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Will pushes the door to his apartment open clumsily, arms barely stretched around the laundry bag balanced against his chest.
He’d spent the first half of his Friday night in the Art Building, working on a final project despite it technically being Fall Break. The second half had been devoted to the laundry room at his apartment complex—a strategic choice, since half the students were gone until Monday, leaving an abundance of free machines. His roommate, Jules, had sworn to keep him company until he finished, before heading out for her drive to West Lafayette.
They dump the clothes onto the couch with twin sighs.
“You owe me, Byers,” Jules says, flopping dramatically onto the floor and draping a wrist over her eyes.
Will laughs and steps into their tiny kitchen, grabbing a menu from its usual spot on the fridge.
“Sure you don’t want pizza as compensation?”
Jules sits up, considering it. He knows it’s pointless—she’s visiting her girlfriend at Purdue, and no amount of Greek’s could persuade her otherwise.
“Nah, I gotta get going. Thanks, though.” Her gaze flicks to the answering machine. “Hey, someone called. Mind if I check it?”
Will shakes his head. “Go for it. I’ll order.”
The machine whirs to life.
Then Mike’s voice fills the living room.
“Uh—hey. Will. Iss me.” He clears his throat, words slurring together. “Mike.”
Will stills.
“Jus’ wanted t’ ask about Tammy. Or—me? I dunno. I think I’m Tammy? No. You’re Tammy. My Tammy.”
Jules doesn’t move. The room feels very small.
“Call me back. Or don’t. Bye, Tammy.”
BEEP.
Jules is the first to speak, shattering the silence left in the message’s wake.
“That was Mike?” she asks. “The Mike?”
Will is still holding the phone, eyes wide, body locked in place. His skin prickles, sharp and cold, like he’s just stepped into an ice bath.
“Uh—yeah,” he manages, setting the receiver back in its cradle with careful hands. “That was… that’s Mike.”
Jules’ eyes narrow. “Does he normally call you?”
It’s a fair question. Jules has known him since joining Spectrum at Ball State their freshman year—just two queer kids trying to find their footing in rural Indiana. She knows the shape of his history. She knows his first heartbreak, and that Mike Wheeler sits right at the center of it.
She also knows about Carlton. About the long-distance relationship that’s been quietly losing momentum since the semester started again.
Will swallows. “No.”
“He sounded drunk.” Leave it to Jules to hit the nail on the head.
“Yeah,” Will says, focusing on his breathing. “He’s been through a lot.”
It’s all he can offer. There isn’t a way to explain what a lot really means—not to someone who wasn’t there. Not even to new best friends.
Jules pushes herself up from the floor and grabs her keys from the coffee table. “Well. I should get going.” She hesitates, then adds more gently, “You let me know if anything… happens while I’m gone, yeah?”
Will forces a smile. “Sure. Yeah. Have fun—and tell Keira I say hi.”
“Will do! Bye!” Jules sings, dragging the word out as she heads for the door. A moment later, he hears her skipping down the walk toward her car.
Despite himself, Will laughs. He catches sight of the Greek’s menu, its bold red font almost mocking him as thoughts tumble through his brain.
The decision to drive to Hawkins wasn’t a decision at all. One moment he’s seated, dumbfounded, on his couch and the next he’s standing in the entryway of the apartment with his keys in his hand, jacket half-zipped, with the echo of Mike’s voice lodged somewhere beneath his ribs. He tells himself he’s just going to check on him. That this is about concern, about making sure Mike’s okay. It has nothing to do with the way the message made his chest ache, or how unfinished it all felt. It’s practical. Sensible.
By the time he pulls out of the parking lot, he’s stopped pretending.
The road stretches out in front of him, familiar in a way that makes his stomach tighten. He hasn’t been home since early summer, but his body remembers—where the turns come too quickly, where the pavement smooths out, where the trees thin and the sky opens up.
He keeps the radio off. Lets the hum of the engine fill the car instead. The message replays once—only once—in his head, and then he pushes it aside. He doesn’t rehearse what he’ll say when he gets there. He doesn’t let himself imagine how Mike will look. He just drives, following the road like it’s always known where to take him.
Hawkins is quieter than he remembers. Sleepier than the bubble of Muncie, devoid of late-night businesses and the hum of constant motion.
The streets are mostly empty, the houses dark. Even the air feels different—less charged, more resigned. Will parks a block away without quite knowing why and walks the rest of the distance, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.
The Wheeler house looks the same. Smaller than it used to, somehow. The porch light is on.
He wonders, distantly, if Nancy’s home. If Holly might answer the door—she shouldn’t, it’s late, and Karen would never allow it. He knows, with absolute certainty, that if Ted answers, he’ll lose whatever nerve he has left.
Will stops at the bottom of the steps, adrenaline tickling in his chest. For the first time since leaving his apartment, he hesitates—not because he doesn’t know what he wants to say, but because he has no real idea what Mike meant. Has no idea what he’s even doing here.
He climbs the steps anyway.
Will lifts his hand and knocks.
The door opens almost immediately.
Mike stands there, brow furrowed in confusion.
“Hey.”