Chapter Text
New York. April, 1992.
The sound of an alarm cutting through a peaceful Saturday morning was irritating. It was only 7:30 AM. Will reached for the nightstand to turn it off, stopping the annoying noise with a sharp hit of his hand. He didn't want to wake up yet. The bed was perfectly comfy; a grey cat was curled up on the duvet at his feet, and most importantly, a very special person was right next to him. Will felt a heavy arm slide across his chest, pulling him back into a warm embrace. He stayed like that for a while before finally attempting to get up.
"Mmm, please… Five more minutes. You've got plenty of time."
"Fine," Will said with a soft chuckle, turning to face the guy lying next to him and planting a quick peck on his chin. The two-day stubble there was scratchy against his lips. He actually wanted to stay even longer than just five minutes. He wanted to melt into the mess of tangled cotton sheets and fall back into a peaceful sleep. Or just lie like that—eyes closed, senses resting, his own breath reflecting back from the warmth of a shoulder. Outside, the distant rumble of the city was already starting to pick up, but in here, in this quiet corner of Queens, time felt sluggish and steady.
But not for long—those five minutes flew by way too soon, as they usually do. Will squirmed in the embrace, forcing himself out of bed, but the hug only grew tighter.
"Come on, Michael, I'm gonna be late."
"You won't. It's Saturday morning; there's no traffic. It's a twenty-minute drive."
"It'll take forty for me. Let me go, I need to take a shower." Will's voice was playful but firm. Eventually, he managed to break free and walked out of the bedroom door; the grey cat followed him excitedly in hopes of breakfast.
[ PHONE CALL — October 25, 1991 ]
"Got any plans for the weekend?"
"Yeah, I have a morning shift tomorrow and afterward, I'm planning to work on my college project—the mixed-media collage one, remember? And on Sunday... umm, I'm going on a date, actually."
"Cool! So you met someone?"
"Yeah, there is a guy. Michael."
"Why do you call me that?"
"It's not you, Mike. His name is Michael."
"Oh. Okay... Weird how I thought you were calling me Michael."
"No. It's just a common name."
The bathroom was filled with steam, so thick one could feel it against their skin. Will was looking into the fogged-up mirror, clearing only a small circle in the center. He had just finished shaving and was checking the result. Not that it mattered much today, or ever, but there was a quiet dignity in the ritual. He preferred it that way—clean, smooth, and put together. A young man who had finally learned how to take care of himself.
The sounds of life from the kitchen drifted even through the closed bathroom door. Will could hear the sizzle of the frying pan, the whistle of the tea kettle, and Daisy's impatient meows as she probably circled Michael's legs. There was the dull thud of a cabinet door and the soft murmur of a radio playing somewhere on the counter—some morning talk show or a weather report that filled the space with a comforting, domestic hum.
Finally, Will stepped out into the hallway, wearing just a thick green robe. Michael, who was sitting at the table with a mug of coffee, calmly watched him rushing back and forth, getting ready. Then he got up and walked over to the stove. There were scrambled eggs and bacon in the pan, thoughtfully covered with a lid so they didn't get cold. Michael quickly slid them onto a plate the moment Will returned to the kitchen.
"Here you go."
"Jesus, thank you!" Will plopped down at the table with a big smile.
"And your coffee."
"Mm-hmm," Will hummed, already chewing his breakfast. It was salty, greasy, and perfect.
Will loved these rare mornings at Michael's apartment. Usually, he was the one cooking, while Michael went down to the nearest bakery for some fresh cinnamon rolls to have with coffee afterward. Sadly, they only managed to stay at each other's places on weekends, squeezed between Will's classes and shifts at the restaurant and Michael's long hours at the construction sites.
Living in Chelsea wasn't cheap, but with his waiter's job and the occasional freelance illustration, Will had managed to make it work. It was a far cry from the crowded dorms of his freshman year; it was a place where he finally felt peace. Since he had his own kitchen now and tried to save money, he switched mostly to home-cooked meals. Over the last two years, he'd learned a lot, picking up tips from the chefs at work until he could manage pancakes, lasagna, or even beef stew.
Today could have been one of those lucky, slow mornings. Michael wasn't due at work until 10 AM, and the apartment itself was filled with a cozy feeling, inviting them to grab a second cup of coffee and do nothing for hours. But Will had a flight to meet. He had been counting down the days for a week now—his best friend was visiting for the weekend.
The friend's name was Mike Wheeler—a name that still held a unique power over Will. Mike was the living connection to his past, a person who knew him better than almost anyone. Talking to him on the phone weekly was one thing, but seeing him in the flesh, in New York—that was something else entirely.
Will finished his eggs and bacon, checking the clock every single minute.
"Don't worry, you're going to make it," said Michael, watching the cat nonchalantly licking her paw after eating a full can of cat food.
Taking his last sip of coffee on the go, Will got up and brought the cup and the dishes to the sink. It was okay to leave them there without washing since he was in such a hurry.
