Chapter Text
The only sounds in the dark hall were the click-click of the projector, a few students yawning, and Dr. Vance’s boring voice. "Look," she said, pointing to a large drawing of a hand on the screen. "This is more than just a drawing of a body." She was showing Leonardo da Vinci’s hand sketches from 1474. Will liked these topics, but he was very tired because he went to bed late. He was trying hard to stay awake.
After high school, he started his new life at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts. He was finally away from the dark mood of Hawkins. He was away from his memories, the people, and the places he knew. To be honest, he finally felt alive. For the first time since he was a kid, he could sleep peacefully and wake up feeling like himself.
He could have thanked his past for making him who he is today, but he was just happy to be free. He said he was away from everyone, but his brother Jonathan was close by. Jonathan always dreamed of NYU film school, and he made it. He was working hard every day to start his career.
But Will had brought a piece of Hawkins with him to New York: Mike. Mike Wheeler also got into NYU to study English. Now, they were staying in a small room at Rubin Hall with just two beds, two desks, and one wardrobe. Will didn't even know Mike had a plan for college; it felt like Mike just tried a few places and, by luck, they ended up at the same school. At first, Will thought this would be hard. But they had lived together for months now like two strangers from different cities. They were just two roommates who barely even said hello.
Mike was very quiet. Will knew Mike blamed himself for what happened to El. He hated that he couldn't change their fate. Every day, Mike sat at his desk and wrote stories that Will thought were for D&D. Sometimes he walked around the room, ate, or did some push-ups before bed. Mike was very messy, but Will chose to stay silent about it. The only thing left of their friendship was a painting Will had made for Mike, hanging right above Mike's desk. Sometimes Will caught Mike staring at it for a long time. But Mike never said anything; he would just go back to his book or his studies. Will didn't know what to say to him anymore. Maybe being here together was a mistake. They were part of each other’s childhood, but their story had ended when Vecna died.
When Will escaped the freezing wind of Washington Square Park and stepped into Rubin Hall, he buttoned his coat. While waiting for the elevator, he looked at his reflection in the mirror; there were dark circles under his eyes. The black and white tiles on the floor were shining as if they had just been cleaned. When he reached room 307 on the third floor, he felt that usual hesitation. Why did he have to take a deep breath every time he entered his own room? Why did Mike Wheeler still stress him out?
When he opened the door slightly and glanced inside, he noticed the familiar sound of the typewriter was missing. When he opened the door fully, the room was empty. He thought Mike might be in the bathroom, but it was empty too. Will took a deep breath, took off his coat, and emptied his backpack. Mike was probably in his English class or at the library; he hadn't told Will much about what he was doing lately anyway. With the strange feeling of freedom from being alone in the room, Will looked over at Mike’s side. Mike’s desk was a battlefield again: messy papers, an open book… He walked toward the desk and curiously looked at the book Mike was reading.
Will reached for the worn book sitting in the middle of the mess on the desk. The cover was bent, and the word "DEMIAN" was printed on it in capital letters. It must have been one of the books Mike was reading for his English class, but Will was certain Mike wasn't reading this just for an assignment.
When he opened a random page, he saw some lines underlined sharply with a red pen: "Each man's life represents a road toward himself." Right below it, Mike had written a small note in his hurried handwriting that took Will's breath away. Will could recognize Mike’s handwriting anywhere—that rushed, slightly left-leaning, and messy script... "But what if the road ends and I still haven't found who I am?"
A lump formed in Will’s throat. This wasn't the first time he saw the battle Mike was fighting beneath his quiet, messy, and sometimes rude exterior. In truth, because he had been trying to ignore Mike's presence for so long, he had simply forgotten the kind of emotions Mike was still struggling with. Right then, at the sound of a key in the lock, Will panicked and put the book back, but he couldn't calm his racing heart.
As Will quickly sat on the edge of his bed, the door opened. Mike walked in, his hair completely messy from the wind. He paused for a moment when he saw Will was there. With a voice that came out shakier than he expected, Will said, "Hi." Mike looked up slightly while taking off his wet boots by the door. "Hi," he replied.
"Did it start raining? It was normal when I was coming back—I mean, it was cold and windy, of course." Will pushed back the hair falling over his forehead. He knew he was just talking for the sake of talking.
Mike hung his wet coat over the back of the only chair in the room; a few drops dripped from the coat onto the wooden floor. He didn't answer Will’s comment about the weather right away. The silence in the room was so heavy that even the sound of the NYC traffic outside seemed to fade away.
"Yeah, it started," Mike finally said. He walked toward his desk and sat in his chair, right next to the book Will had just put back. "New York... everything changes so fast."
Will’s heart was still racing as he tried to figure out if Mike noticed the book had been moved even by a millimeter. Mike placed his hand on the typewriter but didn't press any keys. He just stared at the blank piece of paper.
"Have you talked to Jonathan?" Mike asked, his voice dull as always.
Will sat up a bit straighter on his bed. "Yesterday evening. He’s working on a shoot. How is... your story going?"
