Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I really don’t think it’s smart to be out this late, Will. I mean—" Mike trips on a root and lets out a small surprised yelp before regaining his balance. “They’re still patrolling the area, you know? Everyone’s just... paranoid.”

For a few minutes, Will doesn’t bother dignifying that with an answer. His pace is steady and sure, the only sounds in the darkness being their crunching steps and the metallic shink of the shotgun slung over his shoulder brushing against his jacket. In his hands, he carries a heavy black duffel bag. Will lets out a small, irritated huff before speaking.

“I’m aware, Mike. It’s not like I don’t know about the patrols—or did you forget Hopper and my mom are the ones organizing them?” The silence stretches for a few seconds before he mutters angrily, “If you’re gonna keep reminding me of that the whole way there, you can turn back, Mike. I told you, you didn’t have to come.”

“No! No, I’m fine; I don’t want to go back.” Mike answers quickly, speeding up to walk beside Will. The taller boy tries to catch Will’s gaze, but Will’s face stays locked forward, determined. “I said we'd do this together, didn't I?”

Mike tries to brush his hand against Will’s, but Will only tightens his grip on the shotgun strap, refusing to acknowledge the gesture.

Will can’t quite say when he started feeling this anger toward Mike. It’s not like he hates him or anything—not at all. Will could never do that. Maybe it has more to do with how long he’s had to deal with the half-relationship they’ve shared over the years. He wishes he could say everything was fixed when they were in Lenora, that when he gave Mike the painting and heard that everlasting love confession toward Eleven, he could finally move past his puppy-love crush, and they’d be able to rebuild their friendship. But maybe things were already too broken to fix.

Maybe it was the lack of communication they had for months, when he couldn’t bring himself to send letters or call Mike, always waiting for him to make the first move. Maybe it started earlier, during the summer, when Mike made him feel the same way everyone else had made him feel his whole life—except it wouldn’t have hurt as much if it had been anyone else.

(But it’s Mike. It had never been Mike. So—)

Maybe it goes even further back, to the Snow Ball. But why would something like that still hurt? Being replaced by someone who outshone him in every way, even though he hadn’t even known he was supposed to be competing for Mike’s attention. Eleven was stronger, braver, and had supernatural abilities that Will could never match.

But maybe what made him lose the fight—if there ever was one—is that Eleven wasn’t a boy.

And Will was.

After Vecna tore through Hawkins and split the town into four parts, the scientists who had once worked under Brenner contacted Eleven. It took weeks of meticulous planning, but aside from all that... the apocalypse didn’t even feel like an apocalypse. Honestly, those were the most boring weeks of his life.

On one hand, he had no idea how to reach out to his friends. That’s what isolation does to you, he guessed. Lucas, understandably, was focused on helping Max with her therapy and recovery. Dustin, meanwhile, was piecing himself back together and hiding his demons. Looking back, Will wished he’d been able to comfort Dustin more, but the truth was, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t give Dustin the peace he needed. Not the way Steve did.
Jonathan was repairing things with Nancy, same as his mom and Hopper. Honestly, it’s hard to blame everyone around you when the end of the world is coming and they’re all desperate to spend what might be their last days with the people they love most—confessing feelings, fixing misunderstandings. Will supposed that kind of imminent doom did that to people.

That left Mike and Eleven.

His sister had gone through a really rough time—regaining her powers, nearly losing Max, and the trauma of her time in Lenora and the desert lab. Suffice it to say, she wasn’t particularly eager to fix things with Mike.
That might’ve been the most revealing part of all.

Will had always seen the two of them and their relationship as the perfect heterosexual couple—tragic origin, epic resolution. That once the whole Upside Down mess was over, they’d get married and have three perfect children (all things Will could never give Mike), and yet, Eleven spent all her energy training with the scientists, supporting Max’s recovery, and always making sure to spend some family time with Hopper and us—Jonathan, Mom, and me.

At first—and for a few painfully awkward, second-hand embarrassment-filled weeks—Mike had been relentless in his mission to fix things with Eleven. Truth be told, it was like his personality and entire attitude had been replaced with those of the world’s best boyfriend. He visited her every day, brought her gifts, asked her out on dates, and constantly tried to show his love through acts of affection. However, Eleven had stood firm in her decision to end things and focus on herself.

When Mike finally got the memo that they wouldn’t be getting back together—at least not in the foreseeable future—he decided to give her space and take the time to have an honest conversation.

Will didn’t know much about what they talked about, and he wasn’t entirely sure they weren’t still together, considering how friendly they seemed now. It was like they were sharing some gentle, selfless connection only the two of them could understand. Will supposed that made sense—after all, he’d heard about how beautiful their friendship had once been and the deep bond they had formed when he was missing.

The truth was, Will had learned that he would always be slightly out of step with everyone else. Always too much on the margins. Always a little weird. Slower than the rest. More sensitive. Weaker. Will already understood that no matter who he met or who came into his life, the things he’d been through would always carry too much weight in his soul—too much for anyone to carry—and that would always make him hard to love.

The Upside Down would always haunt him.

Even if Henry were dead and every gate were sealed, the Upside Down would still follow him. That dark dimension was now a fundamental part of himself, like a piece in the puzzle of who he was. The shadows and memories would always chase him—or at least, that’s how it felt.

How could he ever find someone who truly understood him, who knew the origins of all his fears and scars? How could he ask anyone to love the mess he was when he couldn’t even love himself? He didn’t believe such a person existed—someone who could know him that deeply and still love him, love him enough to choose him again and again.

No. Will had already decided to face his reality with as much dignity as he could gather, with his heart as intact as possible.

That was the plan… until that damn Mike Wheeler happend.

Will’s life was now flooded with Mike’s constant presence. If Will went to sort clothes for the displaced, Mike was right there helping. If he went out to collect food, Mike offered to be his partner. If Will was just painting in his room, Mike wouldn’t even ask before flopping down on his bed to talk about theories on what Henry had planned. The shift had happened so fast that Will didn’t even have time to adjust.

Maybe, a few months ago, Will would’ve just looked past it all and accepted Mike back without question. After all, the behavior Wheeler was showing now was the same as when they were kids. He had that air of a leader and a protector, and as best friends, no one would’ve been surprised to see them attached at the hip again.

But that was before. Now? Will wasn’t sure what to do with it. And honestly, it hurt.

The fact that Mike’s presence—something that had once been so natural in his daily life—now made him uncomfortable only proved how broken their dynamic had become.

For a while now, and especially by this point, he expected nothing from Mike. When Will chose to become a passive agent in his own story, to keep his head down and fade into the background, he had hoped that those around him would accept the transition naturally. But Mike seemed stubbornly determined to go back to how things were.

