Chapter Text
Chapter 1: The Return of Will Byers
Will Byers built walls for a reason. To keep people out.
The last four years had gone into fortifying them, sealing cracks, soundproofing every breach.
It had taken Mike Wheeler less than a second to tear them down—just by looking at him. As if nothing had changed since Will had left Hawkins.
He was back now, no longer a child, but still hiding like one in the upstairs bathroom of some stranger’s sprawling house on Roane Hill, gripping the edges of the porcelain sink, and with water dripping off his chin.
How had he even let El drag him here?
He’d declined her invite at first, obviously. 'Ending summer on a high note' as El had described a party of all places sounded like the exact opposite of his idea of a good time. Drinking, dancing and talking to strangers was far outside his comfort zone of crayons, comics and campaigns.
No, his idea of a high note was more literal, like a key on a piano. But El had insisted. Said she wanted another chance at the high school experience she felt robbed of in Los Angeles. And so eventually, Will had caved.
When they arrived, the house had been packed wall-to-wall with teens he didn’t know—which had ended up being less of a nightmare and more of a dreamlike blank canvas to draw on.
He’d knocked back a couple of beers (less of an enjoyment and more of a formality) which had loosened him up a bit. He'd played a couple of rounds of beer pong, and El had even gotten him dancing.
He’d been actually having fun. It had all been going great.
Then Steve Harrington walked through the front door, followed by the rest of the Hawkins Tigers. The crowd reacted immediately, a ripple of recognition and noise followed them inside. Lucas and Dustin came next, both wearing their Tigers jackets,
And behind them—
Mike.
Will's breath caught in his throat, everything around him fading into the distance.
Four years of wall building... demolished.
Seeing him now brought everything rushing back with a familiar ease. Basement campaigns. Backyard sword fights. Skating on Lover’s Lake in winter, the others coaxing Will to let go of the boards. Mike’s hands reaching out to steady his. His bright, proud smile making him feel safe enough to try. Safe enough to fall.
And god, he had fallen hard.
But that was over four years ago. Before Mike, Dustin and Lucas had stopped coming around and all joined the Tigers hockey team without him. Before the Byers moved to LA not long after. Before Will had learned how easy it was to be invisible.
And then suddenly there Mike had been, standing across the room.
Mike wasn’t the boy from Will’s memories—soft, all elbows and bright ideas. This Mike was taller, steadier, shoulders squared beneath his jacket. His hair was longer, curling intentionally across his forehead. His face had sharpened with time, angles that hadn’t existed at twelve. He carried himself differently too—quiet confidence, something guarded and yet magnetic.
But those warm brown eyes, they were devastatingly the same.
And looking solely at Will, making everyone else in the room invisible.
Which was how Will ended up here, in the bathroom, trying to scrub all of his hot and bothered off.
He lifted his gaze to the mirror.
Puberty had not quite hit him as much as gently leaned into him. He was taller and the baby fat was gone, sure, and his jaw was a little more defined, but he still remained soft around the edges. Not handsome, like Jonathan... Not pretty, like El...
He’d come to this party because deep down he had always wanted to feel normal—to pretend he could be accepted, be social, be someone other than a mere shadow of his siblings. Mike showing up had reawaken all of his deepest insecurities about himself.
Because Mike had looked at him, and yet Will knew that it wasn’t him Mike had seen.
Will was just a reminder. A reminder of what Mike had truly lost… Who he had lost.
What he had first thought was the beat of a Michael Jackson beat thrumming against the tiles, he realized with a jolt back to reality that it was really a pounding at the bathroom door. Some girl was begging to be let in.
He picked up his red cup filled with elderflower Briska, where it waited for him on the marble top, unlocked the bathroom door and opened it. A girl pushed past him as he attempted to walk out, getting on her knees to cascade into the toilet bowl.
Will muttered an apology, and slipped out.
He didn’t go back to the party. He wasn’t ready. Instead, he wandered into the master bedroom on the right.
He gulped down half of his drink as he crossed the room, blinking dizzily as the welcoming rush of endorphins coursed through him, before walking out onto the connected balcony.
He needed some air.
The sun had almost set entirely and the southern streets laid still. The heat of the day had been replaced by a gentle breeze Will felt against his cheek as he leaned forward against the tall wooden railing and looked out over the garden.
