Chapter Text
The apartment smelled like sweat, fear and burnt toast. Will pressed himself into the corner of the living room, hoodie pulled tight over his head, arms wrapped around himself as Charles' voice cut through the room like a whip. The first strike landed against his shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble, and then the yelling followed harsh words, sharp insults, each one slicing through him in a way that left bruises deeper than before.
“Do you think anyone cares about you?” Charles spat, his hand swinging again. Will flinched the impact rattling his ribs. He ducked instinctively swallowing the sting, trying not to cry out. His heart pounded, stomach twisting into knots that made it hard to breathe. This had happened so many times before, the pattern ingrained, inescapable words, shoves, fists, fear and yet every time it still broke something inside him.
“I- I'm staying with mum tonight,” Will said his voice trembling. It wasn’t a lie this time, not really. Anything to get out, to escape the flaring anger and fists. Charles' glare was sharp, but before he could react, Will darted for the door. He ran down the hallway, out into the street, the cold night air burning his lungs, and didn’t stop.
The city was alive, oblivious. Neon lights buzzed over puddles and the hum of distant traffic mixed with faint laughter somewhere down the street. Will walked without aim, letting the street swallow him. Every step was a small victory, each one pulling him farther from Charles, farther from the pain.
Hours passed in a haze until a small bookstore caught his attention. Warm light spilled onto the sidewalk inviting him in. He pushed the door open, and the bell chimed softly. The smell of old paper and polished wood wrapped around him like a warm blanket. For the first time all day Will could breathe.
He wandered through the aisles, fingers brushing the spines of books, letting the quiet calm him. Then he saw it, a book standing slightly apart, simple, unassuming, yet magnetic. He picked it up his hands still trembling from previous events.
Written by Mike Wheeler.
Will froze, his heart slammed in his chest. He opened to the first few pages. Page two, the dedication...
"To my best friend for life, William Jacob Byers."
Something inside him cracked and filled all at once. Tears pricked his eyes, and he gripped the book like it could hold him together when nothing else had. Mike had written this for him. He bought the book with trembling hands, clutched it to his chest, and walked into the night. The world felt a little quieter, a little safer.
Will gripped the book tighter as he stepped back onto the sidewalk. The night air hit him, cold and sharp, but it barely registered against the fire of emotions swirling in his chest. He wasn’t thinking about the bruises on his arms, the sting in his ribs, or even the familiar dread that followed him like a shadow. Right now, all he could focus on was the words, that dedication, Mike’s handwriting etched across the page.. William Jacob Byers.
He walked without direction, letting the streets swallow him, letting the hum of distant traffic and occasional laughter carry him somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t the apartment. His mind kept replaying the words over and over, a mantra he couldn’t shake his best friend for life. Best friend. Past tense. Present tense. Future tense. He wasn’t sure which, and maybe that was what made it hurt so much.
Will ducked into a quiet alley, pulling his hoodie tighter. He let the book rest against his chest and closed his eyes for a moment. He remembered the old days the nights with Mike and the gang, sneaking around Hawkins, the stupid dares, the endless arguments over whose turn it was to bring snacks for movie night. Mike had been a constant, a spark in a world that often felt like it wanted to swallow him whole. Then Will left, just... left no calls, no messages, no word after high school.
And now this book, dedicated to him, about him. He swallowed hard, fighting back tears, unsure if it was relief, longing or anger. All of it wrapped up in the same tight knot in his chest. He’d spent years pushing the past away, convincing himself Mike had moved on. Yet here it was in his hands, proving that maybe somewhere deep down, Mike hadn’t forgotten him.
He wandered through the streets, eventually spotting a small hotel tucked between a shuttered diner and an empty café. It looked ordinary, unassuming, like it didn’t ask questions and didn’t care about the person walking through its doors. That’s exactly what he needed right now. Something neutral, something safe.
The receptionist barely glanced up as he handed over his credit card. Will carried the book up the creaking stairs and into the room, closing the door behind him with a click that sounded louder than it should have. He sank onto the bed, exhausted both physically and emotionally. The bruises stung, his body trembled from fear and adrenaline and yet the book rested against his chest warm and grounding.
He opened it again, flipping through the first few chapters. At first, he skimmed, afraid to take it in too quickly. Then, slowly, he read. His breath caught at passages that mirrored memories he’d buried, moments only Mike and he had shared laughing on the cold floor of Mike’s basement, arguing over stupid things that didn’t matter, secret glances no one else noticed. This wasn’t just a book. This was Mike speaking to him, telling him that he had been seen, remembered and cared for all this time.
Tears slipped freely now, unashamed and uncontrolled. Will pressed his forehead against the cover, letting the grief, the longing, the joy and the pain wash over him. For the first time in a long time, he let himself feel. Let himself exist outside of fear.
The rain began to patter softly against the window, a quiet companion to his thoughts. He didn’t know what would happen next. He didn’t know if he’d ever see Mike again, or how to even begin after all these years. But for the first time tonight, maybe for the first time in months, maybe years, he felt a spark of hope.
For now, that was enough.