And that was so fucking humiliating.

Will was angry, yes. He could admit that. Just the thought that maybe Mike hadn’t even been affected by the state of their friendship—that he could just shove himself back into Will’s life like nothing had happened—filled him with a sick sort of nausea. The idea that while Will had cried himself to sleep over what they used to be, Mike had simply gone on living like nothing had changed. Like Will’s absence hadn’t mattered to him at all.

Had Will misunderstood their friendship all this time?
Because while Mike had meant everything to him… Was Will just another person in Mike’s life?

Will didn’t want to be angry, to be honest. He wished he could adopt the same indifference that Mike seemed to live with. The rage that came with his anger made his eyes sting, made his teeth clench, and sent a sharp, painful ache through his chest. He wanted to scream—scream at Mike, hit him, hurt him, make him feel even a fraction of what he had felt these past few months. But that only drained him. And Will was tired of being tired. Violence wouldn’t make him feel better. It wouldn’t bring him happiness, or energy, or resolution. (It would only make him just like him, like his father. Like Lonnie.)

The path through the woods was quiet, despite the number of threats that might be lurking around them. And with all the security put in place by the survivors from the four quarters of Hawkins, they had managed to sneak out of their rooms without being noticed. (Though that wasn’t thanks to Mike, who had clung to Will like gum the second he realized he planned to leave alone in the dead of night.)

In the middle of the forest, the only sounds were their footsteps against the leaves that were once a beautiful green but now fallen, withered, and blackened.

“So, what exactly are we doing?” Mike asked, quickening his steps to catch up with Will once again.

“I already told you, Mike. We’re heading to the hill near Darkwoods.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, I get it… But why?”

A few seconds of silence stretched through the trees. Will seemed to think about what to say before answering.

“There are some things I want to get rid of. Since the hill leads to the fishing area that connects to the river, there’s a camping site nearby. I plan to start a fire.”

They reached a more open part of the woods, now walking along a stone path that would lead them to their destination.

“This part of the forest hasn’t had any sightings. Must be because there aren’t enough people around here for the demogorgons to feed on,” Will added, before falling silent again.

Part of Will hoped it would stay that way, quiet. Not just because, even in a relatively safe zone, you were never really safe in the middle of an apocalypse. But also because… he didn’t want to talk to Mike.

Of course, Mike didn’t know when to shut up.

“Huh. Since when do you know how to start a campfire? Last I checked, you haven’t been camping in years,” Mike said, raising an eyebrow.

“I learned in Lenora.”

“Ah, right… I see.” He nodded slowly, then added, “So, how was Lenora? Did you meet anyone interesting, by any chance?”

“No.”

“Got it.”

“Yes.”
Will kept walking, hoping the conversation would die right there. But Mike didn’t take long to fill the silence again.

“Are you sure? I mean, you lived there for quite a while. And it’s not that I don’t believe you’re the kind of guy who likes being alone, but I don’t know, you’re someone fun to be around. And you’re telling me you didn’t talk to anyone besides Jonathan or Eleven or that girl, Ange—”

“Mike.”

Will cut him off—not raising his voice, but firm enough to make Mike freeze mid-ramble, stunned.

“I know there haven’t been any sightings in this area, but I don’t think we should push our luck by talking.”

Mike hesitated for a few moments, unsure of what to say. Will continued,
“I mean, talking a lot or too loudly. Just as a precaution, you know?” he finished, in a gentler tone.

“Ah, right, of course. Precaution, definitely. I love precaution!” Mike said, a bit too quickly.

“I’m the most cautious man in these woods. I mean, after you. Of course.” His laugh was forced.

“Don’t think I don’t think you’re cautious. In fact, I’d say you’re an expert. Escaping demogorgons and all that. Though, maybe I shouldn’t men—”

“Mike.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mike, for his part, couldn’t ignore how tense his shoulders felt as the minutes passed in silence.

“Hey Will, I know you don’t want us making noise, but… can I talk to you about something? Maybe stop for a second—it’s important.”

“Whatever you need to say, just say it while walking. We can’t stop in the middle of the woods just like that.”

Mike shifted uncomfortably as he walked, fidgeting with his hands before finally stopping. Will, realizing he wasn’t moving, couldn’t help but feel irritated. He considered just leaving him behind and continuing alone… but he’d never been that petty. So he only walked a few steps ahead before stopping too.

“Will… I—” Mike’s voice faltered and sounded nervous. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish before finally gathering the courage to speak. “Will, I’m sorry.”

It was like a spell had been cast. The air grew heavier, and everything around them turned even colder than it already was. It felt almost as if the fog was pushing through every layer of clothing, freezing Will to the bone.

Mike, determined, continued with his apology.
"I haven’t treated you the way I should’ve. Those months you were in Lenora... Shit, I haven’t treated you the way I should’ve treated my best friend way before that." His eyes burned as tears threatened to spill over, but Mike was trying with all his strength not to cry.

Will hadn’t turned around, but the tension in his back was visible, a slight tremble running through him. Then, without saying a word, he relaxed his shoulders and kept walking, leaving Mike behind.

Mike pulled himself together and quickly tried to catch up with Will, without success. He kept talking, desperate.

"This whole time I’ve been confused; it wasn’t… intentional. I just didn’t know how to deal with certain things, and it was so much easier to ignore you—"

His apology was slowly turning into a sobbing, desperate ramble as he tried to reach Will, who was now walking faster.

"God, I know I sound like an idiot, but I swear, Will, I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t realize what our friendship had become, and instead of talking to you like you used to talk to me, it was just easier to push you away because I didn’t want to face the root of the problem, and… if I faced you, I’d have to face all the things that scared me, but I want t—"

Will turned around suddenly.

The abrupt movement made Mike stumble, barely stopping in time. Now they were face-to-face, barely inches apart. The moonlight barely filtered through the trees, casting Will’s face in shadow, dim, but not enough to hide the expression on his face.

He looked tired.

Mike tried to say something. He opened and closed his mouth in rapid succession. When he noticed Will was staring directly at him, any sentence he might have attempted to form collapsed before it could take shape.

One second passed. Then two.

"Why now?" Will finally asked.

His voice didn’t sound accusatory, or hurt, or even curious. It just was.
Mike felt the weight of the question drop on him. He wanted to answer right away but realized he didn’t have a concrete response. His mind scrambled for excuses, ways to rationalize his mistakes, maybe—but none of them seemed good enough.

"Because…" His voice shook, almost as if the echo had gotten stuck in his throat. He swallowed hard and looked down at his own hands, reddened from the cold, the paleness of them reflecting like that of a corpse.