Mike harshly turned the carriage of the typewriter. The sharp mechanical sound echoed through the room. "It’s not," Mike said, finally turning to Will. "The story doesn't move forward if the characters don't say what they need to say to each other."
"You're the best storyteller I know," Will said. "I'm sure you'll figure it out." Mike only responded with a small nod.
Two hours later, Will had taken a shower and was standing in front of the mirror, fixing his shirt collar. He could feel Mike sitting behind him at the typewriter, watching him.
"I’m heading out," Will said. This time, his voice was much firmer than when he had talked about the weather. "I might be late, so... sorry if I make any noise tonight."
Mike stopped typing. The silence in the room grew heavy once again, but this time the tension was different. Mike turned slightly in his chair.
"Late?" Mike asked. There was a strange, questioning tone in his voice. "Where are you going? Are you meeting Jonathan?"
Will took a deep breath. He didn't want to hide anymore. He looked into Mike’s eyes through his reflection in the mirror. "No. I’m meeting a friend. Let's call it... a date," he said. He gave his hair one last look and put on his khaki jacket.
Mike’s eyebrows shot up. "A date?" he repeated. He sounded shocked, as if that word didn't exist in his vocabulary—or at least, couldn't be used in the same sentence as Will Byers. "With who? I mean... did you meet someone?"
Will gave a soft laugh. "Yes, Mike, usually you go on a date with someone," he said sarcastically. Will had never flirted with anyone in his life, and he had never had a partner. He knew this was shocking for Mike. Will had never truly experienced the feeling of being liked by someone. For the first time in his life, a man—someone just like him—had approached Will with sparkling eyes and shared feelings.
Will took a step toward the door, but Mike’s voice stopped him. Mike was still staring at him in shock, his mouth slightly open.
"So..." Mike said, his voice dropping even lower. He knew it was a stupid question, but he couldn't help asking. "I mean, is it with a guy? Are you going on a date with a guy?"
Will put his hand on the doorknob and slowly turned back to Mike. Normally, this question might have hurt him, but now it just made him realize how far behind Mike had stayed. "Yes, Mike," Will said, his voice very calm. "With a guy. We’re in NYC, remember? No one here hates you for who you are. Or at least... I’m not hiding anymore."
Without saying anything else, Will opened the door and left.
When Will stepped out of the doors of Rubin Hall and into the freezing but liberating air of New York, he felt a lightness he had never experienced before. As he walked through Washington Square Park toward the neon-lit streets of the West Village, his steps were firmer than ever.
As the cold wind hit his face, Will smiled. Mike’s shocked, almost comically naive question kept echoing in his mind: "Is it with a guy?" In the past, this question would have made Will want to sink into the ground or turn red with shame. But now, as he walked the crowded sidewalks of New York, the only thing he felt was self-confidence. He felt the freedom of breaking out of his shell and finally taking flight. While everyone else found the love they were looking for, the feeling of knowing what he wanted—after years of finding that love in no one—was sweet.
"Yes, Mike," he thought to himself. "With a guy. And this is the beginning of the best decisions I've ever made in my life."
For years, he had hidden as a scared child in the shadows of Hawkins, the darkness of the Upside Down, and the void of Mike’s unreachable love. He had carried his identity like a secret, like a curse. It was as if everyone around him was normal while he had a major problem, yet no one approached his problem with a solution; instead, they treated it like a source of shame. Perhaps his friends had accepted him, and Mike had accepted him and even apologized for not understanding or being there for him—but was it truly sincere? Will doubted it. Ever since things started returning to normal, he had felt Mike internally distancing himself because of this. When Will had essentially made his feelings clear, he hadn't been able to read Mike’s face, but he knew he had felt Mike's displeasure. Mike had started looking at him differently. He didn't even know why Mike had followed him to the same university. After a while, he had simply stopped trying to find meaning in Mike’s actions or analyze them.
Will pushed open the door of the bar in one of the backstreets of the West Village, under the glow of a dim red neon sign. The inside was filled with cigarette smoke, the sounds of jazz, and bursts of laughter. His eyes searched through the crowd until he spotted River sitting at a corner table.
River had an urban air about him that Will had never seen in Hawkins. He carried a calm and inviting energy. More importantly, he had broad shoulders—and Will absolutely loved that. His hair was dark chestnut, slightly wavy, and reached just below his ears. Unlike Mike’s interrogative gaze, River’s eyes always sparkled as if he were curious about something. For a moment, Will felt a pang of guilt for comparing him to Mike. It had just flashed through his mind instinctively.
"I was sure you’d come," River said, his voice soft and clear even amidst the noise of the bar. "You look great, Will."
Will felt someone looking at him like this for the first time. There was no pity in this look, no sympathy; just pure, genuine interest. As River fixed Will’s collar, his fingers brushed against Will’s neck for a split second. Will realized that this tiny touch felt warmer than Mike’s entire cold room. And he had done it again. He had let Mike into the moment once more. He hated himself for it.
River ordered two drinks and pulled his chair a bit closer to Will. "How are your classes going? You said Art History, right?" he asked, looking straight into Will’s eyes as if he were truly curious.
