah, I don’t know where he is,” Mike responds, possibly sharper than is strictly necessary, but he is so not in the mood to be worried about his tone right now.

It doesn’t matter anyway; Lucas understands. “Okay,” he says, moving past Mike to open his locker and exchange his books. “Well. I have to go.” He re-zips his bag, shuts the locker door and turns back to Mike. “When you see Dustin—”

“I’ll ask him.”

Lucas nods his assent. There’s a brief moment of suspense in which neither of them speak, but about a thousand things pass between them anyway. Lucas takes a stilted step backward, adjusting the bag strap on his shoulder, before officially turning, posture strained as he heads down the hall to his next class.

Mike is stuck in the cafeteria alone, for a while. Sitting with a tray full of food in front of him, bouncing his leg and spiraling instead of actually eating any of it. His thoughts fluctuate from desperate reassurances to dark and disturbing dramatizations of what might have happened, or what might be happening, or what might still happen. It’s a violent swing in all directions.

Thus, he’s sufficiently engrossed when a second tray of food slams down onto the table next to his, scaring the shit out of him. “Hey,” Dustin says, taking a seat.

Mike doesn’t bother greeting him. “Where the hell have you been?”

Dustin isn’t fazed by his abruptness. “I was at the guidance office, but they couldn’t tell me shit.”

Still shaking off the initial alarm, Mike frowns. “What? Why were you—”

“I was asking about Max.”

Of course, Mike thinks, stomach churning. Dustin would pursue the highest authority first, before coming to them. And the fact that he’s returning with no information can’t be good.

“I haven’t seen her at all today,” Dustin continues, affirming Mike’s fear. “Have you?”

Fuck. Trying very hard not to freak out, Mike responds, “No. Lucas hasn’t either.”

The look on Dustin’s face echoes Mike’s internal monologue, as does his follow-up comment. “Well, shit.”

Yeah, Mike agrees, again, though this time it’s not out loud; he’s too paralyzed with distress to form actual words.

“What the hell are we supposed to do, then?” Dustin asks, that same note of anxiety clouding his voice. “Do we just… go to her house once classes are over?”

“No,” Mike replies, immediately, startling them both with his vehemence, given that he has no solid plan.

Dustin still looks to him for elaboration. “Then what?”

And it would be prudent for Mike to stall, to spend a little longer thinking this through. Except he can’t. There’s no time, and he’s already made up his mind. He sets his jaw. “I’m gonna go find her.”

Dustin has to watch him push his tray aside, snatch his backpack off the floor, and rise from the table before he fully comprehends Mike’s meaning. “What, now? But you can’t— Mike!”

Mike is halfway across the cafeteria and no longer listening.

He makes it around the corner, a few feet from the exit doors, before Dustin catches up to him. “Mike, wait!”

“No, I waited,” Mike says, stopping in his tracks to spin around, rather forcefully. “I waited all morning. I’m done waiting.”

His delivery is apparently profound enough to leave Dustin speechless, miraculous a feat as that is. Mike didn’t intend to be so aggressive, he just…

He exhales, unsteady. “If I don’t do this now…”

And Dustin understands, like Lucas, the reason for Mike’s stubbornness. They all share this same, persistent and immutable fear. “Okay,” he relents. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“Mike—”

“If we both go without Lucas, he’ll be pissed,” Mike points out, cutting off Dustin’s indignance. “Besides, you have a presentation next period.” It has to be me, he doesn’t say, because he knows how adamantly Dustin would refuse him then.

He’s almost afraid that Dustin won’t back down no matter what he says. But the other boy’s eyes slowly fill with reluctant resignation, and after a few more moments of staring, he sighs. “Fine.” He reaches out to grip Mike’s arm, right above the elbow. “Just… be careful.”

Mike nods, maintaining eye contact until Dustin lets go. The dynamic has shifted, serious and focused, like they are when shit is going down. Mike starts to back up towards the doors. “Tell Lucas,” he says. “I’ll call you when I find her.”

