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The basement smelled like dust and old cardboard, the kind that never really went away no matter how many times Karen Wheeler tried to organize it. Mike stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, staring at a half-open box labeled SCHOOL STUFF in fading marker.
Inside it were notebooks, loose papers, a bent binder, and tucked awkwardly against one side a rolled-up painting wrapped in brown paper.
He hadn't meant to find it.
It had just... happened. One box too many dragged out from under the stairs. One careless tug that sent things sliding. One glimpse of familiar paper edges that made his chest do something annoying and sharp.
Eleven was sitting on the old couch nearby, knees pulled up, flipping through a stack of comic books she'd claimed she wanted to "check for memories." She looked calmer than she had a few months ago. Stronger, too, in a quiet way. Not healed- not fully but steadier.
They weren't together. Not really.
They were... this. Whatever this was.
"So," Mike said, too casually, nudging the box with his foot. "Uh. Remember that painting Will gave me? In California?"
El looked up. Her brow furrowed immediately. "The one with the knights?"
"Yeah. The D&D one. With the dragon." He hesitated, then added, "You know. The one you.. commissioned."
Her confusion was instant and unmistakable.
"I didn't commission a painting," she said.
Mike blinked. "What?"
She tilted her head. "I didn't ask Will to paint anything."
His stomach dropped a fraction of an inch.
"Yeah, you did," he said quickly. "You- he said you did. That you wanted to cheer me up. That it was from you."
El's expression tightened, not angry, just... focused. Like she was carefully sorting through memories.
"I thought," she said slowly, "Will was painting something for a girl he liked."
Mike laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. "What?"
She nodded, certain. "He was always hiding it. He wouldn't show me. When I asked, he got nervous. I thought... I thought it was for someone. Not me."
The basement felt suddenly too quiet.
Mike's ears rang. "El," he said, voice low, "he told me you asked him to do it. He said it was your idea."
She shook her head. "No. I didn't."
The words sat there between them, heavy and unmoving.
Mike looked back down at the box.
The memory came back all at once, vivid and unwelcome.
Will standing there with the painting clutched to his chest, hands shaking just a little. His voice too careful. El wanted me to give this to you. The way he'd smiled, hopeful and terrified at the same time. The way Mike's heart had lifted then immediately settled when Will added, She thought it might help.
Because of course it was El.
Of course it wasn't just for him.
Mike swallowed.
"That's... weird," he said finally.
El watched him closely. "Why?"
"I mean-" He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "He was really specific. He said you commissioned it. That you wanted him to paint me as the leader. With the heart. And the party. And everything."
Her eyes flicked toward the box. "You kept it?"
"Yeah," he said automatically.
That wasn't exactly true.
He'd kept it for about a day.
At the time, he'd told himself he was just busy. Too much going on. The move back to Hawkins. The mess with Vecna. Everything being off-balance with El. It made sense to pack things up, to be practical.
But the truth,one he'd never said out loud.
When he thought the painting was from Will, something warm had bloomed in his chest. Something proud and safe.
When he thought it was from El, something in him had dimmed.
And that had made him subconciously enough to shove the painting into a box and pretend it didn't matter.
El stood up slowly and walked over. She crouched beside the box and looked at the edge of the wrapped canvas.
"You didn't ask him about it?" she asked.
Mike shook his head. "Why would I? He said it was from you. And I-" He stopped himself.
And I was supposed to love you.
That was the part he didn't say.
El reached out, hesitated, then gently touched the wrapped paper. "Can I see it?"
Mike nodded. His hands felt weird as he lifted it out, like they didn't quite belong to him. He set it carefully on the old ping-pong table and unrolled the paper.
The painting was just as he remembered.
Bright. Detailed. Earnest in a way that made his chest ache. The party stood together, weapons raised, facing the dragon. Mike, his knight was front and center, sword up, shield emblazoned with a heart.
A heart.
He'd told himself that was El. That it had to be. Because it made sense. Because it was easier.
El stared at it silently.
"This is..." She trailed off.
"Good," Mike finished. "Yeah. It's really good."
She nodded. "It's very... you."
Mike huffed out a quiet, humorless laugh. "Yeah. Will always gets me right."
El turned to look at him. "Mike."
He met her eyes.
"I didn't ask him to paint this," she said again, firmer this time, "I don't even know a lot about dnd to know."
His throat tightened. "Okay."
"And," she added softly, "I don't think he painted it because of me."
The basement felt like it tilted slightly to one side.
Mike looked back at the painting. At the careful lines. The time it must've taken. The way every member of the party was exactly right, down to the expressions on their faces.
At the way Will had looked when he handed it to him.
Hopeful.
Terrified.
"I thought," Mike said slowly, "that I was happy when he gave it to me. Like- really happy. But then when he said it was from you.." He swallowed. "I don't know. Something changed."
