Chapter Text
The basement smells like old carpet and the pizza they had for lunch. Mike sits behind his DM screen, looking at his friends around the table. He'd designed this final encounter weeks ago, planned every monster and every twist. He wanted it to be perfect. Their last campaign together had to be perfect.
This is the last time. The thought sits heavy in Mike's chest.
"Okay, okay," Mike says, raising his voice over Dustin and Lucas arguing about spell slots. "Can we actually finish this campaign before you all leave tomorrow?"
The table goes quiet. No one wants to talk about tomorrow.
"Right," Dustin says, picking up his dice. "Let's kill this dragon."
Mike describes the final battle. His voice falls into the familiar rhythm—he's been doing this since he was twelve. The party faces down the ancient red dragon, working together like they always do.
And Will's sorcerer casts the killing blow.
Mike watches Will as he rolls the dice. Will's face lights up when he sees the numbers—a critical hit. Everyone cheers. Will is smiling, really smiling, and Mike's chest does something weird and tight.
"How do you want to do this?" Mike asks, which is what he always says when someone gets the final hit.
Will thinks for a moment, pencil tapping against his lips. Mike notices. He notices everything about Will lately, and he doesn't know why.
"The sorcerer channels all his power into one spell," Will says slowly, his voice getting stronger as he describes it. "Everything he has left. He's not holding anything back anymore."
Mike continues the narration. "Lightning strikes down from the sky. The dragon roars—" He pauses abruptly. The tension is thick in the air, everybody waiting to see if they defeated the dragon or if something unexpected will happen.
"—The dragon crashes to the ground," Mike says finally. "Its treasure spills everywhere. You've won. You've saved the kingdom."
But Mike isn't looking at his notes. He's looking at Will, who is looking back at him, and for a second it feels like they're the only two people in the room.
The moment breaks when Dustin shouts, "We did it!" He reaches across the table for a high-five from Lucas.
Max grins. "That was actually pretty epic, Wheeler."
They pack up slowly. No one wants it to be over. Dice go into bags. Character sheets get folded carefully. Mike watches Will trace his finger over his sorcerer's stats one last time before putting the sheet in his folder.
"Mike! Kids! Dinner!" his mom calls from upstairs.
Mike cringes a bit. They're all technically adults now and his mom keeps calling them kids.
They trudge up to the kitchen. She fusses over all of them, making sure everyone has enough food, asking about their plans.
Most of them are staying in Hawkins for college or university. Except Will, who's moving to New York for college and to be closer to Jonathan.
New York. Across the entire country.
Mike pushes food around his plate. Will is sitting next to him, so close their elbows almost touch. Mike is aware of every inch of space between them.
"This is really good, Mrs. Wheeler," Will says politely.
"Oh, you're so sweet, Will," she says, beaming. "I'm going to miss having you kids around."
"We'll visit," Dustin promises. "Right, guys?"
Everyone agrees, but Mike knows better. People say they'll visit. They say they'll call. Then life gets busy and weeks turn into months turn into years.
After dinner, they stand in the driveway. It's getting dark. The streetlights are coming on one by one, casting orange pools on the pavement.
"Well," Lucas says. "I guess this is it."
Dustin hugs everyone, even Max, who tolerates it. Lucas does the handshake-hug thing with Mike and Will.
Then it's just Mike and Will standing there.
"So," Mike says.
"So," Will echoes.
They look at each other. Mike wants to say something important, something that will make Will understand—understand what, Mike doesn't even know. He wants to say don't go and I'll miss you and nothing feels right when you're not here.
Instead he says, "Have a safe trip tomorrow."
"Yeah," Will says quietly. "Thanks."
They hug. It's brief and awkward, and Mike can smell Will's shampoo, and then it's over. Will walks to his bike. He looks back once, his hand raised in a small wave. Mike waves back.
Then Will is gone, riding down the street toward his house. The others are already disappearing into the dark. Mike stands in his driveway alone.
He goes back inside. His mom is doing dishes. His dad is watching TV. Everything is normal. Everything is ending.
Mike goes down to the basement.
The table is empty now. The dice are all put away. But the books are still on the shelf—the Player's Handbook, the Monster Manual, all their campaign notes from over the years. Mike walks over to the shelf slowly.
His DM notebook is there, worn from many years of usage. Right next to it is Will's small character journal he always brings along besides his player handbook, the one where he writes backstories and draws his characters. They're side by side, like they've always been.
Mike reaches out and touches Will's journal. Will must have forgotten it. He traces the letters of Will's name written on the spine in careful handwriting. His finger moves slowly over each letter.
Something in his throat feels tight.
He did this last time before dinner too, when he was down here alone putting away the DM screen. Stood here and touched Will's book like it meant something. Like it was some kind of secret.
His eyes are burning. Mike blinks fast, but tears come anyway. He doesn't know why he's crying. (Almost) Everyone is alive. (Almost) Everyone is safe. This should be a good thing.
So why does it feel like he's losing something he can't name?
Mike wipes his eyes with his sleeve. He picks up Will's journal, holds it gently like it's something scacred. He should return it tomorrow before Will leaves. He should call Will right now.
He does neither.
Instead, he turns off the basement light and goes upstairs. His room feels too big, too empty. He lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling, still holding Will's journal.
Sleep doesn't come. He thinks about Will's smile when he rolled the critical hit. Will's voice describing the final spell. The way Will looked at him across the table.
The way Will said goodbye, like it didn't hurt.
Mike rolls over and closes his eyes. Tomorrow Will gets on a plane to New York. Tomorrow everything changes.
But tonight, Mike lies awake in the dark and tries not to think about why his chest aches when he pictures Will's empty seat at the table.
He tries not to think about Will at all.
He fails.
Outside his window, Hawkins is quiet. Somewhere across town, Will is probably asleep. Somewhere in Mike's chest, something is breaking that he doesn't have words for yet.
The journal rests on his nightstand. Mike reaches out and touches it one more time before finally, finally closing his eyes.
Tomorrow. He'll return it tomorrow.
But tomorrow comes, and Mike oversleeps. By the time he wakes up, Will's plane is already in the air, carrying him away to New York. The journal stays on Mike's nightstand.
He tells himself he'll mail it.
He never does.