~<:>~

Despite his earlier claims to the contrary, Mike does start at Max’s house.

It is the first logical step in locating her. She could just be skipping, sulking in her room like Mike imagined. The car is in the driveway, and the garage is closed, so there’s no telling whether or not her bike is still here. Which means Mike is going to have to knock.

He leaves his bike on the street, walks up the hill and clears the porch steps, gets all the way to the door and even raises his fist to knock. And then hesitates. Because he so doesn’t want Max’s mom to be the one to answer. He never knows what the hell to say to her. But he has to fucking knock, regardless of who opens the door. Otherwise, what was the point of this?

“Shit,” he mutters, and knocks.

Much to his chagrin, it is Max’s mom who answers the door, looking pale and tired and very put off by Mike’s presence. “Can I help you?” she asks, shortly.

“Yeah, hi… Ms. Mayfield,” Mike starts, almost slipping up on the honorific. “Um. Is Max here?”

At the mention of her daughter’s name, Ms. Mayfield’s disposition instantly switches, from defensive to indifferent. She looks Mike over and responds, simply, “No.”

Mike waits, but she does not elaborate. “Well, do you know where she is?” he asks.

Ms. Mayfield still seems relaxed. Bitterly amused, even. “I assumed you would,” she says. The statement, coupled with her pointed stare, sparks something strangely close to guilt in Mike’s gut— a feeling which does not dissipate at her next words. “It’s not the first time she’s done this, is it?”

She’s so intensely nonchalant, and it’s really throwing Mike off. As predicted, he has no idea how to talk to her, or how to react to her allegations. 

“Don’t feel too bad,” she continues, somewhat softer. “If you can’t find her.”

Mike can only flounder with disbelief. “You’re not worried?”

Ms. Mayfield doesn’t quite answer the question, though her response is tangentially related. “She’ll come back.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” Mike stresses.

His concern does nothing to change Ms. Mayfield’s attitude. “She will.”

Mike takes in her disheveled appearance, her sunken eyes, her knowing passivity. But he still can’t fathom how she could possibly believe that. He shakes his head, backing up. “Sorry, I’m not… taking that chance.”

He feels her gaze boring into him as he descends the hill, as he climbs onto his bike and rides off down the street, towards the woods.

Location one was a bust. Now Mike has to work his way through the (discouragingly short) list of places that Max would hide. Hopper’s cabin is closest, so he stops there first; but there’s no sign of her. He checks the Byers house next, even though he doubts Max would go back there if she really doesn’t want to be found. And sure enough, the house is empty.

By process of elimination, there’s only one safe space left. If she’s not there… Mike will have to improvise.

It starts to snow on the way. The powder isn’t quite sticking to the ground, but it adds a significant chill to the air, and to Mike’s skin, as the snowflakes land and melt. He wonders if Max was sensible enough to wear weather-appropriate clothing this time around. God, he hopes so.

As it turns out, there’s no need to hope. Just like in school, it’s easy to spot her red hair amid the rusted, now snow-covered, vehicles. Mike slows his bike to a stop, relief rushing through his veins, leaving him a little light-headed.

She’s sitting on the back of their pick-up, hands locked around one knee while the other dangles freely off the edge of the truck bed. She’s also wearing jeans and boots and her winter coat, Mike notes with another surge of relief. So at least she’s not trying to freeze to death.

He dismounts his bike, hangs his bag from the handlebars as is his standard, and walks toward the truck. Max hasn’t acknowledged him yet, given that he’s approaching from behind. But she doesn’t have to look to know that he’s there, that it’s him.

“What are you doing here, Mike?”

It’s only after she speaks that she turns to him, and Mike is caught in her steely gaze. Considering the day he’s had, it’s actually kind of nice, to be caught there. “Looking for you,” he admits, shamelessly.

Max appears mildly annoyed at this, flexes her jaw and tilts her head away. “What do you want?”

Mike can already see that this is going to be like pulling teeth. He’d better get ready for a fight, then. Shifting closer, he releases a breath, puff of air visible in the cold. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

There’s another beat, during which Mike unmistakably witnesses Max shutting down, stacking up her defenses. “I’m fine,” she says, hard and quiet.