"Thank you, it was delicious."
"Oh, stop it." Michael smiled. "And you're very welcome."
"No, I mean it, thanks. Sorry I have to run. Tomorrow, 6 PM, remember?"
"Yeah, I do. Have fun with your phone guy."
"Don't say that to his face. He'll be pissed." Will gave him a quick goodbye kiss and rushed to the door, grabbing his jacket and car keys from the shelf in the hallway. "Have a good day! Bye, Daisy!"
"Bye."
Michael was right. The road was empty, so it took Will twenty-five minutes to get to the airport and another ten minutes to find a parking spot. He locked the doors of the pick-up truck and headed toward the terminal.
JFK Airport was chaotic and deafening, as usual. Huge families, businesspeople in oversized suits, groups of loud friends, and dazed foreign tourists—the place hummed with energy at all hours of the day and night. Three young flight attendants rushed past Will, overtaking him on the left; he almost tripped over one of their small suitcases. The girls, dressed in identical navy-blue jackets and skirts, disappeared into the crowd as quickly as they had appeared.
Will approached the massive arrivals board, his eyes scanning the flickering text for the flight number. Luckily, the flight wasn't delayed, which meant he was going to see Mike in about fifteen minutes. He walked toward the arrival exit, found a seat, and focused on the stream of people coming out of the secure area.
Will was a little nervous, his fingers fidgeting with Michael's car keys. They had seen each other about a year ago during Will's brief visit to Hawkins. In New York, they had only met once, at the end of their freshman year when Will was still living in the dorms. That time had been full of light. They were both excited about the future, their classes, new friends, and the infinite possibilities of their twenties.
But the following autumn, something in Mike had shifted. He had dropped out of college and moved back to Hawkins. He told Will he wanted to focus more on his writing, which made zero sense since he'd given up his literature major. Eventually, he'd found a dull office job, met a new girl—who was now his fiancée—and settled into a life that felt strangely small. Mike claimed he was still working on his novel, but it had been months since he'd mailed Will any new chapters.
[ PHONE CALL — January 16, 1992 ]
"...and I was looking for that stupid invoice for three full hours! All while that idiot had it on his desk the whole time. I was so pissed, Will, you can't even imagine. My blood is boiling just talking about it."
"Well, I can imagine. I would've been mad, too."
"Yeah. My boss totally ruined my day. I need a beer to calm my nerves."
"Go grab one. I'll wait."
"No, I don't have any. I wish I did, though."
"Yeah... So, what else has been going on? Any new chapters, maybe?"
"Will... you know I've been really busy lately. I just don't have time. I do write on weekends sometimes, but it's all coming out wrong. I don't like any of that shit."
The familiar face finally showed up in the crowd. Mike was looking around, eyes darting, trying to spot him. When he finally did, a wide, boyish grin appeared on his face. Will smiled back and stood up to greet him, making his way through exhausted passengers and excited travelers.
"Hey!"
"Hi, Mike."
They shared a warm hug. Two friends, who had stayed close even hundreds of miles away, were finally seeing each other and sharing the same space. That truly made both of them genuinely glad.
"How are you? How was your flight?"
"It was all right. How are you doing, man? I really missed you."
"Good. I missed you too."
"Cool! Let's go now," Mike said, clapping Will on the shoulder. "I’m starving like crazy."
The morning was already blooming into a beautiful day. As they stepped outside the terminal, they were greeted by gentle sunlight pouring down on the pavement, the rows of yellow cabs, and the massive, open sky. Far off on the horizon, the silhouette of the Manhattan skyline pierced through the morning haze—a distant, shimmering promise of the city. Even though they were still in the chaotic space of the airport where nothing was pretty or inspiring, to Mike, it felt like he was stepping into a dream world. He was genuinely happy to be back, hungry not only for food but for the very air of a place where things actually happened.
Will led the way to the parking lot, and in a short time, they reached the truck.
"Wow, is that your car? It's huge!"
"It's not mine, obviously. I don't need a car in the city. I just borrowed it for the weekend."
"You could actually live in this thing," Mike said, checking out the bed of the truck. It was dusty and slightly cluttered, like a typical work vehicle. Not so typical for New York, though, where yellow cabs and cramped subways ruled.
"Hop in." Will settled into the driver's seat, clicking his seatbelt. He started the engine, and the truck roared to life with a heavy, mechanical growl.
Mike stepped onto the side rail and climbed into the passenger seat. He gave the interior a quick look. There were some old rags on the floor, a couple of paint stains on the dashboard, and a Little Trees air freshener hanging from the mirror. It didn't seem to work, though—the inside only smelled of dust, old leather, and sawdust.
"Hey, wait. I've got something for you." Mike reached into his bag, pushing some crumpled clothes and a half-empty pack of cigarettes aside. He finally pulled out something thin, wrapped in a simple brown paper bag. "I found it in the basement about a month ago. I thought... I don't know, maybe you'd like to have it."