El didn't interrupt.
"I packed it away," he went on, voice tight. "Which is messed up, because I never do that. You know I keep his drawings. I still have ones from middle school."
"I know," she said quietly.
"I kept telling myself it was fine. That I was just being weird. That I shouldn't feel... disappointed." He shook his head. "Because you were my girlfriend. Or- supposed to be. And that should've been enough."
El was quiet for a long moment.
Then she said slowly her voice quivered, "Sometimes feelings don't follow rules."
Mike let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"I don't think he meant to lie," El added. "I think... he was scared."
"Of what?"
"Of losing you."
The words landed with a dull thud.
Mike stared at the painting again, at the heart on the shield. His mind replayed a hundred small moments he'd dismissed. Will watching him when he wasn't supposed to notice. Will going quiet when El and Mike fought. Will was always there even when everything else shifted.
It clicked.
Not all the way.
But enough to make his chest ache.
"So," Mike said finally, voice rough, "you really didn't know?"
El shook her head. "No."
He nodded slowly. "Okay."
She reached out and touched his arm. "What are you going to do?"
He didn't answer right away.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But... I think I need to talk to him."
Upstairs, a door opened. Footsteps. Will's voice drifted faintly down the stairs, calling something to Dustin.
Mike froze.
The painting sat between him and El.
He rolled it back up carefully, more carefully than he ever had before.
Will's voice came first, drifting down the basement stairs before he did.
"Dustin says he left his—" He cut off when he reached the bottom step.
The basement light cast soft shadows across the room. Mike was standing by the ping-pong table, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, posture stiff like he'd been bracing himself for impact. Eleven stood a few feet away near the couch, her eyes flicking between them.
Will froze.
His gaze landed on the box.
On the familiar brown paper peeking out the top.
On the way Mike wasn't looking at him like normal and not distracted or annoyed or joking but instead focused. Too focused.
Something in Will's chest tightened.
"Oh," he said quietly. "You... found it."
El straightened. "I'm going to go help Joyce," she said gently, already moving toward the stairs. She paused halfway up, glanced back at both of them. "I'll be upstairs."
The door at the top of the stairs closed softly behind her.
The basement felt smaller immediately. Like the walls had leaned in.
Will shifted his weight, fingers curling into the sleeves of his sweater. "I didn't know you were- uh- cleaning down here."
"Yeah," Mike said. His voice sounded steadier than he felt. "We were."
Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
Will swallowed. "So... you found the painting."
Mike nodded. "Yeah."
Another pause.
Will let out a breathy, humorless laugh. "Wow. I kind of thought... I don't know. I thought you forgot about it."
That stung more than Mike expected.
"I didn't," he said. "I just—" He stopped, then forced himself to continue. "Will, I talked to El."
Will's head snapped up.
"What?" His voice cracked just slightly. "Why?"
"Because she said something that didn't make sense," Mike replied. "She said she never asked you to paint anything."
The color drained from Will's face.
For a split second, Mike saw it all there panic, calculation, fear and before Will tried to smooth it over.
"Oh," Will said quickly. "I mean- yeah, she didn't, like... specifically. I just-"
"Don't," Mike said sharply.
Will froze.
"Don't do that," Mike repeated, quieter now but firmer. "Don't lie. Not again."
Will's mouth opened. Closed.
He looked down at the floor.
"I wasn't lying," he said weakly. "I just- simplified it."
Mike let out a short laugh, more disbelief than humor. "You told me she commissioned it. That it was from her. That's not simplifying, Will. That's just... not true."
"I know," Will said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mike ran a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps away before turning back. "Do you have any idea how confusing that was? How messed up it felt?"
Will flinched. "I didn't want to make things weird."
"They were already weird!" Mike snapped, then immediately winced. He took a breath, lowering his voice. "We were already weird. And you lying to me didn't make it better."
Will's shoulders hunched inward. "I thought it would."
"Why?" Mike asked. "Since when do you not just... tell me things?"
That question landed hard.
Will looked up then, eyes shining, jaw tight. "Since things stopped feeling safe."
Mike stared at him. "What?"
"You want the truth?" Will's voice trembled, anger bleeding through now. "Fine. I didn't tell you because I thought you were already pulling away. And I didn't want to give you another reason to leave."
"I wasn't leaving," Mike said automatically.
Will laughed, sharp and bitter. "Yeah? Then why didn't you hug me at the airport? Why did you not call me? Why did you not call me?"
The memory hit Mike like a slap.
"I-"
"You just stood there," Will continued, words spilling out now, years of swallowed frustration finally breaking free. "You hugged everyone else fine but for me you just... stood there. Like you didn't know what to do with me."
"I was nervous," Mike said. "It had been a long time."