Obviously, Mike doesn’t buy that for a second. So he doesn’t bother moving, opting instead to keep standing there, waiting for her to say something honest.

Max glances over to him again, warily. “So you can go now.”

Her voice has enough edge to warrant obedience, from anyone else. It’s a good thing Mike has never been the obedient type.

He walks forward, clocking the tension in Max’s body as he does, and settles down onto the pick-up bed beside her. Max is looking at him now, confused irritation in her eyes. But she doesn’t move away. That’s something.

Mike holds her gaze, softens his posture as much as he can. “Talk to me.”

It’s more of a request than a demand, but they both know Mike isn’t going to leave until she does. A fact which evidently frustrates Max to no end.

She spends several minutes in uneasy silence, likely searching for a way to get rid of him and maintain her distance. This must prove too difficult, as she gives up, shrugs her shoulders heavily. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

The phrasing is familiar, stirring another memory Mike has of being here, in this exact location, telling Max the same thing. He follows the thought, echoes her response from back then. “Anything.”

It doesn’t do the trick the way Mike intended. Instead, Max bristles, undoubtedly remembering, but choosing to reject the sentiment. “Okay. Go away.”

Mike sighs. “Max…”

She throws him a look rife with mockery and contempt. “Oh, what, was I supposed to bare my soul to you again?” she asks, sarcasm coating every word. “Tell you how empty and hopeless I feel so you can try to save me from my pain?”

There’s enough underlying truth in her dig that Mike has no room to protest. He just has to swallow the judgement, and pray that it gets them somewhere.

Max’s eyes are cold as she turns away again. “No, thanks. I’m not interested in joining Mike Wheeler’s shelter for the lost and broken.”

She’s actively trying to rile him up by delivering her words with such unnecessary hostility. It’s painfully obvious, and familiar, and Mike wishes he couldn’t recognize it so easily. He wishes it came as more of a shock.

The best technique, he decides, is to call her on it.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, casually, staring at her profile until she looks back at him. “And it’s not gonna work.”

Maybe it would have, months ago, before Mike really knew her. But not now. Not after everything that’s happened between them.

Max scoffs. “Really?” The tiny smile tugging at the corners of her lips is nothing to celebrate, because Mike can see how sharp and bitter it is. The disdain carries over as she gestures for him to continue. “Please, enlighten me. What am I doing?”

Well, Mike thinks. She asked for it. “You’re pretending.”

It’s clearly not what she was expecting him to say, and Mike takes advantage of her surprise, her brief loss of composure.

“You’re pushing me away,” he continues, evenly. “Because you’re scared I won’t understand.”

“That’s because you won’t understand, Mike,” Max retorts with a flash of ire. “How could you? Your perfect nuclear family’s not a fucking garbage fire.”

Mike has to resist the urge to object, more grateful that she’s given him a glimpse into why she’s isolating herself. Besides, there is plenty of validity to the statement. The dysfunction in Mike’s family is entirely different from the dysfunction in hers.

“And this isn’t an act, by the way,” Max adds, for good measure. “I would genuinely love it if you fucked off.”

Her antagonism is starting to ignite Mike’s fondness for her, weird as that is. “Yeah,” he says. “I know you would.” And he can sympathize; after all, he’s no stranger to wanting to be left alone. He shakes his head. “But I’m not leaving.”

“Why not?” Max snaps, frustration cracking her callous demeanor.

Mike looks her in the eye as he presents his reasoning. “You didn’t.”

That manages to shut her up, for a few moments, as something more genuine and vulnerable crosses her face, melting her icy exterior even further. Mike traces the emotion all the way down to her core.

She recovers quickly, jumps to dismiss his point. “That was different.”

“Why?”

“You know why!”

Mike registers this as her begging him to drop it. But there’s no way he’s going to back down now, when they’re so close to a breakthrough. “Because it was me and not you?”

And that observation is what sets her off.