Will took a deep breath, trying to match the energy of the room. "Yeah, it’s exhausting sometimes, but I love it. After Hawkins... I’m trying to adjust, and I think I feel like I've found my new home."
River smiled, a relaxed and easy smile. His blue eyes sparkled as he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. His lips were thin, and when he smiled, the edges curled upward. Will felt tongue-tied in the face of such aesthetic beauty. "So, tell me about your life in Hawkins then. I want to get to know you."
Will swallowed hard. As everything he had been through flashed through his mind, he stared past River’s ear into the distance.
"My life in Hawkins..." he began. What could he even say? If he told him what they actually went through, River would laugh in his face and leave the table.
"I’m sorry... I think there was a massive earthquake there. My stupidity, I completely forgot. I should have been more careful," River said. He tried to compose himself and touched Will’s shoulder. "I’m truly sorry."
Will shook his head. "No, no..." He didn't know what to say. "I... I lost my sister." As his eyes blurred with warm tears, a heavy ache climbed up his neck.
"I'm so sorry..." River repeated several times.
"What about you?" Will asked, trying to shift the focus away from himself. "You swim, right?"
River nodded, pulling his hand back from Will's shoulder. He took a sip of his drink. "I’ve been swimming since I was a kid. It’s become like breathing for me now. You should come watch me practice sometime. If you want to, of course?" he said with a laugh. Will felt his cheeks heat up.
"Of course," he said, fixing the hair on his forehead—a reflex he had whenever he felt shy.
River’s eyes lit up. "Afterward, I’ll even take you to the best coffee shop around here. But first..." River placed his hand on the table, very close to Will’s. "Let’s just enjoy this moment."
They spent the rest of the night dancing and talking. Will couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so sincerely. River was both polite and charismatic. Will’s initial anxiety was slowly replaced by a sweet infatuation. Under the dim lights of the bar, they lost track of time. River talked about the excitement of his swim meets; Will talked about what his complex childhood drawings actually meant, as if telling someone for the first time. River didn't just listen; he truly heard him.
When they left the bar, it had started to lightly snow. River turned to Will, hands in his pockets. "Let me walk you back to your dorm; I can't let you walk alone in this weather," he said playfully.
They walked under the falling snowflakes, occasionally bumping into each other. They stole smiles at one another. When they reached the grand stone building of Rubin Hall, they stopped. Will knew he had to go inside.
"Will," River said, "Thank you for tonight. It’s been a long time since I felt this much like myself around someone." River took a step closer. As the distance between them closed, Will’s heart raced with excitement.
River gently placed his hand on Will’s cheek; his fingers were warm against Will’s cold-flushed skin. The snowflakes drifting under the streetlight and the silence of the empty street accompanied them. River leaned in slowly and pressed a small kiss to the corner of Will’s mouth. "Goodnight, Will Byers. See you tomorrow."
Will watched River walk away, touching the spot where he had been kissed with his fingertips. As he walked through the dorm doors, he couldn't stop the smile on his face.
When Will quietly opened the door to the room, he still had the sweet dizziness left by the night and River. His head was spinning slightly from the few drinks and the feeling of that first genuine interest. Trying to be quiet, he took off his coat and threw himself onto his bed. The room was dark, with only the faint light from the streetlamps leaking through the curtains. He didn't even look at Mike’s bed; it was obvious he was already asleep. He closed his eyes, still feeling River’s kiss. An involuntary smile spread across his lips.
Just then, unexpectedly, Mike’s voice rose from the darkness. It was very much awake and eerily clear.
"You look like you had fun."
Will jumped. Mike wasn't sleeping. He had been lying on his back in the dark, watching the ceiling, waiting for Will to come home. "Mike? I thought you were asleep," Will said, his voice still carrying the softness of the alcohol.
Will wanted to close his eyes and return to that peaceful dizziness, but Mike’s voice wouldn't let him. Mike didn't get out of bed, and he didn't turn on the light. His voice from the dark was cold and biting.
"It’s three in the morning, Will," Mike said. The passive-aggressive tone in his voice instantly cut through the sweet spin in Will’s head. "I woke up because you were making too much noise. Did you really have to slam the door that hard? The whole floor didn't need to hear what a 'great' night you were having." Will exhaled deeply, lifting his head from the pillow in surprise.
"I didn't even laugh, Mike. I just opened the door. Besides, it’s not even three o'clock yet."
"I don't care what time it is, Will," Mike snapped, turning to the other side in his bed with a sudden jerk. "You're not the only one living here. I have an early class tomorrow, and I shouldn't have to deal with the noise of your new 'fun' life. Some of us actually came here to study, you know. Not everyone's priority is killing time with strangers outside."
Mike pulled the blanket up to his shoulder aggressively and let out one last sigh that signaled the start of their silent war. As Will stared at the ceiling in the dark, he tried to hold onto the warmth of River’s kiss, but Mike’s heavy, gray energy had already filled the room.
WILL CONTINUE, NEW CHAPTER IN DAYS …