"Because I…" But the words dissolved in the air, consumed by the weight of the silence. Nothing else came out of Mike’s mouth.

Will could only watch, expectant, but said nothing.

Mike took a breath, feeling his chest tighten more with each second he didn’t speak.

"I know I messed up. I know that no matter how many times I apologize, it won’t change what happened. But… I don’t want you to think I don’t care. I don’t want…" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. "I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want us to… stop talking. I just… don’t—" This time his voice came out higher, more fragile, and trembling, like a confession torn from his chest and forced its way from his heart to his lips. The sentence was left hanging, unfinished.

Will held his gaze for a long moment, his dark eyes deep and unreadable, hiding secrets Mike couldn’t begin to understand. His breathing was slow and controlled, but the way his fingers tightened around the strap of his shotgun betrayed the false calm he was trying so hard to maintain on the outside.

For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something. But instead, he looked away and, without another word, turned on his heel and kept walking.

Mike felt something in his chest twitch like a wounded, whimpering dog—pricking and prodding. That invisible weight lodged inside him sank deeper with each second he spent away from Will’s warmth. It was becoming unbearable.

He hadn’t been rejected, true.

But he hadn’t been freed from the weight of his guilt through the absolution of forgiveness, either.

He closed his eyes for a second, a sigh escaping his lips. He looked up at the sky, as if the gray mist and the vastness of the abyss above could offer him some kind of answer. But the abyss didn’t look back.

So, with no other choice, he did the only thing he knew how to do better than anyone.

He followed him.

Chapter Text

The entire stretch of the trail leading to the campsite was covered in a thin mist. Even so, the path was clear enough for them to walk without worry, knowing they weren’t at risk of getting lost—even if they couldn’t quite make out where they were headed. Both of them navigated these woods with the same familiarity as someone recognizing the furniture in their own bedroom; years of playing among these trees and exploring them had given them an almost instinctive knowledge of the place. Yet now, wrapped in the fog, they seemed like the only people left in the world.

Branches crunched under their feet, and the air smelled of damp earth and that unmistakable stench of the Upside Down—like stagnant water mixed with the metallic aftertaste in the mouth. They walked in silence, with only the sound of the bag in hand and the shotgun slung over Will’s shoulder, brushing against his clothes, while the noises of the forest filled the space between them.

Will was a few steps ahead, his gaze fixed on the path, while Mike followed, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"That time we didn’t want to play Dungeons & Dragons…" Mike began, breaking the silence. "You remember?"

And how could he not remember? Will wondered. If he had to pick one of the most painful moments of his life, that memory would be near the top. Maybe even more than getting lost in the Upside Down. Maybe even more than when Lonnie left them.

That memory haunted him like a ghost at the edge of his vision, always there, constant. That single moment had marked him so deeply that sometimes, at night, Will prayed that kind of devastation only happened once in a lifetime—because he wasn’t sure he could endure that pain again. Sometimes, Will wondered if, even if he could forgive Mike and their friendship went back to what it once was, he’d ever truly get over the humiliation he’d felt that day. The sting of betrayal that had pierced his chest was still there, dormant. Just remembering it made that familiar burn flare behind his eyes.

The silence between them was thick, broken only by the crunch of their footsteps on the damp leaves. The storm had calmed, but the woods remained dark and cold, a labyrinth of shadows closing in around them. Mike walked a couple of steps behind Will, head down, brow furrowed, hands trembling from something other than the cold.

Then, suddenly, Will spoke, his voice barely above a whisper:

"Losing me."

Mike stopped dead in his tracks and turned to stare at him. Will’s expression gave nothing away—his face might as well have been carved from stone as he kept looking ahead, refusing to turn. But Mike felt the weight of that word.

"What does losing me mean to you?" Will finally asked.

Mike swallowed hard, as if every unspoken word had piled up in his throat, choking him, like a swarm of rats had crawled into his mouth and were fighting for freedom only to die with their tails tangled. He knew he was stepping onto dangerous ground, but he couldn’t keep avoiding this. Not after everything that had happened. Not when there was a very real chance he might never get to tell Will the truth.

He’d seen the emptiness in Will’s eyes, the weight of pain reflected in every restrained gesture, in every withheld hug, in every evasive glance. He couldn’t keep this locked in his chest—not after feeling, for the first time, the real terror of losing him, not just to distance, but to something irreversible and devastating.

Mike didn’t think he could survive a lifetime of silence, knowing Will would always be within reach but never close enough—where they wouldn’t even have the slight comfort of coincidence, not even acquaintances, just two strangers doomed to avoid each other. Not out of hate, he hoped, but because of the unbearable discomfort of having once been so close and no longer being so. Maybe he’d just die, Mike thought.

"Will, I—"

"You’re selfish," Will cut him off, his voice low but with an intensity that made Mike’s heart pound. "You’ve always been selfish, Mike. Even now. Even here, when we’re in the middle of nowhere with no choice but to stick together because we might die. Right now, when I can’t just walk away."

Mike’s throat tightened.

"Will, no—it’s not like that. Let me explain."

"Explain what?" Will let out a bitter laugh, his eyes glistening with something Mike couldn’t decipher. There was something heavier than anger in them, more devastating than sorrow. "You’re gonna explain why you ignored me for months? Why, when I needed you, you looked the other way? Why wait until I had no choice but to stay cornered before finally saying something? It’s always like this with you, Mike. You always wait until the last second. Even now—you wait until it’s the goddamn end of the world to bother talking to me—"

"That’s not true—"

"It is!" Will snapped, and this time his voice rose, a sharp slash fading into the cold night air. Even in his anger, he kept control—they couldn’t risk something finding them. Not now. Not like this. "It’s always been like this. You decide when to talk, when to feel guilty, when to—I don’t know! Pay attention to me? And I… I just have to take whatever scraps you decide to give. But not anymore. I can’t keep doing this."

Mike felt his whole body tremble. He knew Will was right. He knew he’d been a coward, that he’d run from his own feelings, that he’d left Will alone when he needed him most. But hearing it out loud, with that restrained rage and simmering pain, shattered something inside him.

"You’re right," he admitted quietly.

Will’s head snapped up so fast that Mike wondered, almost absently, if it hurt his neck. He fell silent, as if he hadn’t expected that answer.

"I’m selfish," Mike continued, voice shaking. "I’ve always been selfish. I know that. I know I failed you. I know I hurt you. I know I was a coward and left you alone when I shouldn’t have. But, Will—"

He took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

"It wasn’t because I didn’t care. It wasn’t because I didn’t care about how you felt. It was because… because I was scared. I think I’ve been scared for so long I didn’t even realize how bad it was. Nancy called me chronically distressed." Mike let out a small, nervous, uncomfortable laugh.

