Chapter Text
“Mom.”
Joyce turns around.
Will’s hands are shaking, but he stays where he is. For once, he doesn’t back away. No more hiding. The WSQK radio station hums quietly around them—equipment buzzing, footsteps outside, ten minutes until they leave for the Upside Down.
“I need to tell you something.”
_______
Mike is running through the plan in his head. Save Holly. Stop Vecna. End this nightmare for good. Everyone’s in position. They’ll leave any minute now.
He heads inside to call Joyce and Will.
He’s just about to speak when he hears Will’s voice.
“I— I am different.”
Mike freezes.
Will sounds… wrong. Thin. Like he’s breaking.
“Mom,” Will says again, and yeah—he’s crying. “I tried. I’ve tried to be normal, I really have, but I just can’t. And this—Vecna— I won’t let him control me anymore. Turning my own secrets and fears against me. I can’t… I can’t let him.”
Mike’s heart stutters, then starts pounding too hard, too fast. He shouldn’t be listening. He knows that. But his feet won’t move, and neither will his hand from the doorframe.
“Will,” Joyce says, confused and worried, “I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?”
“Mom…” Will chokes out a sob. “I— I don’t like girls.”
The words hit like a punch.
Silence.
Oh.
Mike’s mind snaps backward without his permission—rain fight.
It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!
The memory makes his stomach twist. He presses his hand harder against the wall, like it might steady him.
He hates himself for staying.
Hates himself more for not being able to leave.
“At least… not like that,” Will continues, voice shaking but steadier now. “And I’ve been so scared all the time. It’s been in my head for so long. I needed to tell someone. I can’t let Vecna use it against me.”
Mike swallows. His throat feels tight, like there’s something lodged there he can’t push down.
A pause. Then, quieter:
“I’m sorry I kept pushing you away. I was just… ashamed, Mom. And I was so, so scared.”
Joyce doesn’t hesitate.
“Oh, Will,” she says, voice thick. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m right here.”
Will breaks again, but this time it’s different—less sharp, less panicked. Like something finally cracked open instead of collapsing in on itself.
“I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “Vecna showed me things. Everyone leaving. Everyone hating me once they knew. I couldn’t take it.”
Mike squeezes his eyes shut.
Vecna showed him that?
The image hits too close. Will alone. Hurt. Abandoned. The thought twists something painful and protective in Mike’s chest.
Will sniffles, then adds, barely audible, “And I had this… crush. But I know he’s not like me.”
Something inside Mike drops straight through his chest.
Oh.
It’s him.
It has to be.
There’s no room left for denial. Every shared look. Every touch. Being flustered. Every moment Mike felt something he never let himself examine.
His chest feels tight, burning almost. There’s something there—warm, aching, frighteningly familiar—trying to rise up and take shape.
He doesn’t let it.
He shoves it down hard, like he always does. Tells himself it’s wrong. That it’s just stress, fear, adrenaline, the end of the world pressing in. Tells himself it’s nothing. That this feeling, it's nothing.
It has to be nothing.
Because if he lets that feeling breathe—if he lets himself name it—
There’s no going back.
“I’m glad you told me,” Joyce says gently. “You don’t have to feel sorry for who you are. You’re strong. You’re a survivor. Vecna can’t touch you.”
Will lets out a shaky breath.
“We’re going to take this bastard down together,” Joyce adds, fierce now. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Will says, and there’s relief there. Real relief. Even a small smile.
Mike forces himself to move.
He steps inside, schooling his face into something neutral, something safe.
“Uh— hey. Everyone’s ready,” he says. “We should leave.”
Will startles, clearly not expecting him. His eyes flick to Joyce, then back to Mike. Mike meets his gaze and pretends—deliberately—to be clueless, like he hasn’t just heard everything.
“Is everything okay?” Mike asks.
The words feel fragile. Loaded.
Will wipes his face quickly. “Um… yeah. Yeah. We’ll be right out.”
For a split second, Will looks at him—open, longing, unguarded in a way Mike has never seen before.
And this time, Mike understands it.
“I had this… crush.”
Had.
The word echoes.
Had—like it’s already over.
Mike nods, forces himself to look away, and leaves before the feeling in his chest can break free of its cage.