“Oh, fuck you, Mike!” Max bites out, standing from the truck bed. “You don’t get to do this to me!” Mike stands with her, watches her fists clench at her sides. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” she declares, angrily. “I don’t owe you shit.”

Mike is just gratified to see her expressing something other than apathy. “No, you don’t,” he agrees. “I owe you.”

Max glares at him. “Well, I don’t want your help.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty fucking clear.”

“Then why the fuck are you still trying?” Max looks like she wants to shove him, scrapes her hands through her hair instead. “Why can’t you ever just leave things alone? I told you I’m fine because I am! I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

Max raises her eyebrows, sharply. “What?”

“Bullshit,” Mike repeats, his own anger flaring. “You’re not fine. You’re not gonna be fine until you tell me what you’re really feeling!”

A dangerous incredulity bleeds onto Max’s face. “What I’m feeling?” she echoes, with venom. “You wanna know what I’m feeling, Mike?”

She’s about to give him something real, though the possibility is far more daunting than Mike anticipated.

“Nothing,” Max declares, blatant contradiction to the fire in her eyes. “I’m not feeling a goddamn thing. Because yeah, I am empty, and broken, and all that other shit I said— it’s all true.” She raises her arms. “So, congratulations! You called it! I’m a fucking mess! But I’ve been this way my whole life, and I’ve gotten pretty damn good at dealing with it on my own!”

“You’re not dealing with it, Max!” Mike argues, despite himself. “You’re ignoring it! You can’t do that and expect everything to be okay—”

“I don’t expect everything to be okay!” Max shouts. “Nothing about this is okay, and talking about it isn’t going to fucking change that, because it’s already killing me!”

She cuts herself off there. Whether it’s intentional or not, Mike can’t tell. Her last words linger in the air, like the chill, settling into Mike’s bones. He looks at her through the snow that’s still falling around them, a complement to the somber atmosphere.

There’s a new tremor in Max’s voice when she speaks again. “So just… go.” She can’t meet his gaze as she delivers her final, fragile feeling. “There’s no point in sticking around just to watch me disappear.”

And that cuts open old wounds that Mike had no intention of ever revisiting.

He has to take a second, blink away the few snowflakes that have landed on his lashes. Her confession has shattered his momentum, locked him in place with his own dismal, tragic thoughts. But he’s not in a position to be spiraling. This isn’t about him. He has to fight against the paralysis, so he can pull them both out of this.

When he finally relocates his voice, there’s only one singular, stubborn sentiment to express. “You’re not going to disappear.” You can’t, he thinks. Not you, too. “I won’t let you.”

Though clearly affected, Max remains guarded, lets out a bitter laugh. “It is so, so not up to you, Mike.”

“Yes, it is,” Mike insists. It is. “Because I promised El that I would protect you.” He suppresses the heartache that accompanies her absence, holding fast to his conviction. “I promised her.”

Max is looking at him like she’s one gust of wind away from breaking, defenses almost entirely dropped. Mike sets his jaw, carefully. 

“And because you’re my friend.”

He’s not sure he’s ever said it before. Which seems stupid now, with how intensely he feels it. How fiercely he needs it. She’s an irreplaceable force in his life.

He can’t give that up. He won’t. “And I’m not gonna lose you.”

Max’s expression has fully fractured, and she shakes her head, brings one hand up to her brow and turns away. Still trying to hide, to protect herself.

Mike approaches slowly, lays a cautious hand on her back, but she shrugs him off. “Don’t…”

Her voice has lost its solidity, now wavering with every note. She’s on the verge of collapsing, Mike can tell. So he doesn’t move away. He waits for her.

She drops the hand from her forehead down to cover her mouth, curls in on herself with a choked sob. “God damnit.”

Mike tries again, rests his palm between her shoulder blades, and Max lets him keep it there, this time. His instinct is to soothe her, move his hand in circles over her jacket. They stay like that for a while, Max struggling to get her breathing under control, until she finally gives up, sinks to her knees in the snow, and Mike sinks down with her.