Will blinked but said nothing. Mike took a deep breath and kept going.

"You’re my best friend. You always have been. Since we were kids, since we played in my basement, since we met on the swings. And then one day… one day, I suddenly realized it wasn’t just that. That you weren’t just my best friend. That it wasn’t just affection, or loyalty, or gratitude. It was more. Something I didn’t know how to handle. Something I didn’t know how to accept. And instead of facing it, I ran and hid. I hurt you because I didn’t know what else to do."

Will looked down for a moment, as if sorting through his thoughts, but when he raised his eyes again, they were filled with something between pain and resignation.

"What are you saying?" he asked softly, a mix of disbelief and exhaustion in his voice. "No—what is this supposed to be? What do you expect, for me to feel bad? You’re telling me that loving me made you upset, so you avoided me. Am I just supposed to hear all this and… accept it? Be happy that now, after everything, you’ve ‘gotten over it’? Because I didn’t have that luxury, Mike. I didn’t get to just hide like a coward."

"Will, I—" Mike tried, but Will wasn’t done.

"You spent years pretending nothing was happening, ignoring what was right in front of you. Pretending you didn’t see me, didn’t understand me. But you did, didn’t you? You always did." Will took a step forward, and Mike had to fight the urge to step back. "Do you have any idea how long I spent thinking I was a fucking idiot? I thought we were friends—best friends!—and then suddenly you’re ignoring me, and surprise! You don’t even want to hang out with the Party anymore; you stop coming to my house, and you’re scared of being alone with me. I thought there was something deeply wrong with me! I thought if the one person who’d been my best friend for so long suddenly didn’t want to see me, it must be because he realized what a fucking freak I was, just like everyone else in Hawkins!" Will’s voice cracked with a desperate sob, his words coming out strangled, as if he were on the verge of screaming hysterically but the circumstances wouldn’t let him.

"Will—"

"Even now," Will continued with a bitter laugh, "you waited until I had no choice but to stay here, trapped with you, because if I could, I’d leave. I swear I would. But I can’t, can I? Not when we could both die any second… It’s almost funny, really. You always avoid facing things until we’re at risk of dying."

Silence stretched between them. The wind howled through the trees, but Mike barely heard it over the frantic pounding of his heart.

"That’s not how it is," he murmured, barely audible.

"No?" Will tilted his head, his eyes burning with years of pent-up fury. "Then tell me, Mike, what do you really feel? Why the hell did it take you so long to say something? Or better yet—why now? Why can’t you run from this anymore?"

Mike closed his eyes for a second, trying to control the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. When he opened them, there was resolve in his gaze.

"I was scared—I can’t even put into words how terrified I was, how terrified I still am," he confessed, his voice trembling. Mike took a deep breath before continuing. "I was scared of what it meant. Of what you meant to me. It was easier to play blind, easier to pretend I felt nothing. Because if I accepted it… if I accepted you, Will, then I had to accept myself. And that—"

Will kept staring at him, lips slightly parted, but he didn’t interrupt.

"We grew up in a place where being different is dangerous," Mike went on, his voice ragged. "And I… I didn’t want to be different. I didn’t want people looking at me like something was wrong with me. I didn’t want my friends to walk away. I didn’t want things to change or lose what mattered to me. But most of all, I didn’t want to lose you. Because if I admitted what I felt, if I said it out loud, then there was a chance you’d reject me. And that… that would’ve destroyed me."

Will’s expression softened slightly, but the wound was still fresh.

"Well, I wasn’t the one who pulled away first, was I?" he whispered.

Mike felt the weight of those words like a knife plunging into his chest.

"I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you. I’m sorry for leaving you alone; I’m sorry for making you feel like you didn’t matter. You were the only thing that did matter, Will! But I was a coward. And that’s why I waited so damn long."

Will looked away, breathing heavily.

"And now what, Mike?" His voice was broken. "Do you expect an apology to fix everything? For me to forget all the years you made me feel like a shadow? Like what I felt was a mistake? Like I was a mistake?"

Mike shook his head immediately.

"No. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect this to fix anything. I just… I just want you to know the truth. That it wasn’t because I didn’t see you. It was because I saw you too much. Because you were the only real thing in my life, and I didn’t know how to handle that."

Will closed his eyes for a moment, trying to hold back the flood of emotions. But when he opened them again, the anger had given way to exhaustion, to an infinite sadness.

"And now you do know how to handle it? What are you really trying to say?" he asked bitterly.

Mike swallowed, feeling the decision burning in his chest. There was no turning back now.

"No. But I know one thing," he exhaled shakily, his hands clenched into fists. "I love you, Will."

Time seemed to stop.

The wind carried the words through the trees, but Will heard them with terrifying clarity. He stared at Mike, searching for any trace of doubt in his expression, but there was none. For the first time in all these years, Mike was completely exposed.

Will’s throat tightened. This was what he’d waited for, what he’d wanted to hear for so long. And yet, he couldn’t believe it. His heart had turned into an impenetrable wall, braced for impact, so sure behind its fortress that the soft whisper of a longing confession wouldn’t be enough to break through.

"I… I don’t know what to do with that, Mike," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, choked by the storm inside him.

Mike nodded slowly, a simple acknowledgment.

"I know," he whispered, the weight of the words immense. "But I had to tell you."

Will let out a humorless, broken, ragged laugh.

"Now?" he spat, his gaze burning with anger and something deeper, something too painful to name. "After everything? After every damn time you made me feel like I was alone? After every time I tried to reach for you and you ignored me?"

Mike didn’t answer. His lips parted, but no words came.

"Tell me, Mike," Will pressed, his voice trembling between fury and desperation. "What am I supposed to do with this? With this… this confession? Is everything you did—or didn’t do—just supposed to disappear because now you’re ready to be honest?"

Mike clenched his jaw, his body tense as if every muscle was holding back something on the verge of breaking.

"No…" His voice was rough, shattered. "I don’t expect that."

Will let out a shaky sigh, feeling tears threaten to fall but refusing to let them.

"You know what hurts the most?" Will looked him straight in the eye, with an intensity that pierced him like a dagger. "That it was always you, Mike. From the beginning. It was always you. And I spent years… years… waiting for you to see me."

Mike closed his eyes, as if hearing that was unbearable.

"I saw you," he whispered.

"No." Will shook his head, his voice breaking. "You were there, but you never saw me. And even if you did, you didn’t do anything about it, did you? Like always."

Mike ran his hands through his hair, desperate, frustrated with himself.