Here he could be what he was best at. Invisible.
Feeling bone tired and weary ready to go home, he sondered out over the crowd below to find El. He’d go down to tell her he'll be leaving early and surely disappoint her, but he couldn’t do this.
He finally found her on the patio below with a red haired girl, laughing and cheering with their red cups. In the corner of his eye he noticed Mike, Dustin and Lucas standing in a circle on the other side of the garden.
Even from a distance, Mike was magnetic—leaning against the fence, arms crossed and ignoring a few girls orbiting the boys as his eyes tracked across the garden. Will followed the direction of his stare.
It landed on El.
Will’s heart gave a tiny, traitorous stutter. He broke his longing stare for a moment and dropped them to his shoes, shoulders curling inward as if bracing against a blow. As he dared look up again, Mike was looking directly up at Will.
Pinned him there.
Will’s pulse spiked. He turned away sharply, focusing on the tree line waiting for Mike to lose interest and look away. He glimpsed at the woods which reminded him of Castle Byers he had yet to visit since his return.
A reminder how he’d never truly belonged anywhere else but there.
“You’re not having fun?”
Will startled, whipping his head toward the voice behind him.
A tall and breathlessly handsome figure had joined him on the balcony—solidly built, golden mullet, a Tigers hockey jersey over a white tank.
Before Will could respond, the stranger had walked up to him and plucked the cider straight out of his hand and downed it.
“Sweet tooth, huh?” He hummed with a lazy grin as he dropped the empty cup over the balcony into the pool below.
Will felt his body tense, like muscle memory. Like he was twelve again and bracing for the punchline made at his expense. He mustered a quiet, polite hum as he tried to spot El below again. He needed to be rescued.
No luck he realized, she was no longer on the patio.
Then he suddenly felt fingers tipping his chin between two fingers, forcing him to look up into mesmerizing blue. “So have I.” The guy murmured.
Will's heart stumbled.
Never had he been approached by anyone this impudent and intrusive, not that he had been approached much at all. Being hit on was rare for him, especially by another guy, and especially what seemed to be one of the senior stars of Hawkins High.
“You new to Hawkins?” The stranger asked, his grip still firm on Will's jaw.
“You… could say that.” Will fumbled and licked his dry lips when he noticed the guy staring at them intensely.
“Name’s Billy. Billy Hargrove. It's my party. You?”
“W-Will Byers.”
“Will.” Billy repeated it like he was tasting it. “So what’re you doin’ out here alone? You waiting on someone?”
Will knew he was blushing now, he could feel the heat on his cheeks. Sure, maybe he had been waiting on someone. It was silly, really.
“I-I just needed some ai-”
Billy leaned in then, close enough for Will to smell the elderflower on his breath. “You seem a little drunk. Stay with me. I’ll take care of you.”
A shiver ran through Will, part fear, part jealousy at Billy’s boldness.
He’d give anything for even ten seconds of insane bravery. He knew who he’d use it on. To start over. To be friends again, maybe. To get to be close to him again.
The mere thought of Mike made Will's blush darken, and Billy looked delighted, probably thinking that the credit was all his.
He let go of Will's chin, raising his fingers to brush them across his burning skin as if admiring it. The touch drifted down the line of Wills’ jaw, thumb coming up to press against his lower lip.
Will shuddered, flickered his eyes closed and steadied himself with a grip on the railing.
For a split second, he couldn’t quite process what was happening. Another guy was giving him real attention. The kind Will had convinced himself existed only in Los Angeles, where boys sometimes smiled at him like they knew his secret and didn’t mind. Where desire didn’t feel dangerous.
A dizzy disbelief washed through him, tightening his chest.
This was dangerous.
Because guys like Billy didn’t notice guys like Will.
Not unless it was to laugh, or to kick.
Will felt the all too familiar fear coil low in his stomach, but threaded through it was something warmer. Hope, maybe. Or longing. Something he should’ve known better than to feel.
He had almost convinced himself it was just the alcohol, a hazy, impossible dream—
When Billy suddenly grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand forward, placing it over his crotch.
His boner was as subtle as he was, and Will couldn’t help but for one fragile, stupid moment feel flattered.
“Fuck, you’re so hot.”
Will didn’t know about that, but when Billy licked his way into his mouth, he couldn't stop the low moan from escaping his throat.
