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The Wheeler’s basement was messy to say the least, boxes and papers that were previously thrown on the floor by Max littered the side of the room— even now her rage was simple and contained, her tantrums becoming outbursts, a mature yet fitting word. A board game is pinned onto the table by figures and a closed book, lights were now turned off as his friends shuffled up the stairs for dinner. A smooth yet bittersweet transition from adolescence to adulthood, no longer the kids who would spend eight to ten hours on their campaigns. It was a hard pill to swallow; Mike couldn’t wrap his head around it.
Everyone put their books on the shelf, a perfect analogy for closing this chapter of their lives. A way to let go and start anew, on clean unwrinkled paper where the last page so far has refused to form. The shelf itself is in front of a window, the sun’s rays begging to peak through. It feels cold, technically defying logic.
There he stands, shivering— not because his body is reacting to the temperature, because let’s be honest, it isn’t really cold. No,
Michael Wheeler is crying.
Blunt grief attempts to crawl out of his throat, scraping the sides of his pharynx, it’s a brutish twist of fate really. Mike has always been the first to push away his youth and anything that might align with such things, but recently he can’t. He just can’t let go, not fully. Escapism came early for him, but it wasn’t to avoid growing older. It was more complex than that, which was scary— his problem was small in size compared to everything else that was going on in his life.
His own book lays heavy in his hand, and the boy can’t seem to place it next to the others— next to Will’s.
“Mike?” His friend speaks softly; his voice laced with concern. Similar to how you would talk to a friend that’s been kidnapped by a cross-dimensional being, how he spoke— speaks to Will. Mike turns his head to him; tears threaten to fall.
“I don’t want to go-“ He shakes his head slightly, feeling the words beat against his skin as they roll out,
“I’m scared.” He breaks, after years of gulping down his own spirit, he allows himself to reach for comfort. While this isn’t the last time they’ll see each other— the group is still on for dinner, and will be saying their true goodbyes tomorrow, but the world won’t be rotating walls in hopes of pushing our protagonists into a new braided story. This time, a volume will be issued for each of them separately— and just maybe, maybe, they reunite at the end of the series to receive their trunk of gold as a team. He doesn’t like that ending.
Will rounds the table, his steps are careful, like a cautious fawn. He passes the finished campaign, slipping by Mike’s and his chairs that fail to be pushed in.
“What are you scared about?” His brows are upturned, his mouth slightly open— bits of his front teeth on display. Every muscle in his face united to express the same sentiment: Deep fret.
Mike has spent years throwing his troubles back, knowing his paladin would be there to guard it until the day he can revisit it on his own time. But Mike The Brave is no longer here and time waits for no one. And regrets are a silly thing, diminutive in size, but disruptive as it lingers around your mind. When it forces its way to the front of your thoughts at random the pain increases each appointment.
“Losing you.” Mike lets it slip promptly. This was a surface level explanation, able to render his troubles as easily solvable to anyone. Even when he wants to be open, his body denies him vulnerability. It’s too fast. Too easy.
“What- Mike we are always going to be friends,” His best friend permits a breathy ‘ha’ to leave his lips. If Will was any other age but 18, he would’ve taken this as something more. But now he is too old to hang onto Mike’s words, too old to search for double meanings. “We promised to write to each other every day and meet up on holidays. I’m not going anywhere.”
This was killing him; Will was killing him.
“I lied.”
“What?” It was an abrupt reply, Will’s voice going low in surprise as he jerked his head back.
“I lied on that Radio Tower,” Mike switched his gaze between his friend’s eyes, revving up any last courage Mike the Brave left behind. “I lied in the garage that night, I- I lied in the van…and I lied on that Radio Tower.” His voice cracked unlocking a new high pitch, his face began to hurt like his muscles weren’t built to stretch. Rapidly he blinks and looks down, his tears making landfall. After guzzling air his head returns to its previous position, watching Will.
The shorter boy stares at him, Mike looks exactly how he imagined himself to be when he had opened up about his sexuality a few hours before defeating Vecna. He doesn’t quite understand exactly what his friend is trying to tell him, but the emotion- the desperation for acceptance of some sort is similar to how he felt at the time. Without hesitation Will grabs his arm, skin on skin contact bubbles a fire against his fingers— it’s tingly. He’s used to feeling long-sleeved sweatshirts under the palm of his hands, but over the course of 18 months Mike had changed his wardrobe. His clothes became more colorful and thinner despite the colder months encroaching on Hawkins.
“Mike, what- what did you lie about?” Will’s head leans to the side, uncertainty written on his face. His friend starts to walk towards the center table, pulling his chair to take a seat.