Truth was that Mike felt a little betrayed when Will was painting for a girl and when he saw the painting in his had he became defensive without a reason. He never thought Will would like a girl and it had kind of upset him even though it shouldn't have.
"Yeah," Will shot back. "For me too."
Mike opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Will's hands were shaking now. "I brought the painting with me," he admitted. "I was going to give it to you then. I thought- maybe if I did, things would feel normal again."
Mike's chest tightened.
"But you felt so distant," Will went on. "So I didn't. I told myself it could wait."
The basement hummed faintly, the old fridge in the corner kicking on and off.
"And then," Will said, voice breaking, "Rink-O-Mania happened."
Mike winced.
"You barely looked at me," Will said. "You and El were laughing and skating and I was just... there. Like an extra. Like I didn't belong."
"That's not-" Mike started.
"I couldn't give it to you then either," Will finished. "Because it felt stupid. Because I felt stupid."
Silence fell heavy between them.
Mike's throat felt tight. "So you lied."
Will nodded once. "Yeah."
"Why?" Mike asked again, quieter now. "Why not just say it was from you?"
Will laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "Because then it would've meant something."
"It already did," Mike said.
Will looked at him sharply. "You don't know that."
"I do," Mike insisted. "I felt it. When you gave it to me, I was-" He stopped, struggling for words. "I was really happy. Like... stupid happy."
Will's eyes flickered.
"But then you said it was from El," Mike continued. "And I told myself that made sense. That it was good. That it was what I was supposed to feel."
He swallowed. "And I hated that I felt disappointed."
Will stared at him, breathing shallow. "You were... disappointed?"
"Yeah," Mike admitted. "And I didn't understand why. I thought something was wrong with me."
Will's expression crumpled just a little.
"I trusted you," Mike went on. "I told you everything. All the stuff I couldn't say to anyone else. And then you handed me that painting and it felt like... like you understood me in a way no one else did."
He gestured toward the box. "But you couldn't even tell me it was from you."
Will looked away, eyes burning. "I didn't think I could."
"Why?" Mike asked. "You're my best friend."
The words hung there.
Will's lips trembled. "That's exactly why."
Mike frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Will said slowly, choosing each word like it might explode if handled wrong, "that I was already scared. Scared that I mattered less. That you'd moved on without me. And if I made that painting about me- about how I see you- and you pulled away even more..."
He shook his head. "I didn't think I'd survive that."
Mike felt something twist painfully in his chest.
"I never stopped caring about you," he said. "Even when things were weird."
Will let out a broken laugh. "You don't always show it, Mike."
"That's not fair."
"Neither is pretending everything's fine when it's not," Will shot back, then immediately softened. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just... didn't want to lose you."
The basement went quiet again.
Mike stared at Will, really looked at him. At the way his shoulders were tense, like he was bracing for rejection. At the familiar curve of his mouth when he was nervous. At the hurt he'd been carrying alone.
"I didn't forget about the painting," Mike said finally. "I packed it away because I was confused. Because I thought I was doing something wrong by caring so much."
Will's voice dropped to a whisper. "It was always for you."
Mike's breath caught.
"I didn't paint it because El asked me to," Will continued. "I painted it because... because you're my hero. Because you make me feel like I belong. Because when everything else got dark, you were still you."
He swallowed hard. "I just couldn't say that part out loud."
Mike's heart was pounding now, loud enough he was sure Will could hear it.
"You don't have to," Mike said softly.
Will looked at him, eyes glassy. "I think... I think you already know."
Mike didn't answer right away.
Something had clicked before. Now it was clicking again, deeper this time. Sharper. Scarier.
"I don't know what to do with this," Mike admitted.
Will nodded, like he'd expected that. "Me neither."
The quiet after Will's last words wasn't empty.
Mike felt it pressing in on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
I think you already know.
He swallowed and shifted his weight, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. His brain was loud, too loud, but his mouth felt stuck, like if he said the wrong thing everything would shatter.
Will stood perfectly still across from him, eyes shining, jaw tight. He looked like he was waiting to be pushed.
Or waiting to be dropped.
Mike hated that look more than anything.
"Will," he said finally, voice hoarse. "I—"
Will shook his head, a small, almost frantic motion. "Let me say it. Please. Just-let me say it. I've already gone this far."
Mike nodded. "Okay."
Will took a breath.
Then another.
His hands twisted together in front of him, knuckles pale. "I liked you," he said quietly. "When we were kids. Like—liked you."
Mike's heart thudded hard against his ribs.
"I didn't have words for it at first," Will continued. "I just knew that when you smiled at me, everything felt... better. Safer. And when you stopped holding my hand in the halls, it felt like something had been taken away."
Mike's chest tightened painfully.
"I told myself it was nothing," Will said. "That it was just because we were best friends. Because you were my first real friend. Because you were... you."
He let out a shaky breath. "But it didn't go away."