The kiss was rough, confident, Billy clutching his body tight and grinding up against his hand.
His mind splintered in two, one part dizzy with the shock of being kissed at all, the other still fearing someone below could see them despite the tall railing and the dark that had now fallen to their favor.
He couldn’t help scrunching his face up as he yearningly visualized Mike's lips against his, Mike's fingers grazing his skin. He had imagined it so many times before, had created countless scenarios in his mind how it would feel if it were Mike touching him like this. Wanting him like this.
He lost himself in the concept for a moment, that was, until Billy suddenly pried Will's hand from over his crotch, down his pants and underwear, to force him to fondle his privates.
No.
Billy wasn’t Mike.
This was moving way too fast.
Will pushed his free hand against the broad chest crowding his space, trying to put some space between them. Billy muttered in return and batted Will’s hand aside impatiently. Will made a small sound — not quite a protest, not quite a plea. He tried to step back, but the railing pressed into his spine, trapping him.
Will felt panic crawl up his throat as his eyes widened.
He broke the kiss and twisted his face away. “W-Wait,” He stuttered and tried to pry his hand out of Billy’s underwear without success. his grip iron around Will's wrist. Will tried to turn his face away, but Billy chased his mouth, lips dragging along Will’s cheek to his jaw, breath hot against his skin.
“Don’t be a fucking tease, Byers” Billy muttered against the hollow of his neck, voice low and impatient. “You’re fine.”
Billy’s hand snaked up the fabric of Will's shirt with hurried fingers, losing the mouth to mouth kissing battle but quickly refocused his attention to tracing his lips down to Will's exposed collarbone and licking a stripe along the prominent bone as he began backing them towards the bedroom behind him.
Will no longer wanted it.
“P-please wait.”
A cluster of bravery sparked in his chest and he was just about to use all his force to push Billy off of him, when Billy was roughly pulled away from him.
…and swiftly thrown over the balcony railing.
Billy screamed deeply as he fell and plunged heavily into the water below. The party guests surrounding the poolside shrieked in shock as they got splashed by the giant wave following his impact.
It all happened within the span of a few seconds.
Will stumbled forward with the force of having Billy pulled off of him, nearly losing his balance, but a hand caught his arm, steady and familiar. Fingers wrapping around him with a kind of protective urgency.
Will turned up to focus his slightly blurrier attention, and there he was.
Mike.
Closer than Will had been to him in a long time, staring down at him, those warm brown roving over his face, into his eyes and down to his red, swollen lips.
“M-Mike?” Will managed a gasp, the name feeling foreign on his tongue.
Mike didn’t answer, but his grip tightened and he started dragging Will through the bedroom, down the stairs, and out the front door.
“W-wait...” Will tried protesting but Mike ignored him, hauling him down the steps and toward a sleek Beamer parked by the curb. He opened the passenger seat door and forced Will inside with little to no effort. He dove his head in after him, clicked Will's seatbelt into place, before lifting a long, slender finger in the air between them.
“Be good.” Mike's tone was clipped in a way that made it clear that the topic wasn’t open for further discussion.
Will's mouth fell open in shocked disbelief as Mike shut the door and stalked back inside.
Alone, Will buried his burning face in his hands. His heart was thrumming so hard it drowned out the music still blasting from inside.
He sat in silence as he tried to gather the last shreds of his sober mind.
What had just happened?
It just hit him just how drunk he was. He had never been this drunk before.
“Shit Will,” He muttered to himself and took a few breaths to try and collect himself. “Be cool…”
He flinched as Mike suddenly jerked the driver's side door open and got inside, shutting them inside the car alone together.
Alone together for the first time in over four years.
There was a long pause, silence stretching out for what felt like ages, like Mike was waiting for Will to say something. But Will’s head and heart was pounding in rhythm and he couldn’t.
He just couldn’t.
He wasn’t brave like El… He wasn't El...
Mike eventually losed a sigh, turned the key in the ignition and began driving. He sped down Church and took a right onto Cornwallis.
“Are you alright?” he asked finally, voice level but tight.
Will choked on air, heat flaring in his cheeks.
"I-I'm fine..."
“Good. You’ll stay away from Billy Hargrove”
The placating sort of patient demand in his low tone sent Will's irritation spiking, but he simply clenched his jaw and sighed out a “Fine.”, face ablaze from embarrassment.