"It wasn’t easy for me!" he burst out, his voice cracking on the last word. "It’s not easy. I pretended… I pretended because it was safer. Because I didn’t want to lose everything I knew. Because I was scared, Will!"

Will stood still, his hands trembling at his sides.

"Scared?" he repeated, almost disbelieving. "You think I wasn’t scared? That I’m not still scared?"

Mike swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

"But I'm a coward," he admitted in a whisper. "And you've never been one."

"What?"

"You always knew who you were," Mike continued, his voice trembling. "You’ve always been brave, even when the world was against you. I… I was never as strong, not as you, at least." He rubbed his arm, almost as if trying to comfort himself. "I didn’t want to lose what I had.

Will stared at him, his vision blurred by tears he refused to shed.

"You didn’t want to lose what you had," he murmured. "And what about me, Mike? Wasn’t I something worth keeping?"

Mike’s breath caught.

"You were everything, Will," he said with a fierceness that almost hurt to hear. "You are."

Will closed his eyes for a second.

"Then why did you make me feel like I wasn’t?"

Mike shook his head, desperate.

"I didn’t want to lose you," he whispered, almost anguished. "But in the end… I was the one who pushed you away. It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry."

The silence that followed was devastating.

Will looked down, feeling his own hopelessness crushing him.

"I don’t think there’s enough time in this life to make it up to you…" Mike took a step toward Will, took his hand, and gently rubbed his thumb over his palm. He held it like something precious, like the petal of a flower, like a treasure. "You’re the person I love most in this world."

"Enough. I don’t want to hear this anymore." Will tried to pull his hand away, but Mike tightened his grip just slightly, not letting him retreat.

"I love you, Will. I love you, I love you, I love you. If you want, I’ll say it for the rest of our lives. If you want, I’ll say it until I lose my voice. I’ll keep saying it until you believe me."

"Mike—"

"Or if you want, I’ll never say it again and stay quiet by your side like a shadow. If you want, I’ll pretend for the rest of my life while I act like my chest isn’t burning with your name carved into my heart and my gaze doesn’t long for you every second I spend near you."

"I said shut up—"

"I’ll do whatever you want, Will. Whatever you need, I’ll accept it. Just… don’t push me away. Don’t make me stop looking at you, stop enjoying your presence, stop seeing your smile, or stop smelling your hair. Don’t cast me aside, please…"

Will could only stare at Mike, mesmerized, lips slightly parted, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.

Mike took another step forward, his eyes bright with overwhelming emotion.

"I love you. I’ve loved you all this time, and I was too scared to admit it. I was so terrified that I ended up hurting you without realizing it."

Will felt his world tilt.

"Mike—"

But Mike shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect this to fix everything I broke. But I don’t want to keep lying to myself. I don’t want to keep lying to you."

…

Will inhaled shakily, his chest burning with an unbearable mix of emotions despite the icy air around them. What was he even supposed to feel in a moment like this? Sure, part of him was angry—furious, even.

Mike Wheeler had just confessed. To him.

The idea was so absurd he wondered if it would even be appropriate to laugh, considering the circumstances. Since when? he wondered. Since when has Mike felt that way about him? How did he not notice? How did Mike not notice that Will felt the same way about him?

Was it possible to be so in love and yet so oblivious? How many times had he thought he’d misread a squeeze of the hand, a touch on the shoulder, or a smile, only to dismiss it as just a friendly gesture?

How was anyone supposed to navigate these feelings? They were teenagers, for God’s sake. He shouldn’t be trying to process this in the middle of the apocalypse, with his small town split into pieces and monsters lurking in the dark. What the hell had crossed Mike’s mind to think this was a good time to confess? Yesterday, when Will had been quietly organizing his files in his room, would’ve been a much better moment than the middle of the woods at dawn with his socks soaked in mud.

Why now, exactly? Was it that same desperate need everyone around them had to pair up and kiss? Will didn’t want that. Well—he did. It wasn’t an easy feeling to explain.

On one hand, he wanted to scream at Mike, shake him by the shoulders, and demand he explain every single thought that had ever crossed his thick skull. Another part of him wanted to punch him and tell him to stop deluding himself—that Will wasn’t some backup plan just because he’d broken up with Eleven. That he’d rather they stay whatever they were than start dating out of fear of the world ending.

But a small part of him—the part that had stayed intact during his time in the Upside Down, the purest, most innocent part of himself—couldn’t help but think: finally, finally...

It had only been a few seconds, but the weight of the confession still hung in the air, making every moment without a response feel like hours. Will was supposed to say something, wasn’t he? He opened his mouth to speak, still not entirely sure what to say. "Mike, I—"

Before he could finish, a deep crack echoed in the distance. Both of them stiffened and turned toward the noise. It could’ve been anything—an animal, a branch, a patrol, or a—

"Did you hear that?" Mike whispered, eyes scanning the darkness.

Will nodded, gripping his shotgun and aiming it toward the sound. They both stood completely still, waiting. The intimate moment they’d shared shattered under the possibility of a threat.

A second passed. Then a minute. But no other sound came.

"Maybe it was nothing," Will murmured, lowering the shotgun but not letting go, still tense. "But there’s no way to be sure."

Mike swallowed and adjusted his stance. "The campsite’s about ten minutes that way if we keep going," he said, pointing toward a barely visible path marked by the subtle erosion of footsteps—a trail they themselves had made over the years.

Will finally slung the shotgun back over his shoulder and picked up the black bag he’d dropped. "Let’s go, then," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Before whatever’s in these woods decides we’d make a good meal."

Chapter Text

They walked for a while as the adrenaline from the incident gradually left their bodies. Neither could stop replaying what had happened before the scare. A silence thick with discomfort wrapped around them, suffocating in its weight. Will still hadn’t given an answer; he focused on the world around them, still hyperaware of every single sound and movement seeping through the darkness, but with each step, he grew calmer as he realized there was nothing but the simple sway of the trees’ leaves and the sound of damp foliage beneath their feet.

Mike walked close behind. Will felt that, if he focused hard enough, he could catch that familiar scent of Mike. He wouldn’t know how to describe it exactly; it was like how every family has a smell that sets them apart (well, that was the Wheeler scent). But Mike always carried something else: his smell had something that scratched at a very specific corner of Will’s mind, pulling him back to memories soaked in sunlight and affection. Memories of summer afternoons playing Dungeons & Dragons in his basement, or the two of them huddled together in Castle Byers, or that day in the hospital, when Mike held his hand as though he was meant to be there and didn’t let go until visiting hours were over.