“Well, it wasn’t a full-on lie. I just- I wasn’t open about how I… I really felt- or feel,” Mike brings his hand up quickly, making a ‘wait’ motion. “..What I wanted to say.” He puts his hand down, readjusting himself in the seat. His posture was god awful, tucking into his body— as if it was safer that way. Will follows him to the table, sitting down as well. Mike travels his eyes to his friend, feeling flustered, he looks to his right instead.
“That argument we had in the garage where you called out my behavior that summer, which was deserved by the way-“ He shifts his feet, nervous. “The reason I said those things is because- well I was pushing you…away. You reminded me of everything that I wanted to leave behind, everything didn’t make me normal. So I focused on Eleven, because that was what Lucas was doing with Max and what Dustin was doing with Suzie.” Mike turns his whole body towards Will, “And when I yelled at you- it was because it made me feel guilty for trying to fit in with everyone else-“ He took a breath in, saying all this was difficult. He wasn’t scared of judgement from Will, but the shame that came from himself.
“…Because all I wanted to do was stay behind and spend all my time with you. Like we would do before, when I didn’t care if others thought I was cool. And- and I’m not cool, I don’t even know why I tried to do all that.”
“I don’t know... I think you’re pretty cool.” Will was smiling at him, a grin warm enough to make Mike’s shivering come to a halt. His eyes, too, were full of tears. Blurry enough that it was shining, even in the darkness of the basement. Leaving Mike unable to discern where his irises started and ended. “And I think I get it, I mean- I’ve felt the same way before kind of. Wanting to be perceived as the average guy just to feel a taste of freedom, yeah...I get it.” He whispered out, his voice felt like cotton.
“While you were away in California, I did write to you. It was simple dumb shit, nothing interesting enough to send you.” Dismissing himself with speed. “All the sudden I didn’t know anything you liked, selfishly I clung to that, so I didn’t feel bad for not sending you anything. It wasn’t true, I knew you would have liked anything I wrote you- because you’re like that. I don’t have to do my best for you to acknowledge me, I just have to try.”
“Yeah.” Will continues to curl his lips, every word Mike throws out fills him with joy, which sounds horrible in retrospect, but he’s finally getting explanations for his friend’s cold actions. He can also sort of grasp where this is heading, he recognizes these feelings. He had them, still does.
“I had a strong belief that the painting you gifted me in the van wasn’t a commission. Eleven doesn’t even like D&D, frankly we’ve never spoken much about each other’s interest anyways.” He chortles out, finding small amusement at his old failing relationship. “I was terrified- " Mike continues on, "Because if that painting was really from you... then that meant you saw me in a way no one else ever has. And it meant I felt something back."
That memory always made Will’s heart pang in an indescribable way, like thorns quickly tightening— whenever his brain decided to torture him once more. But Mike’s perspective made him jovial, he wasn’t the only one suffering in that car. Both of them were wrestling with reality,
their reality.
Will lets those words settle between them, heavy and strange and warm all at once. He watches Mike carefully, notices how his shoulders are still tense, like he's bracing for the ground to drop out from under him. For once, Will doesn't rush to fill the silence. He's waited years for this— he can wait a few more seconds.
Mike wipes his nose, "I didn't know how to interact with you after that," he admits. "In the van. Because if I did, I’d have to accept that you liked me in that way- in… in a way I couldn’t have you." Will's breath catches, barely audible. Mike keeps going, like if he pauses, he might pop.
"I replayed it over and over in my head. The way you looked at me when you handed it to me. The way your voice shook when you talked about me being the heart. I told myself it was just because everything was jumbled, because we were scared, because we had to find Eleven. That you only said those beloved things to me to save her, and you didn’t care beyond that." He lets out a short, humorless laugh.
"But that wasn't it."
“So, I did what I always do,” Mike continues quietly. “Pretend, pretend and run.”
The word lands like a soft blow. Will understands it instinctively. He’s been running too, just in a different direction, away from hope instead of towards denial. While heartbreak is never far behind, there’s always been a rope pulling him forward to wishful thinking rather than backwards to pessimism.
“I panicked at the pizza place- y’know? I thought if I didn’t say something- if I didn’t prove I was still the hero everyone expected me to be- I’d lose everything. So I talked. And talked. And I professed for Eleven. I believed that if I could just lie good enough I could bring her back safely.”
Will remembers standing beside him, hands clenched, listening to every word like it was carving something out of his chest. He remembers thinking that loving Mike meant learning how to endure that pain quietly. His love had to be left under wraps and hidden in the subtext of his art and conversations.