“I'm driving you home."
Will shut his eyes and shook his head wordlessly, biting his lip.
"What? What do you mean, no?"
Will felt a mix of every red cup he’d had the past hours swirl around in his stomach traveling up his throat.
He shook his head further as his stomach lurched, violently.
Mike swore then, slammed on the brakes, and yanked the driver's seat door open just as Will blacked out.
---
Will woke up to a headache from hell.
The light coming in from the tiny windows was way too bright, his throat felt like sandpaper, his tongue sticky with the ghost of cider and cheap beer.
For a few blissful seconds, he didn’t remember anything. Then it all came rushing back in one mortifying wave:
The party.
Billy Hargrove.
Mike…
Will made a wounded noise and rolled over, clinging to the nearest pillow like a lifeline.
only to register with a faint jolt that he wasn't in his bedroom.
He blinked blearily as he lifted his head.
He blinked up at the orange-toned wood panels, mismatched lamps, and felt the familiar scent of laundry detergent and Eggo waffles.
Warm and familiar.
The Wheeler basement.
Back in the day, this had been their kingdom.
Will remembered blanket forts behind the furnace, comic books on the sagging couch, hours of Galaga, and D&D marathons on the tiny table by the wall.
But now the kingdom had crumbled.
The basement had been transformed into a teenage boy’s bedroom. Posters of Metallica, The Thing, Back to the Future, and the Hawkins Tigers covered the wall. Trophies lined a shelf that once displayed their miniatures. Medals hung where their walkie-talkies used to clip to nails in the beam.
Everything was familiar and painfully different all at once. His pulse stuttered at the realization…
Will was in Mike's bedroom.
Not only that.
Will was on Mike’s bed, and only wearing his T-shirt and underwear.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a handful?”
Will jerked upright too fast and immediately regretted it. The room tilted, his vision swimming. He blinked until Mike came into focus at the bottom of the stairs, haloed by the rectangle of brightness from the open basement door.
The sight nearly stopped Will’s heart.
Hair damp from a run, a pair of earbuds hanging loose around his neck, Mike wore shorts and a fitted Hawkins High track shirt, the fabric clinging to sweat across his chest. He carried a glass of something pink in one hand, a grey hoodie in the other.
“O-Once or twice,” Will croaked, landing somewhere around pathetic.
Then last night replayed in horrible clarity:
Billy crowding him on the balcony.
Billy’s mouth on his.
Billy’s hands…
And then Mike.
Dragging Billy off him.
Throwing him over the railing.
Hauling Will out like a kid in trouble.
Like Will had needed saving.
Mike approached the bed with that same steady, controlled confidence he'd had last night. He held out the glass.
“I brought you some diuretics.” he handed Will the glass. “You still like strawberry right?”
Something in Will’s ribcage pulled tight.
“Thank you,” he breathed, sipping slowly.
Mike remembered.
They sat in silence for a stretched-out moment before Will cleared his throat.
“Crazy night huh,” he offered weakly.
Mike raised one brow. “Crazy’s one word for it.”
Will covered his face with his free hand and peeked through his fingers. “Did I… cause trouble?”
“You refused to let me take you home,” Mike said flatly. “And you threw up in my car. Twice. And then your shirt…”
Will let his hand drop, cheeks burning. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he kept his gaze down into his glass.
“Yeah,” Mike's voice trailed off and Will turned to find Mike’s gaze had flicked down, lingering on his neck. Will felt it like a physical touch and reflexively slapped his palm over the skin where Billy had left a mark.
Mike’s jaw tightened.
“You’ll stay away from Billy Hargrove-”
There it was again. That clipped, too-calm tone that set every nerve in Will on fire.
As if Mike actually cared.
As if they were friends.
“I don’t need to be told twice,” Will muttered then, bristling, cheeks flashing red.
Mike's expression remained impassive, but looked as though he could very possibly be on the cusp of raising his eyebrow again.
Will’s thoughts ricocheted wildly. The fact that Mike had seen him with Billy last night, had pulled Billy off him, had thrown him off a balcony. What did Mike think he’d walked into? What story had he already written in his head?
Will had barely been back a week, and he was already being reckless with his own secrets.
Secrets only Mike knew.