The sheer volume of the pain inside her is evident from how heavily she cries, now that she’s letting herself show any emotion at all. Mike is unable to keep his eyes from watering, too. She sounds so miserable, so broken. It overwhelms his senses, freezing him to their spot on the ground. All he has is his hand on her back. A flimsy, desperate reminder that he’s there. That she’s not alone.

Mike isn’t sure how much time has passed since the start of their conversation. They’ve sort of transcended that material acknowledgement, thoroughly stuck in the moment. It’s a shitty moment, to be sure. But there’s not much Mike can do about that, for now.

So he stays. He stays, and he listens to her anguish, and he tries not to let himself fall too far down there with her.

Eventually, Max’s agony wanes. Her sobs turn to sniffs and shaky breaths. She twitches upright, pushes herself back from the snow, and she starts to wipe her face on her sleeve. Grimaces at the mess that comes away. “Ugh. This is disgusting.”

Perhaps against his better judgement, Mike tries cracking a joke. “Yeah, feelings are disgusting.”

The look Max shoots him does include a hint of concurrence, but there’s more exhausted exasperation than anything. “Do you have tissues?”

Mike hesitates. “No, but…”

He holds out his sleeve, as an offering. Max rolls her eyes, pushes it away. She keeps using her own sleeve, rubs at her nose until it’s thoroughly filthy, and she has to use the heel of her other hand to wipe the remaining tears from her cheeks.

Mike watches her movements slow, watches her drop both hands back into her lap and turn her head left, staring out into the snow. Her eyes are so bright now, clear blue reflecting their pale surroundings.

“I can’t do this,” she murmurs, absently.

Even though he understands, Mike’s not letting it slide. “Yes, you can.” He reaches out over their knees, places a gentle hand on her upper arm. “We can.”

The action pulls Max’s attention back to him. She doesn’t appear all that reassured.

“We have to move,” she says, and those words wash a new wave of fear over Mike’s heart. Max huffs, caustically. “We can’t afford shit without him.”

She sounds relatively unbothered. Mike still has to ask. “You’re not… leaving Hawkins…”

“No,” Max asserts. “No, no way.” She shakes her head, keeps wiping her face. “We’ll just… find something cheaper.”

Mike doesn’t know whether he should pursue this line of questioning or not. He supposes it’s dickish of him not to care where she lives, as long as she stays in their fucked up little town. But he can hide that, if she wants to talk more about it.

His debate is rendered irrelevant, as the radio in his backpack goes off behind them, choppy white noise surrounding his name. “Mike?”

Shit, he thinks, once he’s got past the initial panic. He did promise Dustin that he would call. He’s just not sure how okay Max is with the idea.

“Mike, are you there?” Lucas repeats. He’s using the general channel, which means Dustin must be there with him.

Max quirks an eyebrow, notably confused as to why he’s not rushing to pick up. Mike glances between her and his backpack, indecision rooting him in place, until Max registers the reason for his behavior.

“You can go get that,” she says, assuaging. “I’m not gonna run away.”

There is a dark spot of humor in her tone. Ironically, it’s enough to convince Mike that she’s being genuine.

So he does get to his feet, crosses the short distance to his bag and unzips the pocket with the walkie in it. “Mike, come in. Are you there?”

He holds the button down as he walks back over to Max, kneels down beside her again. “Yeah,” he responds. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Lucas’s voice cuts back in the second Mike lets go. “Did you find her?”

Instead of answering right away, Mike looks to Max for permission. Because yeah, they know he’s there now, but he’s still willing to leave them hanging, if she needs more time.

Max seems surprised at his restraint, and Mike notes several stages of conflicting comprehension that fade in and out of her expression. But these pass in quick succession, and she gives him a nod.

“Yeah, I found her,” Mike confirms. “She’s okay.”

He can feel the collective relief on the other end. “Where are you?” Lucas asks.

Again, Mike hesitates, unsure if she wants them to come there. This time, it takes a little longer for her to decide. But the result is the same— another nod of permission. “The junkyard,” Mike replies.