Mike didn't interrupt. He couldn't.
"It got worse when we were twelve," Will said. "When everyone started talking about girls. About crushes. And I realized I didn't feel that way about them. I felt that way about you."
His voice cracked on the last word.
"I knew you couldn't," Will went on quickly, like he needed to get the words out before fear swallowed him whole. "I knew you wouldn't feel the same. You talked about girls all the time. You wanted to be normal. And I wanted you to be happy, so I kept it to myself."
Mike's eyes burned.
"I loved you," Will said softly.
The word landed like a physical blow.
"I still do," he added, barely audible. "I don't expect anything from you. I never did. I just—holding it in started to hurt too much."
Silence fell again, thick and trembling.
Mike's heart was racing so fast it made him dizzy.
"You've... loved me," he said slowly.
Will nodded, tears slipping free now, tracking down his cheeks. "For a long time."
Mike took a step closer without thinking.
Then another.
Will noticed, breath hitching.
"I thought," Mike said, voice shaking, "that I was broken."
Will looked up, startled. "What?"
"I mean it," Mike said. "All those times I got jealous and didn't know why. All those times I felt this tight, awful feeling in my chest when you laughed with someone else."
Will froze.
"You- what?"
Mike huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh, almost a sob. "Yeah. That. I didn't have a name for it. I just knew I hated it when I wasn't the one making you smile."
Will stared at him, stunned.
"I thought I was just... being stupid," Mike continued. "Or overprotective. Or insecure. But it kept happening. Over and over."
His hands curled into fists. "When someone teased you and I snapped at them harder than I ever snapped at anyone else. When you paid attention to someone who wasn't me and I felt like I was being replaced."
Will's lips parted, but no sound came out.
"I told myself it was normal," Mike said. "That it was just best friend stuff. But then I started obsessing over girls. Over getting a girlfriend. Not el but the status. Like if I could just prove I was straight enough, normal enough, this feeling would go away."
Will's breath came out shaky. "And did it?"
Mike shook his head. "No. It just... got buried."
He looked at Will.
At the boy who said yes to become his friend. His home. His everything.
"I think," Mike said quietly, "that I was scared of how much I cared about you."
Will's shoulders shook.
"You don't have to say it back," Will whispered desperately. "I know you're not—"
"I am," Mike interrupted.
Will stopped breathing.
"I am scared," Mike clarified. "But not because of you. Because of what this means. Because it changes everything."
He swallowed. "And because... I think I loved you too. I just didn't know how to see it."
Will's head snapped up. "Mike—"
"I didn't know what love was supposed to feel like," Mike said. "I thought it was supposed to be loud. Obvious. Like in movies. But with you it was just... there. Always. So I didn't question it."
Tears slid down Will's face freely now.
"I don't know how to do this," Mike admitted. "I don't know how to be honest about it yet. I don't know how to say the word the way you deserve."
Will stepped closer, hesitant. "You don't have to say it."
Mike's voice broke. "But I want to."
Will froze again.
Mike took one more step, close enough now that he could see the freckles on Will's nose, the slight tremble in his hands.
"I can't promise I'll get it right," Mike said. "I can't promise I won't freak out sometimes. But I can promise I'm not running. Not from you."
Will let out a sob, covering his mouth.
Mike reached out, slowly, giving him time to pull away.
Will didn't.
Mike's hand settled on Will's arm, warm and grounding. Will leaned into it like he'd been waiting years for permission.
"I loved you when I was twelve," Will whispered. "And thirteen. And fourteen. And every year after that."
Mike's throat closed. "I think... I loved you in all the quiet moments. I just didn't recognize it."
Neither of them kissed.
Neither of them rushed.
For once, nothing was taken away.
"I'm still here," Mike said softly.
Will nodded against his shoulder. "Me too."
"I will wait." Will said with a Smile.
"You don't have to anymore."
Will smiled, and the sight of it made something in Mike’s chest soften all over again. Mike leaned into him, wrapping his arms around Will’s waist and holding on like he was afraid to let go. He rested his forehead against Will’s, meeting his hazel eyes. Will’s expression gentled as he looked back at him.
Mike took a steady breath and started to lean in, but Will’s hand came up, pressing lightly against Mike’s mouth, stopping him.
“Are you sure?” Will asked quietly. “I don’t want you to force yourself into anything. We have time. I can wait.”
Mike laughed softly, warmth spreading through him. “Will, I’m sure,” he said, glancing down at Will’s worried face. “I can't wait Will.”
He gently lowered Will’s hand and closed the distance between them, kissing him at last and savouring the feeling. Mike felt light, unsteady in the best way, like he was floating. He felt so happy and fulfilled.
Upstairs, Heroes played faintly on the radio while the others kept themselves busy, unaware of the quiet romance unfolding beneath them.