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It was 3am, and Mike was wide awake again.
The room was dark except for a faint strip of moonlight slipping through the blinds, catching the edge of a desk and a pile of clothes he’d been meaning to deal with. He lay on his side, blanket half-kicked off, listening to the soft hum of the building, the heater clicking, one of the pipes muttering in the wall. All the normal sounds that should’ve felt comforting. None of them did.
Sleep had been avoiding him all week. He kept telling himself it was everything that had happened; dozens of soldiers killed, the hospital calls, Holly still missing. It made sense. Anyone would be rattled.
But that wasn’t what kept him staring at the ceiling.
His mind kept circling back to the military base. Not the explosions, not the demos, not even Vecna stepping out of the massive gate. Those were horrible memories, sure, but they didn’t hit him in the chest the same way one moment did.
Will.
Or more specifically, Will standing there with that look on his face; startled, focused, scared, determined, all at once. Will doing something no one else could’ve done.
Mike had replayed it so many times he almost didn't trust the memory anymore. The sounds of bones cracking. The way the air seemed to pull inward. The sudden silence when the demogorgons hit the floor.
He honestly thought it was over for him, after that demogorgon lunged, throwing itself right at Mike. But the blow never came.
He looked up, and Will was there, hand outstretched, eyes white, and Mike didn’t think he had ever been prouder in his life. As the other boy fell to his knees, he couldn’t help the way his mouth curved into a smile, desperately trying to ignore the quick beating of his heart.
Sorcerer.
Mike could tell that Will’s mindset had shifted somehow, but he couldn’t put his finger on what or why. He seemed confident, more self assured, but still shocked by himself, like he hadn’t believed what he’d just done any more than Mike had.
But Mike believed. God, he believed.
We really need some magic up here.
Mike and Joyce rushed to Will immediately. Will had wiped the small streak of blood from under his nose, and Mike felt his stomach twist in a way he really didn’t have the space to unpack right now. There were bigger problems because they all knew the military wouldn’t stay gone for long.
They’d wrapped the demogorgon bodies in old blankets they’d found in a storage room, binding everything tight with thick rope. Robin and Lucas caught up a few minutes later to help, while Mike dug shallow pits beneath the base of the red radio tower using a rusted shovel.
Until things went wrong.
Very wrong.
Something had shifted. Mike wasn’t sure what, but by the time he finished burying the demogorgons, a thick ring of smoke had begun curling around the radio tower. The others were too far away, and he was standing directly beneath it. He didn’t know if it was the Mind Flayer or something else entirely, but he knew Will’s voice when he heard it.
“Mike! Do you hear me? You need to run!”
Mike tore away from the radio tower immediately like he’d been burnt, feet slipping on the gravel as the smoke ring thickened behind him. It wasn’t drifting like normal smoke, it pulsed, contracting in flashes of red like something breathing. Every instinct he had screamed run, so he did, gasping, lungs burning.
He spotted Will near the fence line with Robin, Lucas, and Joyce. Will wasn’t looking at any of them. His breathing came in sharp, uneven pulls, hands grabbing at his head. Joyce kept asking him something, voice pitching higher with worry, but Will didn’t answer. Didn’t even look up.
Mike’s heart dropped straight through him.
“Will?” Mike ran so fast he nearly skidded forward. “Hey, hey, look at me. What’s going on?”
Will flinched at the sound of his voice. Not away, just… inward, like it had hit something raw. For a split second his eyes lifted, and Mike wished they hadn’t. They were glazed, unfocused, darting like he was trying to track things Mike couldn’t see.
Like he was looking through three memories at once, none of them lining up.
“Mike,” Will whispered, but the way he said it wasn’t right. He didn’t sound scared or in pain, but more like someone waking up in a burning room, confused why everything smelled like smoke.
Robin came to their side, breathless. “Is he hurt? What happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” Mike said, voice tighter than he intended. “He was fine—”
Will’s hands spasmed, curling into fists against his temples, whole body trembling like something inside him was misfiring or short-circuiting. Lucas put a hand on Will’s back, but Will jerked forward, choking out a breath that didn’t sound like a breath at all.
Joyce’s voice cracked. “Will, baby, talk to me—”
But he couldn’t, and Mike already knew he couldn’t. He could tell that something was swallowing Will from the inside. The signs were subtle, but Mike recognised all of them; the tightening shoulders, the too-deep breaths, the distant look that wasn’t really distant at all, but trapped. Will wasn’t here.
“Will,” Mike said again, softer. “I’m right here.”
For a moment, Will’s gaze snapped toward him, as if Mike was the only anchor in the room, the only stable point he could still find. But it lasted a heartbeat. Maybe less.
Then his eyes rolled back, and his body went limp.
Mike caught him before he hit the ground.
Robin swore under her breath as Joyce’s hands were shaking as she cupped the side of Will’s face, trying to rouse him.
“Why—why did he collapse?” Lucas asked.
No one answered. No one knew.