“But the truth?” Mike’s voice shakes. “Nothing I said to her was real, I was afraid of her at Rink-o-Mania, and I did not love her- at least the way she wanted— she needed. And worse? I antagonized her about it.”
Will listens.
“I’m weak Will, entirely. I’m not like you or Lucas or Dustin.” He lets out a shaky breath, eyes rimmed with red— as red as his lips, the ones he’s been gnawing at this whole time. “I mean you guys- you guys are you. You face so much more shit than I do and are still good people, I’m- I’m not that.”
“Don’t say that- you are brave in your own way Mike. The party wouldn’t be us if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t even be one without your interference.” He reaches out, tentative but sure, and hugs Mike. Mike’s arms curl around him instantly, like they’ve been waiting for permission.
Once they release the embrace, he swipes angrily at his eyes, but it doesn’t help. He’s crying openly now, shoulders trembling.
“And at that stupid fucking tower, I retreated what I was going to say at first. I had been thinking this whole thing out as we climbed.” Resentment floated its way into the conversation through his voice. “I told myself I was protecting you. Protecting us. But really, I was protecting myself. I was terrified that if I said anything else- if I even hinted at how I actually felt, you’d look at me- us differently. Or worse… that you’d realize how long I’ve been in love with you. And it would hurt, because not even hours earlier you brought me my own hope and crushed it only a second later. Who even is Tammy? Why do we care about her? I don’t.” He babbled on.
Will’s chest tightens, but he stays quiet, letting Mike unravel. Love, love. Really? Was that even possible?
“Anyways- when I said that stupid friend bullshit, I saw your face change,” Mike whispers. “Just for a second. And I knew I’d hurt you again. I knew I’d taken something fragile and squashed it because I didn’t have the courage to be honest. Which has obviously run through almost every bad decision I’ve ever made in my life.”
He covers his face with both hands, voice muffled but breaking. “I replay it in my head all the time. Wondering how different things could’ve been if I’d just turned around and told you right there and then.“ Mike lowers his hands, eyes foggy and shining, guilt etched into every line of his face. “I didn’t mean it like that, Will. I never meant to shove you into a box just so I could pretend I was normal. You’re not just my best friend.” His voice drops to a whisper. “You never were.” He takes a shaky breath.
“And I’m so sorry it took me this long to say it.”
Will nods, breathing in deeply. He’s tuned in enough to Mike, now it’s Mike’s turn to listen.
Will doesn’t answer right away. He feels like if he opens his mouth too fast, something in him might splinter— years of chugging words, of careful silences, of loving Mike quietly so it wouldn’t scare him away. His chest aches, tight and hot, but he forces himself to breathe through it.
He scoots closer.
“Mike,” Will says softly, and the way his name sounds on Will’s lips makes Mike look up immediately. Hands still clung to his face.
“I knew,” Will admits. His voice shakes, but he doesn’t stop. “Not about everything you just said— but about the fear. I saw it. At the tower. In the van. Everywhere.” He swallows. “You weren’t wrong. It did hurt.”
Mike flinches, but Will keeps going.
“It hurt because for a second, I thought I imagined everything. That I made it all up in my head because I wanted it too badly.” His fingers bend into the fabric of his sleeve, trying to keep his head above water. “It did sting, because it wasn’t an outright rejection, but at least it let me realize I would never get that anyway. Even though it’s not what I wanted to hear.” Will exhales slowly. “And I hated myself for wishing you’d say something else.”
He looks down, then back up again, eyes shining. “But I never hated you. Not once. Even when I was angry. Even when it felt like you kept choosing the safest version of me- the one that wouldn’t complicate your life. Eleven.” Of course, Will realized that, how similar Eleven and him looked— how Mike had trouble juggling both of them in his heart.
Mike’s breath stutters.
“I know what it’s like,” He carries on quietly, intimate even. “To love a way that society thinks is wrong, that it makes you… wrong. Like if you let it show, everything you are will fall apart.” His voice grows steadier. “You weren’t protecting me at that tower; you were protecting yourself. And I can’t blame you for that.”
He reaches out, hesitates for half a second, then gently takes Mike’s wrist, pulling his hands away from his face. Mike doesn’t resist.
“But you don’t have to pretend with me,” Will says. “You never did.”
Tears spill down Mike’s cheeks, and Will’s own eyes burn.
“When you said, ‘best friends,’ it felt like losing you,” Will admits. “Not all at once. Just enough to hurt. Just enough to make me think that loving you was always going to be something I had to do alone.”
His voice drops, almost a whisper. “But hearing you say this now… hearing you say my name like it matters, it doesn’t erase the hurt, but it explains it.”