This very room had held them for the first time, the night twelve-year-old Will had blurted out the truth. He hadn’t planned it. He’d just… felt everything slipping. The late-night campaigns, drawings, handshakes, the inside jokes. Will had been terrified of being left behind.
So he had told Mike, in this very room, hoping honesty might save something already unraveling.
Mike hadn’t said much.
Hadn’t said anything, really.
Will had taken that silence as acceptance, as permission to breathe. To be accepted as himself.
But then, in the days that followed, the party fell apart. The calls stopped. The sleepovers ended. The three of them disappeared into skates without him, leaving him at the boards.
And Will had never stopped believing it was because of that moment.
Because of who he was.
Will scrambled for neutral ground. Normal ground. Anything that didn’t feel like standing on a mine.
“So… you moved down here, huh?” He gestured vaguely at the bed, the posters, the trophies. “Made it your own.”
“Yeah.” Mike’s tone gave nothing.
“It’s been a while. How have you been?” Will pushed, desperate for a foothold in the conversation.
“Good,” Mike said. Too quick. Too flat. “You?”
Will swallowed. His face felt hot again. “Good…”
"And El?"
And there it was. Of course.
El.
"She's good." He exhaled and turned his face to hide his disappointment.
That’s when he noticed the stack of papers resting on the nightstand.
Typed. Neatly stapled. A title centered at the top in bold:
THE BEAST OF BLACK HOLLOW by M. Wheeler
Will picked it up gently. “You… wrote this?”
Mike stiffened for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. It’s for a creative writing elective. World-building assignment.”
Will skimmed the first paragraph — a hunter tracking a massive forest creature with fanged jaws and ember-bright eyes. The description tugged at something in his memory.
“This is…” Will swallowed, searching for the right word but could only find “Really good, Mike.”
He tilted the pages, reading more. “Wait… Black Hollow… I remember it… from one of our old campaigns, right?”
Mike hesitated, but then nodded. “Yeah. The one with the nightbeast. You kept trying to tame it.”
Will laughed before he could stop himself. “Because you made it sound cool! It had six rows of teeth and had a power roar like…”
He lifted his hand in front of his mouth, fingers curled like claws, mimicking the beast’s iconic jaw snap.
Then he froze.
His face went crimson as he dropped his hand fast, realizing what he had just done.
Mike stared at him for a moment — startled, then he snorted, seemingly amused.
Will cleared his throat. “I-I mean… I remember it. That’s all.”
Mike’s expression faltered in a way that made him look momentarily younger, almost shy. His eyes dropped, then lifted again, a faint flush rising along his cheekbones.
“Do you… still draw?” he asked, voice soft, tentative.
“Yeah,” Will said quietly. “Better now, I think.”
Mike’s lips parted like he was about to say something else, before he cleared his throat.
“I… uh… have hockey practice in a bit,” he finally said.
The words landed stiff, almost defensive, like he needed distance fast.
Will’s stomach dipped, the moment slipping through his fingers.
“Right. Of course.”
He got on his feet and reached for his jeans from where they were hanging over the chair, pulling them on.
“You puked all over your flannel,” Mike said flatly from behind him. “It’s in the wash. Take my hoodie.”
“What? No—”
But Mike was already tugging the grey hoodie over Will’s head. Will flailed helplessly until he found the neck hole.
It swallowed him whole.
“I’ll… give it back soon,” he murmured, voice small inside all that fabric.
It was first now Will realized how tall and broad Mike had gotten the past years.
Mike stepped back, jaw tight.
“There’s a gap in the hedge near the driveway. You can sneak out through there. Just… don’t tell anyone you were here. Especially not El. Got it?”
Something in Will wilted. His fingers curled around the hem of the hoodie as if it could soften the blow.
Like Will had been foolish to hope the softness between them a moment ago meant anything at all.
He nodded anyway. “Got it.”
Will moved toward the stairs, trying not to look disappointed, trying not to show how much it hurt. “Good luck at practice.” he managed.
But as he reached for the railing, Mike’s voice cut quietly through the space between them.
“Just—”
Will paused and turned.
Mike’s fingers flexed at his sides.
“Be careful, okay?” Mike said.
It was soft.
Too soft.
Will swallowed around the sudden tightness in his throat and nodded once.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I will…”