Mike pulled Will closer, feeling how cold his skin had gone, how his breaths came too shallow, too quick. He’d seen Will exhausted, scared, hurt, but never gone like this. Never swallowed whole by something none of them could see.
He pressed his forehead to Will’s temple for a second, grounding himself.
They’d all managed to get Will back to WSQK radio station with a little struggle but they eventually pulled through. However, it was obvious Joyce wasn’t holding up too well. Mike couldn’t even imagine what was running through her head after seeing her son pull off something like that. Pride? Shock? Fear? Most likely all three.
They’d laid Will on the couch, still unconscious. Joyce had tried waking him more than once, but he hadn’t stirred. Mike wished he could do something, anything, to help.
That night, he stayed at the radio station. And the next. Even after Will finally woke, much to Joyce’s relief, Mike still didn’t leave.
Now, he found himself on another couch in a different part of the building, staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep.
After a few minutes, he gave up. He sat up, the couch groaning under his weight. He had no idea how old it was, but judging by the way his back would ache in the mornings, he guessed at least a decade. Mike groaned as he swung his legs over the edge and planted his feet against the cold tile, seeking some small measure of stability.
Maybe a walk would help.
He hurriedly grabbed a pair of his sweatpants from a chair beside the couch he’d been wearing earlier, shoving his legs through them in the dark. The fabric was stiff and smelled faintly of dust, but it was better than nothing. He swung his feet to the floor, socked feet touching the cool tiles, and stood up carefully.
Mike reached for the lamp on the small side table, flicking the switch. The sudden brightness made him squint and blink repeatedly, the warm yellow light painting the room in harsh contrast against the shadows.
He moved through the station, taking in the quiet. The hallways were long, the walls lined with peeling paint and posters faded from years of sun and dust. Each step echoed off the tile floor, a soft rhythm to match his restless mind. His thoughts, tangled and anxious, bounced back and forth like moths against a windowpane.
The building had a break room tucked around the corner, fruit, snacks, a fridge. Most importantly, water. Mike’s throat ached, dry and tight, he could really go for a cold drink right now.
He rounded the corner and froze. A faint rustling came from the room. Had someone broken in?
Panic shot through him. Instinctively, he grabbed one of those spare microphones sitting on a nearby table, yanking the cord so he could take it with him. His stomach twisted, every muscle taut.
Then he blinked.
Will was standing in front of the fridge, back slightly hunched, hands moving absently as he rifled through the contents. Mike’s tension melted into something softer, heavier, warmer. Relief, mostly. And something else that made his chest tighten in a way he refused to name.
Mike stayed where he was, silent, just watching. The light caught the curve of Will’s shoulders, the way his hair fell over his forehead. For a moment, he let himself admire him from afar, grateful for the ordinary sight of him moving through the room, alive, and completely unaware of the small, stolen attention he had just captured.
It was nice to see him moving around so casually after the scare they’d all had a few days prior. Although he had been acting differently these past few days, he was still there. Safe. Alive.
“Oh.” Will’s voice broke the silence as he finally noticed Mike. Mike froze for a moment, unsure how long he’d been staring, and quickly leaned back against the doorway. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
Mike shook his head, a little too fast. “No, no, you’re fine. Couldn’t sleep.”
Will gave a small nod. “Same.”
Mike stepped fully into the room, closing the distance, though he kept a careful, casual posture. Will was still rifling through the fridge, eyes fixed on the contents. Mike couldn’t help thinking it was a convenient excuse to avoid his gaze, but he didn’t comment.
“Find anything?” he asked softly.
“No,” Will said with a small sigh, shutting the fridge and letting the light dim. “I’m not even hungry. I just need a distraction.”
Mike’s brow lifted. “Distraction? Something bothering you?”
“I just…” Will trailed off, fingers brushing the edge of the fridge as if he needed the contact. “I don’t know.”
Mike could tell he did know. He just wasn’t ready to say it aloud yet. That was okay.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Mike said softly, quieter than he expected his own voice to be. “But I’m here.”
Will gave a small nod, the corner of his lips tilting upward just slightly, the same, slight smile he’d been giving Mike for years, ever since they were kids. Every time, Mike couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”
They lingered in the quiet, the hum of the fridge filling the pause. Finally, he spoke, trying to ease the tension. “Maybe I can distract you.”
Will lifted his gaze, meeting the side of Mike’s face. “How?”
Mike shrugged lightly, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know… talk to me about something.”
“Something?” Will repeated, eyebrow quirking.
“Anything,” Mike said, smiling wider this time, the warmth in his voice unintentional but real.
The other boy hesitated, pressing his eyes shut for a moment. It wasn’t pain, Mike could tell, but something tighter, sharper—frustration, maybe even disbelief.
“My head’s kind of a mess right now,” he admitted quietly.
“Why?” Mike whispered, leaning just enough to make it feel like they were sharing a secret.