Will squeezes Mike’s wrist gently. “And Mike- being afraid doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t make what you feel any less real.” He swallows hard. “You didn’t squash my hope. You just made me wait longer than I wanted to.” A small, sad smile tugs at his lips. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time too. I just learned how to live with it, and I was given a guide- even if she arrived a little late. I can see you haven’t been so lucky.”
Will leans in even closer, close enough that there’s no space left for doubt. “So, if you’re done running- if you’re ready to stop pretending, then I’m here. I always have been.”
He meets Mike’s eyes, steady and open.
“And I don’t see you any differently,” Will says. “I see you clearly. For the first time.”
Mike closes the distance, foreheads kissing each other now. “I see you too, I promise. “
Their words are straightforward. Honest. They wrap around Will like something he’s been missing, the one thing he’s longed for since he was that little kid running around with his best friend. The closeness is dizzying, Will can feel Mike’s breath, feel the way his thumb brushes against Will’s knuckles without thinking. It’s soft. Careful. Reverent.
The closeness lingers, fragile and electric, like the world might shatter if either of them moves too fast.
Mike exhales shakily, a breath he’s been holding for years. His forehead stays pressed to Will’s, their noses nearly brushing, and when he finally speaks his voice is low, earnest.
“When we move,” he starts, thumb still tracing small, unconscious arcs against Will’s knuckles, “to the dorms… I want us to actually be together.” He swallows. “Like- dating. Not hiding behind words. Not pretending we’re anything else, I’m so tired of pretending, Will.”
Will’s heart stutters, hope flaring so bright it almost hurts. “Yeah?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” Mike says, firmer now. “I want to go to the movies. I want to go out and eat together. More than what a friend, a best friend could imagine.” His mouth quirks into a soft, nervous smile. “I want all of it.” Then his expression shifts, shadows creeping back in, reality pressing its weight into the moment. “But… not here,” Mike says quietly.
Will stiffens just a fraction, not pulling away but bracing himself, he got caught up in a small fantasy Mike was painting— he is a storyteller of course, no wonder. Realism always bled its way through his rose-walled garden.
Mike pulls back just enough to look at him properly, hands still linked. “Because Hawkins is small. And people talk. And some of them don’t just talk.” His jaw tightens. “We know how people are, how they are to our group-” His voice cracks, he stops to center himself. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. Because of us.”
Will searches his face, finding not shame, not rejection— but fear, raw and protective.
“You’re not embarrassed,” Will says softly. It’s not a question.
“No,” Mike answers immediately. “God, no. I’m scared.” He lets out a small laugh. “I spent so long being afraid of what people would think about me that I forgot how bad they can be to people I love.”
Will’s chest tightens. He squeezes Mike’s hand back. “I get that,” he says. And he does— deeply, painfully. “I don’t want to hide forever.”
“I know,” Mike says. “And I’m not asking forever. Just… until we’re somewhere safer. Somewhere new.” His eyes soften. “Where we can start on a good note, together.”
Will nods slowly. “Okay.” The word feels steady, chosen.
Mike smiles, relief flooding his features, and before he can say anything else-
“HEY GUYS,” Lucas’s voice echoes up the basement stairs. “DINNER. NOW, BEFORE DUSTIN EATS EVERYTHING.”
“I HAVEN’T EVEN GRABBED ANY OF THE FOOD!” Dustin yells from a distance. They both share a startled look, then laugh— quiet and breathless.
“Saved by Lucas.” Mike pulls his hand back reluctantly.
Will wipes at his eyes, smiling. “Yeah, okay.”
They straighten, giving each other one last look— something unspoken passing between them before heading for the stairs. Halfway up, Will slows. Mike notices instantly.
“What?”
Will glances back toward the basement shelves. Toward the place where so much of their childhood still lives, and instead of sorrow— he feels immense joy.
Their books sit side by side, dog-eared fantasy paperbacks, old D&D manuals, and a binder full of Will’s drawings that Mike collected. The spines touch, leaning into each other slightly, like they’ve always belonged that way. Mike follows his gaze. His throat tightens.
Neither of them says anything, they just look.
Then Lucas shouts again, louder this time, and Mike snorts.
“Guess we’re late.” They move together, shoulders brushing as they head up the rest of the stairs. The contact is brief, accidental, and neither of them pulls away. They bump again at the top, this time on purpose.
They both grin.
The dining room is loud in the way only a full house can be. Lucas and Max are already mid-argument, leaning across the table as they pass dishes back and forth.
