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The fluorescent lights in the Hawkins High bathroom flickered overhead, casting harsh shadows across the grimy tile floor. Max Mayfield sat curled up on the closed toilet seat in the last stall, her knees pulled tight to her chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps that seemed to claw at her throat.
It had started in the middle of English class. Mrs. Patterson had been droning on about symbolism in “The Great Gatsby”, and Max had been taking notes, trying to focus, trying to be normal. Then the words on the page had started to blur. The classroom walls had seemed to close in. Her heart had begun to race, pounding so hard she thought it might burst through her ribs.
She'd bolted from her seat without asking permission, ignoring Mrs. Patterson's startled call after her, and practically ran to the nearest bathroom. She'd barely made it into the stall before her legs gave out.
Now she sat there, eyes squeezed shut, trying to remember the breathing exercises Dr. Richardson had taught her. “In for four, hold for four, out for four,” she silently told herself. But her body wouldn't cooperate. Her lungs felt too small, her chest too tight. The edges of her vision were still dark and fuzzy, even with her eyes closed.
This isn't real, she told herself, the same mantra she'd been repeating for months now. You're not dying. You're not back there. You're safe.
But her body didn't believe her. Her body remembered the feeling of Vecna's curse, the sensation of her bones breaking, the terror of being trapped in her own mind while her body hung suspended in the air. Even though she'd survived, even though El had saved her, even though she'd woken up from the coma and spent months in physical therapy learning to walk again…her body still remembered.
And sometimes, without warning, it made her relive it.
Max didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when the worst of it finally started to pass. Her breathing was still uneven, but the crushing weight on her chest had eased slightly. She uncurled slowly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. Her face was wet with tears she hadn't realized she'd cried.
"Get it together," she muttered to herself, her voice hoarse. She stood on shaky legs and unlocked the stall door, making her way to the sinks.
The girl staring back at her in the mirror looked like a mess. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her face was blotchy, her hair disheveled. She turned on the cold water and splashed some on her face, trying to wash away the evidence.
She needed to find Lucas.
Lucas always knew what to do when this happened. He'd been there through all of it. The hospital, the physical therapy, the nightmares, the panic attacks. He knew how to talk her down, how to ground her, how to make her feel like she wasn't completely losing her mind. He never made her feel broken or damaged. He just…helped.
Max dried her face with a paper towel but there was only so much she could do. She still looked like she'd been crying. She'd just have to hope no one looked too closely.
She pushed open the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway. The period bell had rung at some point, she hadn't even heard it, and students were flooding the corridors, heading to their next classes. Max moved against the current, scanning faces, looking for Lucas.
He had calculus third period, she remembered. Room 204. She started heading in that direction, weaving through the crowd, trying to ignore the way her legs still felt weak, the way her heart was still beating just a little too fast.
"Max?"
She turned at the sound of her name and found herself face-to-face with Mike Wheeler. He was holding his textbooks against his chest, his dark hair slightly mussed, and he was looking at her with an expression that made her stomach sink.
Concern.
"Are you okay?" Mike asked, and Max realized too late that she hadn't done as good a job covering up as she'd thought.
"I'm fine," Max said automatically, but her voice came out rougher than she'd intended.
Mike's eyes narrowed slightly, and he took a step closer, lowering his voice. "You've been crying."
"No, I haven't."
"Max—"
"I said I'm fine, Wheeler." She turned to keep walking, but Mike fell into step beside her.
"Where are you going?"
"To find Lucas."
"Okay," Mike said simply, and he didn't leave.
Max shot him a look. "You don't have to follow me."
"I'm not following you. I'm helping you find Lucas."
"I don't need help."
"Max," Mike said, and there was something in his tone that made her stop walking. When she looked at him, his expression had softened. "Was it a panic attack?"
Max felt her throat tighten. She wanted to snap at him, to tell him to mind his own business, but she couldn't find the energy. She just nodded.
"Did you try the breathing exercises?" Mike asked carefully. "The ones Dr. Richardson taught you?"
"Yeah," Max said, her voice still rough. "They… they helped a little. It just took a while."
"Okay," Mike said. "Come on. Let's find him."
They walked together through the hallway, Mike leading the way toward the math wing. Max was grateful he didn't try to make small talk or ask her a million questions. He just walked beside her, a quiet, steady presence.