“Remember that time we got lost around here?” Mike suddenly asked, pulling Will out of his daydream. “When we tried catching grasshoppers and lost the trail back?”

Will looked at him for a few seconds, trying to catch up, before nodding hesitantly. That had been before everything—back when his mom wasn’t paranoid about him going into the woods for a few hours and when he didn’t wake up screaming every night. They had tried to catch bugs with a net they had built themselves, which of course turned out useless, since anything they managed to trap slipped right out through the holes of their invention. In the middle of that childish determination to catch bugs, without realizing it, they had wandered into a part of the woods that didn’t look familiar.

“Yeah,” Will replied, his lips curving slightly despite himself at the memory of that afternoon. “I remember you started crying the second you realized we were lost.” That recollection returned with the same warm hues: Mike crying, rubbing his little eyes, while Will held his hand and guided him downstream.

“Hey, I was legit scared!” Mike protested, though he was grinning now. “Thought we’d be stuck there forever, living like… I dunno, forest people or something.”

Will let out a small laugh (more of a sigh, really), but it was enough to send them both into quiet laughter. The moment lasted only a few instants, fading far too quickly into the chill of the night, but somehow, the air around them already felt lighter.

They walked a little further before stopping, noticing that the trail now had a slight incline sloping upward. It had been years since either of them had hiked through that part of the forest, but neither remembered anything like that small, rain-slicked slope. Will shifted his bag, bracing it against the ground of the incline, before grabbing hold of tree roots and rocks to climb. It was a simple movement: just a little grip and a push with his legs, and he was up. Once on steady ground, he turned almost instinctively and held out his hand to Mike, just as he had done thousands of times throughout his life.

“Give me your hand,” he murmured, his voice far softer than he’d ever intended.

Mike looked at his outstretched hand for a second, and then his cold fingers were intertwining with Will’s, warm in contrast. Their hands fit together as if it were the intention of the universe, as if it were written by fate. They fit with a familiarity that made Will’s eyes sting.

God, I missed you.

The contact lasted only a moment: fleeting instants, just long enough for Will to pull Mike to the top. Right at the last stretch, Mike slipped slightly, and their bodies collided. They were pressed together in fear of falling, their noses nearly brushing, breathing in each other’s warmth. In this position Will could count every freckle on Mike’s face, and he noticed how his pupils dilated with delight. (Do I look like this too? Am I making the same face right now?)

“Thanks…” Mike murmured, his eyes scanning Will’s face as if mesmerized, before slowly pulling away.

Warm.

When they finally parted, they looked at each other for a few seconds, still feeling the ghost of the touch lingering. Felt like a mark, almost. Then they started walking again, slower this time, side by side.

That was when Will opened his mouth to speak, the words spilling out before he could even think of stopping them.

“Are you a poet now, or did you rehearse that speech earlier?”

Mike turned to him abruptly, eyes wide, caught somewhere between startled and nervous. Will realized too late it sounded more like mean teasing than a playful joke. But before he could backtrack and apologize, Mike’s face cracked into a smile and he let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Uh, being a Dungeon Master had to be good for something, I guess.”

A few seconds passed with no one saying anything, only the sound of leaves crunching underfoot and the wind weaving through the trees. Will glanced at Mike from the corner of his eye, thoughtful.

“You… what you said before,” Will looked down for a second before meeting Mike’s eyes again, “did you mean it?”

“Every word,” Mike answered without hesitation. “Not a single lie. It’s… something I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time.”

A moment passed. Will let the words sink in before continuing.

“The truth is, I... I missed us,” he finally confessed, his voice escaping in a thin whisper, almost as though he were revealing a secret. Maybe he was.

Mike just looked at him, waiting.

“I know we’ve changed. A lot, actually. You’re not the same Mike from when we were kids, and I… well, neither am I.” Will gripped the strap of his shotgun, steadying himself, searching for the strength to say all those things he’d kept hidden inside. “I think I spent too much time holding on to... comfort, I guess. To the Party, to the games, the fantasy... but, most of all, it was you, Mike.”

He paused, feeling his heart hammer with a punishing rhythm. Is Mike’s heart beating the same way? Suddenly, he was hyperaware of absolutely everything happening in his body. God, even his own hands were betraying him. How was it possible to sweat so much in this cold? Twigs kept snapping beneath their feet as they walked, and Will noticed a smear of mud on Mike’s pants. How long had that been there? Did it happen just now? Hours ago? He noticed Mike’s wristwatch—that old Casio he’d had since he was a kid—read 3:17 a.m.

He was getting distracted.

Will looked Mike in the eye—Mike, who hadn’t looked away for a second.

“It’s just…” He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly unbearably dry. “God, this is stupid.” He rubbed his eyes, realizing how damp they were. Big emotions and him had never gotten along very well; he always ended up crying before he could even finish speaking. He took a deep breath.

“What I’m trying to say is… even if you’re an idiot, and I’m an idiot too…”

He paused one last time and said,

“I love you, Mike. So much. I’ve loved you… how long? Maybe my whole life.”

Mike didn’t look away, so Will could clearly see the way his eyes widened in surprise. His fingers curled slightly, as though he were holding himself back from reaching out.

“I don’t think I know how to be me without loving you, and honestly? I don’t want to imagine it.” He stopped, then took Mike’s hand gently. “But… there’s so much between us that’s gone wrong. The fights, the words, the ignoring each other…” He swallowed. “I like you, Mike. But I don’t think I can even think about being your boyfriend when we haven’t been friends in so long.”

Mike didn’t answer right away. He just looked down at their intertwined hands, as if staring at them could offer some kind clue. When he finally looked up, his eyes carried a resolution and intensity that made Will’s breath hitch.

“Then let’s start over,” he said, pulling Will’s hands to his chest and leaning closer. His voice was soft, sad, shaky, and hopeful—how could one sentence hold so much? “We can be friends again. For real, this time.”

Will could only stare at him, startled. “That easy?”

Mike smiled—small, a little sad—and shrugged. “None of this is easy,” he whispered. “But… I want to try. I think if it’s with you, it’s worth trying, you know?”

Will felt the warmth of his hands against Mike’s chest. He thought that, if he focused hard enough, he’d be able to pick up the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat. “And if it doesn’t work? What if we mess up again?”

Mike squeezed his hand tighter. “Then we’ll try again.” He paused, arranging his thoughts to find the right words. “Will, I’m not going to let this... let us end. At least not like this. Not when... we both love each other.”

The silence that followed couldn’t be described as uncomfortable. It was the kind of stillness that lingers after a downpour.

“Okay,” Will whispered, looking at their joined hands.

His mind was a battlefield.