Will paused, lost in his own thoughts, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” Mike said softly, leaning back against the counter. His fingers brushed the edge of the worn surface as he let his gaze drift up to the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks and shadows. He didn’t want to make Will uncomfortable, not now, not ever. He wanted to give him the distraction he asked for, to carve a moment of calm out of everything that had gone wrong.
“You know,” he continued, voice quieter than he intended, almost reverent, “I hate to be that guy, but… I told you so.”
Will lifted his head slowly, eyes wide and curious, eyebrows knitting together. “Huh?”
Mike’s lips curved into a small, fond smile. “You’re a sorcerer,” he said, tilting his head just enough to catch the dim light falling across Will’s features. “I mean… that was insane. I was blown away.”
Will blinked, almost disbelieving, as if the words didn’t quite reach him yet. “Really?”
“Yeah! Remember that one campaign where you, like, saved the whole party?” Mike grinned, the corner of his lips tugging up as a spark of memory lit Will’s eyes. “You cast Guiding Bolt right at the demon’s face, and Lucas was about to get shredded. I swear, Will, we would’ve all died without you. It was just like that, only ten times better.”
Will’s smile bloomed in response, radiant enough to make Mike’s chest tighten. But when Will looked at him, really at him, Mike felt the air catch in his throat. The only thing more incredible than Will’s smile was when Will smiled at Mike. The shorter boy ducked his head and suddenly his own feet were the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Yeah, I remember,” Will murmured, voice soft and seemingly flustered, like it didn’t dare carry further than the space between them.
“You looked so… cool,” Mike said, words tumbling out faster than he intended. “I mean, I knew you could do it, of course, but seeing you… it was amazing.”
Mike’s eyes lingered on him, tracing the way his hair fell across his forehead, the slight tilt of his head, his hands fidgeting in the way Mike adored. Every small movement seemed amplified in the quiet of the room, like Will’s nervous energy was a language only Mike could read. He watched as a pink tinge crept up his neck and Mike could spend hours memorising these little details and still feel like he hadn’t seen enough.. “Mike, stop—oh my god,” he muttered, trying to hide the grin that refused to be contained.
“What? It’s just the truth,” Mike replied, leaning a little closer, the warmth of his shoulder brushing Will’s.
Will’s frown faltered, dissolving into a laugh that sounded impossibly light and genuine in the stillness. Mike couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, heart fluttering as he realised, this laughter, this small moment, was working. Will’s worries had loosened just enough for a spark of something brighter to slip through, and Mike felt a quiet, soaring pride that he had managed it, just by being here, by being himself.
They laughed together, soft and unhurried, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Mike let himself sink into the warmth of it, letting Will’s joy wash over the lingering shadows of everything else.
Their laughter faded into a soft, shared quiet, leaving only the low hum of the fridge beside them and the faint rhythm of their own breathing. Mike’s eyes traced the line of Will’s jaw, the way his eyelashes caught the dim light, the subtle tremor in his fingers as they lingered near the edge of the counter.
Will’s gaze met his, steady and unguarded, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to shrink until it was nothing but the two of them, breath mingling, Mike’s heart beating a little too fast. He leaned slightly, drawn forward by the pull of something unspoken yet dangerous, a tension that was gentle yet electric. Something that had been building up inside of him for years. He could feel it in the brush of their shoulders, the proximity of their faces, the quiet question hanging in the air between them. His fingers itched to reach out, to brush a stray hair from his forehead, to anchor himself to the moment.
Will tilted his head just slightly, lips parted as if inviting what Mike had already been imagining. And Mike, breath caught, moved closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the faint scent of soap and the day’s lingering stress mingling with the sweet, subtle familiarity of Will.
Then, a flash of lightning split the sky, followed instantly by a low rumble of thunder that shook the building, sharp and sudden. Both of them jumped slightly, breaking the spell. Mike pulled back just enough to give them both a moment to breathe. Oh shit.
He peeked over, catching Will fidgeting near the counter, cheeks still tinged pink, and Mike’s chest tightened again. Everything he’d ever felt for this boy, the worry, the pride, the admiration, the quiet, desperate love, was here, all of it, boiling and brilliant, impossible to ignore.
“I’m going to… head to bed.” Will muttered, voice a little shaky, “Goodnight, Mike.”
Mike perked up, “Oh, uh, yeah, goodnight, Will.”
As Will’s footsteps gradually grew more and more quiet, he was left alone in silence.
He let out a much needed sigh. It was too late for this. He needed to head to bed.
As much as Mike knew those were just excuses, he kept telling them to himself as he made his way back to the creaky couch.
Mike thought about Will a lot. All the time, really. In the morning when he woke up, he would be the first one that Mike thought of. At night before he slept, Will would still be on his mind. Especially now. Even in the middle of the day when he would be busy talking to someone, he quietly invaded his thoughts. No matter where he was, or what he was doing, Mike’s heart always came back to Will. In quiet times, in busy times, in little things around him, Will was always there.
It’s Will.
It’s always Will.