He handed Will an old, worn X-Men comic book. Will recognized it instantly. It was the issue they had spent a whole summer looking for when they were twelve. Before all the Upside Down mess, when they had been just normal, carefree boys.
"Thanks, Mike," Will's face lit up with a genuine smile as his fingers traced the frayed edges of the paper. He turned a few pages; warm memories were stuck to them like old, yellowed Scotch tape. "I remember this! I can't believe you still have it."
"Yeah. Me too," Mike said, looking a bit awkward but relieved. "Anyway. It's yours."
"That's really cool, thank you. Put it back in the paper, please. I don't want it to get bent—I mean, even more bent."
"Sure." Mike packed the comic back into the paper bag, not really knowing where to put it. He didn't want to pry by opening the glove box, so he just left it on the seat between them. "So, it's your boyfriend's car, right?"
"Mm-hmm," Will muttered, his eyes fixed on the side mirror as he maneuvered out of the busy parking lot.
"So, does that mean he's not working today?"
"No, he is. One of his work pals picked him up."
"Oh," Mike nodded, staring out the window at the passing terminals. "That's kind of him... to leave you the car."
Will drove carefully, his eyes constantly darting between the side mirrors and the aggressive taxis that seemed to appear out of nowhere. It was not a long drive, so they were just catching up, talking about the most random things like the flight, Mike's parents, and movies they had watched recently.
"We're almost there. The place is just a few blocks away. A classic diner with great coffee."
"Sounds perfect."
Will found a spot a block away from the diner. It was a silver building, glinting under the morning sun. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of fried onion and tobacco. An old man, sitting at the counter reading a newspaper, gave them a quick look. They weren't anything interesting to him, so he simply returned to his article and his mug of coffee. They found a booth in the back, the red vinyl seats cracking slightly as they sat down.
"Did you eat already?"
"I had something earlier. But I'm up for another round."
"Gosh, I'm starving. I’ll get the Hungry Man's Special—that sounds just right for me."
"Yeah, go for it. Their portions are huge."
The blonde waitress dropped two heavy mugs on the table and filled them with black coffee, no questions asked. She stood there looking at them, head tilted to the side, pen and notepad ready.
"Hungry Man's for me," Mike said. "And make the eggs scrambled."
"Hash browns with bacon and cheese."
"You got it."
As soon as she left, Mike took out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out and looked at Will.
"Can I?"
"You said you'd dropped it."
"Well, I picked it up again. So, do you mind?"
"No. Go ahead."
Mike lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag. He leaned back, exhaling toward the ceiling.
"Damn, I need the energy. We have so many plans. I slept maybe four hours tonight and one extra on the plane. I could've had more, but my neighbors were so fucking loud, Jesus."
"Just wait for your food. Trust me, you'll be fine."
The portions really were enormous. Hot steam rose from the plates, catching the morning light in a way that felt strangely cozy and calm, like a frame from an old home movie.
Usually, Mike wasn't much of an eater. But today was different. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the frantic energy of the city, but he was tearing into the food with unexpected hunger. He squeezed an obscene amount of ketchup onto his eggs from the bottle on the table, and suddenly, his day felt ten times better.
"So, are you ready to go?" Will asked when they were all finished.
"That was actually good. So good I'm not sure I’ll be able to move for the next few hours."
"Oh, no, no, no. Come on." Will stood up, tossing his jacket carelessly over his shoulders.
He reached for his wallet, pulled out a few greasy banknotes, and tossed them on the table. He patted Mike on the shoulder on his way toward the exit. Mike stole a quick glance at the money—the bill and a tip were fully covered. He had nothing left to do but follow, nearly tripping over the table in his sudden rush to catch up.
Half an hour later, they were circling the blocks, looking for a spot. There had been two earlier, but Will had to pass them by, not entirely sure he could fit this monster of a car into such tight spaces without doing any damage. Mike didn't mind the extra ride, though; he was mesmerized, staring out at the old red-brick buildings, the small shops, bars, laundries, and hair salons. He thought he should definitely get a fresh haircut while he was here—some cutting-edge style people wore in New York.
After a few more turns around the neighborhood, Will finally found a place for the truck. He parked it carefully, really taking his time. He felt confident enough behind the wheel, but parking this beast on the narrow streets of Chelsea was a different story.
"Okay," Will sighed, finally cutting the engine. "We can go now. Although we have to walk two blocks back to my place."
"Oh, I'm fine with that."
Will locked the truck, and they started down the sidewalk, breathing in the heavy April air. It was thick with the city—exhaust, old stone, and too many people. They'd only walked about fifty yards when Will suddenly stopped, his eyebrows shooting up as he realized something.
"Wait, I’ll be right back." He turned and ran back toward the truck.
Mike was left standing alone in the middle of the sidewalk, confused. A minute later, he saw Will jogging back, holding the brown paper bag. He raised it slightly, showing it to Mike with a sheepish smile.
"Almost forgot this. Come on now, we're almost there."