This is stupid, he thought. An absolute, complete foolishness A complete joke.

There are still too many things between us that we haven’t worked out. Is that confession really enough to even start fixing anything? Can a few beautiful, passionate words really make up for years of distance?

But then, as always, that stubborn part of him—the part that still believed in Mike Wheeler, that clung to him like he was the only truth in the world—spoke up:

Let’s give it a try.

So what if it wasn’t perfect? So what if there were still things to talk about? Mike was here. Now.

Not the Mike from those turbulent years, the one who ignored him or pushed him aside for less terrifying things. Nor the Mike who tried to protect him from the world with childish, naive conviction.

This Mike—the one who had sought him out in the middle of the night, whose eyes brimmed with tears he didn’t dare let fall, the one who had just said, “I’m not going to let this end” as if it were a promise. As if it were a vow.

And Will, against all odds, couldn’t deny that he had seen him change. Maybe slowly and awkwardly, with stumbles and setbacks, but changing nonetheless. Will understood the ways people could change; he himself was no longer the small boy he’d been before getting lost, either.

Wouldn’t it be amazing to see how far we can go? Don’t I deserve to grant myself the strength to stay instead of running?

Maybe it wasn’t the wisest choice. If Max could see him, he was sure she’d call him an idiot. If Eleven could see him... Knowing her, she’d tell him to be brave, with that confident smile, and squeeze his shoulder with the warmth and wisdom of someone who had lived a hundred years.

At least he’d be an idiot who tried, not a coward who spent his life wondering what if. This was his choice and his decision.

“Okay,” he said finally, his emotions raw. He felt exposed, vulnerable—and this time, he didn’t rush to hide behind the fortress he’d built in his heart. He let Mike see all of him, really see him, after so long apart.

The relief in Mike’s eyes was so palpable it hurt. Finally, after all this time, he was seeing the face of his best friend again: he saw it in that small, timid smile that crinkled his eyes and the corner of his lips. It felt like looking at an old photograph, a nostalgic and familiar sensation that echoed through his whole being: fragments of a past he thought lost. Hi, I’m Mike. Would you like to be my friend?

They needed to keep moving before the freezing night air turned them into statues and the rays of the imminent dawn betrayed that they had slipped away in the middle of the night.

“Come on,” Will said with a smile, slipping his hand from Mike’s grip only to take it again and lead them onward. (Yes, Mike. Even after all this time, my answer’s still yes.) Between their intertwined fingers, he could barely feel the cold around them. “We’re almost there.”

They walked with their fingers twined together, unhurried, easily finding the rhythm, falling into step with each other: a song they had both learned to dance while exploring and mapping these paths as kids. Even in the darkness of the night, both of them could recognize every curve of the trail, every twisted tree... though now everything seemed strangely farther away, smaller.

When they finally caught sight of the campsite and the clearing opened before them between the trees, Will couldn’t help but hold his breath for a moment. It was like looking at a picture pulled straight out of his memory. Sure, the rain had worn the place down a little since the last time he’d been there years ago (and it wasn’t like it had ever been in great shape before that; this place had never exactly been well kept). But the site before them looked oddly frozen in time: the same benches with half-rotten, moss-covered wood, worn out by endless drizzle and snow; the fire pits covered by black tarps, still stubbornly preserving their stone circles against the weather. He remembered it: all of them at eleven, searching for the best rocks and stacking them one by one, their tongues sticking out in concentration; the fallen logs marked by their clumsy little kid hands, which had served as makeshift chairs.

And then there was that damn hammock Dustin had strung up: just a faded piece of cloth that his friend had carefully tied between two trees. It still stood there proudly (though, yeah, he didn’t think the hole in the middle would ever make it usable again).

“Dustin spent the whole afternoon hanging that thing,” Mike laughed at the memory, stepping closer and brushing the stubbornly swaying fabric. “Lucas told him it wouldn’t even hold you, so obviously—”

“—obviously, all four of us had to get on it,” Will finished, unable to stop his smile.

This time Mike broke into full-on laughter. “God, it was perfect! Lasted what, three seconds? I was at the bottom. Hurt like hell.”

Will watched as Mike exaggeratedly rubbed his ribs, as if he could still recall the sting with perfect clarity

“I got hurt too, your bony elbow jammed into my face. Do you still have that scar on your lip from Lucas?”

“That was your knee, idiot!” Mike shoved Will’s shoulder playfully. But then both their smiles began to fade, slowly, almost reluctantly. It was then Mike noticed how Will’s gaze had drifted toward the circle of stones a few feet away.

The silence that followed was different—a shift in the air unlike anything else they’d felt that night.

Will walked to the fire pit and grabbed the tarp’s edge. It resisted for a second, stuck from the damp, before peeling away with a wet, crinkly sound. Mike quickly lifted the other side, keeping the water from spilling onto the dry ground below. Underneath, the stones were still arranged in their perfect circle—the dirt, leaves, and twigs perfectly dry despite the years. Who would’ve thought a bunch of rocks could hold their shape through everything? Through Hawkins splitting apart?

Will pulled a matchbox from his pocket. The first dry leaves crackled timidly when he lit them, and for a second, he thought the damp air might snuff them out (well, that would’ve been embarrassing). But then, a small flame, fragile yet stubborn, was born between the twigs. Will opened his bag and pulled out a small cloth pouch filled with dry splinters to feed it.

The fire grew slowly, fed by Mike’s precise movements, who was carefully emptying the pouch with deliberate motions. He kept at it until the flames before their eyes burned steady and strong.

Will took the chance while the fire took hold and knelt before the glowing red circle, feeling the heat lick at his face as the black bag crackled, giving up paper after paper, document after document, nightmare after nightmare…

First came the medical reports: “dissociative episodes,” “increase dosage,” “further testing required, inpatient care recommended”—all vanishing along with the official stamps from the lab. Then came piles of newspapers; he’d managed to gather them over months, even before leaving for Lenora, and though he might not have had them all, in a small town like Hawkins there couldn’t have been many more. Headlines burned in the flames: “Missing boy’s body found at quarry” or “The boy who came back to life,” along with the flyers Jonathan had made. He watched his own face turn to ash under the words, “HAVE YOU SEEN ME?”.

Oh, his dear brother.

At last, only his own creations remained: his drawings, the map he had sketched of all Hawkins as the Upside Down bled into their world through the gate, the childish lines of nightmare creatures that had clawed their way into reality. A page from his journal, written in the shaky hand of a twelve-year-old: “I felt it everywhere.” It glowed for a moment before curling in on itself, consumed by the heat.

