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Things had been terrifying lately. Not just because they were dealing with a psychopath- something far worse than human—but because life itself had started to lose its shape. Everything felt like it was blurring together: school, Hawkins, the nightmares, memories, and silence. Days stacked like unfinished sketches in Will’s mind, none of them ever quite complete, all of them smudged at the edges.
Will Byers had reached his limit.
He wouldn’t say it out loud, he’d never allow himself to—but he was exhausted in a way sleep couldn’t fix. Tired of paranoia. Tired of dreams that felt too real, so vivid and violent they left him drenched in sweat and humiliation he never dared speak of. Tired of the shadow that still clung to him like a second skin, the one that had swallowed his childhood in a single night.
At the age of sixteen, old enough to know better, but still waking up some mornings with shame hot in his chest because fear does not care how old you are.
And yet, he kept going. He made himself useful—packing supplies, checking maps, helping with radios, staying alert, listening for signs his mother and his best friend insisted he should ignore. He pushed himself further than he should’ve, even as the tremors beneath his skin begged him to stop.
Especially because of Mike.
Mike Wheeler had become… relentless. Overprotective was too small of a word. At this point, Mike practically shadowed him—even on school days, even on stupid, boring mornings when absolutely nothing was happening. Will wasn’t even allowed to bike alone anymore, as if the air itself might suddenly attack him.
And to be fair, Mike was that way with all of them. He made sure Dustin and Lucas got to class and back again with military-level check-ins, and he’d skip lunch, skip homework, skip sleep if it meant looking out for someone else. He rearranged his entire day around making sure everyone else was safe.
Will didn’t know how Mike managed it — he only knew it was becoming unhealthy.
Mike wasn’t just worried; he was carrying something, forcing himself to be the glue holding everything together, and Will could see the strain every time Mike’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, every time his hands shook when he thought no one was looking.
Mike cared about everyone except himself — and Will planned to say something. Not to scold him, but to remind him that Mike didn’t have to do it alone… that Will was right there too, the way Mike always was for him.
One of the thousand reasons Will loved him so deeply it sometimes felt like a secret burning a hole through his ribs.
*
At exactly 10:00 PM, Will stared fixedly at the ceiling of Mike’s bedroom.He lay curled inside his sleeping bag on the floor, wrapped in an old blanket he’d dug out of Mike’s messy closet—something that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and home. The Wheeler house was always a little cold at night, chilling.
He exhaled slowly and let his head sink deeper into the pillow, eyes half-closed when the bedroom door cracked open.
Mike slipped inside, quiet as a ghost, assuming Will was asleep.
“Mike?” Will whispered.
Mike stopped mid-step and peered over the side of the bed. “Why are you on the floor?”
“Because I’m going to sleep,” Will said, trying to sound casual. “I just thought you’d want space.”
Mike blinked at him like Will had spoken a foreign language.
“Why would I want space?”
Will swallowed, cheeks heating. “Aren’t you sick of sharing a bed with me?”
Mike stared — not annoyed, just bewildered, like Will had said the stupidest thing imaginable.
“Will, I’ve told you like… a thousand times. I don’t care.”
Before Will could argue, Mike reached down, grabbed his wrist, and tugged without hesitation until Will climbed onto the bed beside him.
“If you insist,” Will muttered.
Mike shot him a look that said You know exactly what I mean.
Will pretended he didn’t.
“What?” Will asked, adjusting his pillow and avoiding eye contact.
“What do you mean what?”
“You’re looking at me weird.”
“I’m literally just looking,” Mike said, sitting up fully now. “You’re the one avoiding my face.”
Will huffed and met his gaze, but it only lasted a second before his eyes flicked away again.
Mike crossed his arms triumphantly. “See?”
“See what?!” He whisper shouted.
“That you’re thinking too much. I can practically hear the gears grinding.”
Will tried not to laugh — he failed.
Mike softened. “Please?”
Will hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Okay… just don’t get annoyed.”
“I won’t,” Mike promised immediately, rearranging himself to face Will cross-legged, attentive in the way he always was with things that mattered.
“I think… you’re overdoing it.”
Mike’s expression dropped like a stone.
Great start, William.
“What are we talking about?” he asked carefully.
“I mean you haven’t been taking care of yourself,” Will said quietly.
Mike’s brows pulled together. “Where is that even coming from? I sleep just fine.”
“No, you don’t,” Will whispered. “You wake up at five to help your mom, even when she tells you not to. You stay up late for no reason. You barely eat. You look… tired, Mike.”
“The world’s kinda ending,” Mike said, voice in that sarcastic tone. “Someone has to do something.”
“Exactly,” Will replied softly, “but not alone. And not like this. You can’t destroy your nervous system just to keep us all taped together.”
“So you don’t want me to help?” Mike asked defensively.
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what it sounds like.”
“No, Mike. I want you to help — I need you to help. We all do.” Will paused, searching for the right words. “You’re… different lately. More like yourself I guess. But you have to care about yourself just as much as you do everyone else.”
Mike went still. “I am. I will.”
Will nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
They lay down again, the air between them softer now.
“Tomorrow,” Will whispered, “I’m going to help too. I’ll talk to my mom.”
Mike’s head snapped toward him. “Absolutely not.”
Will frowned. “Mike—”
“It’s not safe for you. You’re the one he wants.” His voice cracked just barely — too quick to catch unless you knew him as well as Will Byers did.
Will’s fingers brushed the cassette tape in his pajama pocket, the one he carried like armor. “I know. I’m not taking my headphones off. I’m not stupid.”
“I know you’re not.” Mike said firmly.
“So why do you always run toward danger?” Mike asked, and it wasn’t anger — it was fear, raw and unfiltered. Will hated when he spoke with such strong emotion. It made him think that for a second, Mike cared about him in the same way he did for him. In that same sick and twisted way-
Will opened his mouth, but no words came.
Mike flipped off the light. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Maybe.”
His tone left to room for argument, Will was sure of this.
Darkness settled, thick and familiar. Will scooted closer under the shared blanket until their knees touched — warmth flooding his body.
Mike shifted, but didn’t move away.