“Okay,” Lucas acknowledges, sounding slightly out of breath. “We’re on our way.”

His voice returns to static, and Mike shuts the walkie off.

Max is already lost in her head, likely feeling some trepidation at Lucas and Dustin’s impending presence. Mike would feel bad, except she’s the one who technically invited them. Although that doesn’t preclude her from having second thoughts.

“Hey,” Mike checks in. “You good?”

Max doesn’t answer, instead dragging her gaze over his figure. She sniffs. “You look stupid with snow in your hair.”

It’s such a petty, insignificant insult, and she delivers it with a hint of her normal, teasing tone. Mike can’t help the grin that spreads onto his face.

His amusement gets Max to smile too, though not nearly as wide, delight hidden in her eyes, her brows, the corner of her lips. The expression doesn’t last all that long, drops to something deeper, more serious, as Max keeps looking at him. “Thank you,” she says, quietly.

Mike nods, matching her sincerity while retaining some of his smile. And they sit there, shivering together in the snow, until Lucas and Dustin finally join them.

~<:>~

The view out beyond the car window is undeniably gorgeous, despite El’s less-than-pleasant mood. Rolling hills, open skies, the setting sun painting the road in soft rays of orange and gold. It reminds her of summer, and fiery red hair.

She lets herself wallow in that, for a little while. They’re almost home anyway. Home, being a relative term these days.

Will has long since fallen asleep in the seat beside her. Something about the steady hum of the engine tends to do that to him, El has noticed. She has to wake him up as they pull into the driveway, and a gentle hand on his arm is all it takes, as usual.

They unload from the vehicle, and then they unload the vehicle, everyone hauling in their own suitcase. The house feels cold and empty, even after they’ve all entered and filled it up again. It’ll feel that way for a while, El suspects. They’re all still aching with the echoes of their respective partners, perpetually stuck in this tender, irrevocable pain.

El finds herself staring, tracing the outlines of her family as they meander around the space, working to complete physical tasks that El could easily help them with. She wants to be able to help them. That’s all she ever wants to do. And she could. She can. She’s capable, and controlled.

And she’s so sick of secrets.

It’s this sentiment that she takes to Will, once the sun has fully set, and Jonathan and Joyce have both gone to bed.

“You want to tell them?” Will repeats, searching for confirmation.

At El’s nod, Will appears contemplative, lost in thought for a moment before he nods, too.

“Okay. I mean, it’s up to you.”

El shifts on the bed, minutely insecure. “Do you think… it’s a good idea?”

Will blinks, registers her uncertainty, and jumps to reassure her. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think it’d be good for them to know. Then we could all be looking out for you.”

Of course, the first factor he considers is her safety. El shakes her head fondly and wonders how, after everything, she still ended up this lucky.

They lapse into a silence that stretches on for several minutes. Never uncomfortable, but always tentative. Will is the one to break it, speaking softly. “I think I’m gonna have nightmares tonight.”

The remark grows less startling the more El analyzes it, and she finds herself concurring. “I think… I will, too.”

Their shared resignation only lasts a few seconds. “You could… stay in here,” Will offers. “If you want.” He shrugs. “Might save us the trip across the hall.”

In all their time living under the same roof, Will’s consideration and attentiveness and generosity have not yet ceased to amaze El. She’s still flooded with affection every time he’s kind to her. That might come from something deeper, she supposes. But she’d rather attribute it to Will’s character than to her own trauma.

Embracing the warm feeling in her chest, El nods, and Will adjusts his position instantly, pulls the covers back for her to crawl under.

Will falls asleep first, again. El lays curled up beside him, observing the initial serenity that she knows will soon be interrupted by darkness. But she hates having to think like that, like their suffering is inevitable. It doesn’t have to be. It doesn’t.

El scoots closer, places her hand over Will’s, and pours whatever passive energy she has left into the contact. So that when they do drift off, when El’s eyes finally slide shut, she can meet Will on the other side. And they can face their nightmares, together.

~<:>~