“I’m telling you,” Lucas says, defensive, “there is no way ketchup belongs anywhere near rice-“
“It’s called having taste, Lucas. Try it sometime.” Max snatches the bowl from him; she smiles at the teasing.
Dustin, standing between them, squints thoughtfully at the choice of utensils in front of him. “Okay, but hear me out: What if I use a spoon for everything tonight?”
“I’d consider that illegal,” Lucas says. Thin-lipped as he shook his head in disappointment.
“It’s innovative,” Dustin fires back. He grabs a spoon triumphantly, then looks at Ted Wheeler. “Unlike some people who think coffee is a main source of protein- or something.” It was a small dig, quick and easy to brush off.
Ted grunts, not looking up from his plate, taking a slow sip of his drink. Nancy rolls her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t cruise out of her head, but she’s smiling as she leans toward Karen.
“I wonder how Dad feels right now.”
“Not good.” Karen laughs softly; she rubs her daughter's shoulder before taking a napkin and placing it over her thighs. Across the table, Joyce and Jonathan are deep in conversation, Joyce animated, hands ferociously moving as she talks.
“And then Hopper tells me he drinks before we go out to the movies theater?”
“Are you serious,” Jonathan is genuinely amused, he understands Hopper. Watching movies with his mom was always interesting, but why in the world would he admit that...
Mike and Will slip into the room, unnoticed for half a second— long enough to take it all in.
Home.
Mike pulls out a chair next to his, nudging it closer for Will without thinking. Will sits, their knees sharing a brush under the table.
Lucas notices them immediately. “Oh good, reinforcements,” he says. “Tell her that ketchup on white rice is a crime.”
Will doesn’t even hesitate. “It really isn’t that bad, Lucas.”
“Are you for real?” Lucas groans.
“See.” Max smirks at Will.
Dustin points his spoon accusingly, looking between his three friends. “Traitors. All of you.”
Lucas scoffs, “You didn’t even have an opinion on the rice, you just brought up using spoons to eat everything. How are you going to eat this with just a spoon? Tell me.”
Mike laughs, real and easy, joining in. “A spoon?” Following it up with, “And ketchup on rice, I’ve never seen anyone eat that?” Dinner unfolds in overlapping conversations and clinking dishes, warmth threading through the chaos.
Ted eats quietly, watching everyone over the rim of his glass, occasionally sighing like the noise personally offends him. He’s always been just there, like a picture that has been placed on the wall for years— no one knows when it was put there, but it’s basically family in its own way so they keep it there.
Dustin continues to antagonize Lucas and Max, escalating until Nancy tells him to ‘just eat something already!’ Watching Dustin spoon thickly cut vegetables into his mouth, it feels very wrong.
Will and Mike lean in and out of the conversation, teaming up against Dustin at one point, making him gasp dramatically and argue with an aggressive hold on his spoon. He moved it like a wizard casting a spell.
“And you, Will?” Dustin says. “Unbelievable.” Will smiles, bright and unguarded. Mike watches him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. After dinner, as plates are cleared and voices drift toward the living room, Max leans on Lucas’s shoulder. They enjoy this moment.
Will grabs his jacket, ready to leave. His mother and brother left a while ago, kissing him goodbye.
“I should head out,” he says softly.
Mike nods. “Yeah. I’ll walk you.”
They slip into the garage, the door closing behind them with a dull thud. The air is cooler here, quieter, the sounds of the house muffled. Will crouches to grab his bike, checking the tires out of habit. Mike leans against the wall, hands shoved into his pockets. He watches Will for a moment before speaking.
“So… every day?” he asks invitingly.
“Every day, what?” Will looks up.
“Hanging out,” Mike says. “Before college. Before everything changes.” He smiles, nervous again. “Movies, late night talks, whatever. I don’t care; we have a lot to catch up on.”
Will’s grin is immediate. “Every day,” he says. “We’ve already lost enough time.”
“And we’re going to the same school,” Mike adds, like he still can’t quite believe it. “Same dorms. Same city.”
“Same future,” Will says quietly.
Mike steps closer. Not touching. Just close.
“Yeah,” he says. “Ours.” They stand there for a moment, breathing each other in, the promise settling between them. Will lifts his bike, turning toward the door. He pauses, glancing back.
“Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you stopped running.” Will smiles, soft and certain.
Mike smiles back.
“Me too.”
Will rolls his bike out into the night, away from Mike. Like the night Will went missing, except this time a truth has come from Mike, and he’s found Will— in a different way. Mike watches him go, heart full, knowing, really knowing, that this is just the beginning. They will move to New York and start a new party, but their old one will never disappear.
Mike isn’t as scared anymore; Will is there with him.