Living with the Wheelers had been… strange at first. After everything that had happened with her mom: the drinking, the fights, the final explosive argument that had made it clear Max couldn't stay there anymore, Joyce Byers and Karen Wheeler had both stepped in. But Max wanted to stay close to Lucas, so she had ended up at the Wheelers' because they lived next door to the Sinclair’s.
She and Mike always had a weird, prickly dynamic that was half friendship, and half mutual annoyance. But living under the same roof had changed things. Mike had seen her at her worst: the nightmares that woke her up screaming, the days she couldn't get out of bed, the physical therapy sessions that left her exhausted and frustrated. And instead of treating her like she was fragile or pitying her, he'd just…adapted.
He'd learned when to give her space and when to push. He'd learned how to help when she had a panic attack, how to distract her when the memories got too loud. He'd become the kind of annoying brother she wished she had had with Billy, and as much as she hated to admit it, she didn't know what she would've done without him.
"He should be in Ms. Rodriguez's room," Mike said as they turned down another hallway. "Third period calc."
They reached Room 204, and Mike knocked on the door before Max could stop him. A moment later, Ms. Rodriguez opened it, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption.
"Can I help you?" she asked. “Shouldn't you two be in class?”
"We need to talk to Lucas Sinclair," Mike said. "It's kind of an emergency."
Ms. Rodriguez's expression shifted slightly, and she glanced back into the classroom. "Lucas? Someone's here for you."
A moment later, Lucas appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening when he saw Max. She knew he could tell immediately that something was wrong. He always could.
"Can I…?" Lucas started, looking back at Ms. Rodriguez.
"Five minutes," the teacher said, stepping aside to let him out.
Lucas was in front of Max in an instant, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes searching her face. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her cheek. "What happened?"
"I'm okay," Max said, but her voice wavered.
"Panic attack," Mike supplied quietly from behind her.
Lucas' expression tightened, and he nodded. "Come here," he said, pulling her into a hug.
Max let herself lean into him, closing her eyes as his arms wrapped around her. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, and she tried to match her breathing to his.
"You're okay," Lucas murmured into her hair. "I've got you."
They stood like that for a long moment, Max's face pressed against Lucas' shoulder, Mike standing a few feet away, giving them space but not leaving. Finally, Max pulled back slightly, wiping at her eyes again.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to interrupt your class."
"Don't apologize," Lucas said firmly. "You know I don't care about that."
"Ms. Rodriguez is going to kill you if you don't go back in," Max said, managing a weak smile.
"She'll live." Lucas glanced over at Mike, then back at Max. "Do you want to go somewhere quiet? We could go to the library or—"
"No, I'm okay," Max said. "Really. I just…I needed to see you."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." She took a deep breath, feeling more stable now. "I should probably get to class."
"I'll walk with you," Mike offered.
Lucas looked between them, clearly reluctant to leave Max, but she nodded. "Go. I'll see you at lunch."
"Okay," Lucas said. He leaned in and kissed her gently, his hand squeezing hers once before heading back into the classroom.
Max and Mike walked in silence for a bit, heading toward the science wing where Max's next class was. Finally, Mike spoke.
"You doing okay now?"
"Yeah," Max said. And this time, she actually meant it. "Thanks for… you know."
"You don't have to thank me," Mike said. "That's what siblings do."
Max glanced over at him, surprised. Mike shrugged, looking almost embarrassed.
"I mean, that's basically what we are now, right?" he said. "Nancy's at college, Holly's young and thinks I'm weird, so you're like… the annoying sister I got stuck with."
"I'm the annoying one?" Max said, but she was smiling now.
"Oh, trust me, all three of you are annoying."
Max shook her head, but the tightness in her chest had finally eased completely. "You're not so bad, Wheeler."
"Right back at you, Mayfield."
They reached her classroom, and Max paused at the door. "See you at lunch?"
"Yeah," Mike said. "And Max? If it happens again… just find me, okay? Or Lucas. Or whoever. You don't have to deal with it alone."
Max nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat again, but this time it wasn't from panic. "Okay."
Mike gave her a small smile before heading off to his own class, and Max took a deep breath before stepping into hers.
She still had hard days. She probably always would. But she wasn't alone anymore. And that made all the difference.