Will closed his eyes—not so much because of the smoke rising from the little bonfire, but because it all felt like overwhelming release. Maybe the claws of the Upside Down would never truly let him go, but at least now there was no trace left in the world to tie him down, only the memories and the people who had lived those moments at his side. Maybe, deep down, this act wouldn’t change a thing in the real world, but he felt he deserved to experience this kind of release. He owed it to his twelve-year-old self, who—after crawling back from hell itself—kept finding those traces everywhere. The newspaper clipping with his face, his eyes scratched out, stamped with the words Zombie Boy.

The crunch of branches beside him pulled him back. Mike was there, holding a dry twig.

“So the fire doesn’t go out,” he murmured.

In that moment, with the flames lighting up his face and eyes, Will couldn’t help but think that Mike seemed to understand exactly what this moment meant to him

Later, when his bag was completely empty and the flames had begun to dwindle, the two of them sat cross-legged, simply watching the fire crackle before their eyes, its warmth driving back the icy chill of the night.

“Nancy knows,” Mike said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Will slowly turned to look at him, taking his time. The long hours of staying up were finally catching up with him now, especially sitting so close to the warm fire.

“Knows what?”

“That I’m… you know.” Mike toyed with a small twig, stripping the bark off until it was smooth, only to grab another and do the same. “That I like you. I never told her, but you know her—she always figures everything out.”

Will nodded, more a gesture of acknowledgment than anything else, his face showing how deep in thought he was. “Did she say anything?”

“That it was obvious,” Mike let out a short, humorless laugh that edged toward self-mockery. “And that if I made you cry again, she’d kill me herself.”

The comment made them both laugh, but Will quickly sobered. “Lucas and Dustin…”

“Honestly? I don’t think they’d care,” Mike cut in, dropping the twig and turning to look at him. “I mean, Dustin would probably make some dumb joke or ask a million questions, and Lucas would say he knew it all along or something like that.”

A few quiet seconds passed, both of them imagining what it would be like to talk about this with all their friends. Neither really believed any of them would reject him—reject them—but still, there was always that fear. The fear that stigma could prove stronger than affection.

“Jonathan knows, I think… and I’m sure my mom suspects,” Will admitted after a moment. “Think she’s always known, honestly.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” Will shrugged. “She’s my mom.”

Mike laughed, but there was something in it—sadness, tinged with envy—that made him stiffen slightly. “That’s easy for you…”

His back straightened in a snap as a rush of indignation and anger surged through him. “None of this is easy, asshole.”

“I know! I know…” Mike held up his hands in surrender before running them through his hair, messing it up completely. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Just… Your family’s always been different—in a good way, I mean. Jonathan, your mom, even Hopper—they love you no matter what. It’s like… super unconditional or something. And I…” His voice cracked slightly. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Nancy, but she’s not my parents.” Mike looked down at his hands. “Sometimes I feel like my parents don’t even like who I am now…”

The words hung there for a few seconds, the silence filled only by the crackle of the fire. Will watched as Mike went back to stripping bark off the twigs.

“Then they’re idiots,” Will blurted out, the mix of anger and the need to set things right rising up in his throat. Mike turned to him sharply, almost startled by the outburst. “If they don’t know how to love you as you are, then you don’t owe them anything.”

“It’s not that simple; I just—”

Will made sure their eyes were level. “You’ll always have us. And I’m pretty sure you’re Nancy’s favorite.”

Mike snorted.

“Yeah… guess you’re right,” he conceded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Though I’m pretty sure Dustin’s actually her favorite…”

“But you get what I mean. We’re not alone. At least I don’t think we are. Being here, in Hawkins, makes it feel like everyone in this town—and maybe the whole world—is just a bunch of mouthbreathers. But out there? It’s completely different for… for people like us,” Will said, recalling what it was like to see his first Pride march in Lenora. It had been small, with only a few people, but it felt like seeing proof for the first time that something else existed out there. He hadn’t joined, hadn’t found the courage, but just knowing it was there had given him a comfort he hadn’t realized he needed.

It was then that Will let the memory pour into his words. He told Mike about the signs, about the people, about the families; he told him about the couples holding hands and the colors. Mike watched him, listening intently, his eyes shining with something more than just the fire beside him.

When Will finished, silence settled for a moment before Mike broke it.

“When… when all this is over…” Mike toyed with a broken twig. “I think I’d like to see that. Get out of Hawkins, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Will nodded. “I get that.”

Mike took a deep breath, like he was gathering courage, before continuing.

“When all this is over… do you want to go together?” His voice, strong and certain at first, ended with a small sigh, shy by the time the words left him.

Will looked at him for a few seconds, eyes wide, like the sudden question had caught him off guard.

“You mean, if we survive?” He joked, though his voice trembled slightly.

“Ha! Yeah, if we survive.” Mike waited a beat, then then met Will’s eyes; his gaze softened, wrapping everything around them in tenderness. “I mean it. We could leave, maybe take a road trip or something! And this time it wouldn’t be a rescue mission—just exploring other cities, meeting new people… far away from all this. Getting to know each other again.”

Will weighed the words slowly; the moment allowed for it. With the fire lazily crackling and Mike’s warmth beside him, he let himself imagine what that might be like. The image took shape in his mind: driving down the highway under the stars; maybe they’d rent a car or take Argyle’s van. He saw Mike singing off-key along with the radio and saw himself laughing uncontrollably, free. It was such a beautiful dream, but so fragile—because what guarantee was there that it could ever happen? Whether it was surviving this damn apocalypse or making peace with the boy sitting next to him.

Uncertainty washed over him then; his voice carried a longing so intense it almost hurt. His words wove themselves between fear and hope. Finally, he allowed himself to whisper:

“And that… would be okay?”

Mike didn’t answer with words, not when he didn’t need to; instead, he reached for Will’s hand, his fingers—longer than Will’s—intertwining with a firmness that gave everything it could to push away the doubts crowding in. There, with their palms warm and a little sweaty, pressed together, it felt as if they had always been meant to fit that way.

“Yeah,” Mike said, simple and sure. Always the confident leader who led them to victory.

Will looked down at their joined hands, then back at Mike.

“Cool,” he murmured, squeezing Mike’s hand.

Mike grinned—that familiar, toothy smile that warmed Will’s heart as much as the fire beside them.

“Cool.”

And like that, under the night sky, the freezing cold didn’t seem to reach them. Will couldn’t help but think that tonight he had gained more than he had ever expected. There was no need to rush; they could learn to be friends again, step by step, day by day. The love between them, whether platonic or romantic, could afford to be patient. And that didn’t make it any less precious.

For now, with their hands entwined and an uncertain future ahead, Will believed they were going to be okay.