Chapter Text
Summer, 1985. Hawkins, Indiana.
Will’s sneakers slammed against the asphalt as he pedaled, his lungs burning with exertion.
The towering neon sign of the Starcourt Mall loomed ahead, a massive block of neon burning a hole in the quiet Indiana night. It was the only thing that felt alive out here, he thought.
Will chewed on his lip as he panted, thinking about the empty aisles at Melvald’s and his mom’s-tired face since the mall opened at the beginning of summer. He knew he should hate this place for what it was doing to her job, but as he got closer to the two figures waiting by, he couldn't suppress the buzz of excitement looming in his stomach.
He skidded his bike to a halt near the rack, nearly tripping over his own kickstand as he scrambled toward Max and Lucas, waiting by.
“Am I late?” Will panted, bracing his hands on his knees, chest heaving in between words. “I tried to—my mom made me—am I late?”
Max looked him up and down, checking an invisible watch on her wrist with a grave expression. She clicked her tongue. “Incredibly. We were just about to leave.”
Will’s stomach dropped, “What?”
“No, doofus,” Max snorted, a grin breaking through her stoic mask. “You’re actually ten minutes early. Chill out.”
Lucas burst out laughing, clapping Will on the back. “You should have seen your face, man.”
Will let out a breathless chuckle, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. He looked at Max with relief.
Over the last year, Max Mayfield had been a breath of fresh air that Will hadn’t expected. With Mike constantly whisked away in whatever orbit he and Eleven were, and Dustin away at Camp Know Where, Will had found himself spending more time with just Max and Lucas by the first quarter of the summer.
She was sharp, funny, and incredibly snarky, but didn't treat him like he was made of glass—something Will wouldn't have expected from a girl. She had blended in so well that it was hard to remember a time she wasn't there. As he watched her banter with Lucas, Will felt a surge of relief, and smiled at the two.
Maybe, by the time the school year starts, they could be closer—somewhat like best friends. He liked that idea. He felt comfortable, somewhat safe with her around, drawn by a magnetic pull he didn't quite understand after spending most of his time with her and Lucas. He’d want to see her in spite of Lucas, and just as Max.
But the thought had somewhat drifted to El, and with it came a sharp, unexpected pang in his chest. It was a… prickly, unfamiliar heat. A kind of resentment he refused to name ever since his best friend had been on and off to him and to the party.
He swallowed the feeling instantly, crushing it under a wave of guilt. He had to be thankful—he owed her that much. She had saved his life twice, dragging him back from hell when… everything had happened.
Maybe… he didn't want to be bitter. Maybe he wanted to know her. If he could just see what Mike saw, if he and Hopper could let her out more, maybe he would finally understand the pull that kept his best friend away, maybe the rest of the party could.
Looking back at it though—the past months had brought a whirlwind of changes he couldn't quite catch up on no matter how hard he ran. It made him feel unsteady, shifting on secrets and dynamics that left him feel… clueless? Dumbfounded?
He brushes the bombarded questions in his head. At least he was trying. At least he was doing that. He had to.
Instead, he stood up straighter, letting relief wash over him. He looked back at the trees, thankful that it was finally done. El had sealed The Upside Down. He could finally live a normal life—the kind of life he had watched from the sidelines for two years.
He could play D&D now! Which they did before Dustin left for camp—write fun, lengthy campaigns, waste stacks of quarters at the Palace Arcade going one-on-one with Max and the guys every now and then, and grab ice cream and milkshakes sprinkled with M&M’s at Scoops Ahoy.
As summer settled over Hawkins, it had made Will hopeful. He could pick up where he left off. He could bury the past two years—the week he was gone, the cold shadow, the feeling of losing control over your own body—being a spy, having it burned out of him.
Then, a sudden phantom chill skittered up his spine. The memory of the possession. The memory of him tried to claw its way back up his mind.
No.
Will shook his head, a sharp violent jerk like he could physically rattle the bad memory out of his skull before it stuck. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to replay the drill Dr. Owens had opted for during his tests at the lab last year.
Shut it down. Clear your mind.
He had to make it stop. If he didn’t, the cold would creep back in—the deprecating, bone-deep chill. He could almost feel the phantom feeling of him crawling beneath his skin, the suffocating memory of smoke pouring into his mouth and nose. Losing control over his own body and becoming a passenger in his own skin shortened his breath.
And for a split second, his mind slipped. The mall faded, replaced by the memory of the scorching, searing heat—the agony of the fire poker branding his side. For a split second, he was back in the cabin, fighting the Shadow, screaming until his throat bled to force it out of him, a desperate clawing need to be him again.
No!
He dug his fingernails into his palms, the sharp sting tethering him back to the view of the trees from afar. This couldn’t happen. Not here. Not under the buzzing neon of the Starcourt sign with Max and Lucas standing in literal feet away from him.
He couldn’t be Zombie Boy tonight. Not now. Not when they’re minutes away from their summer tradition. He had to push it away, swallow the panic, and just be… normal. Think of the movies. Think of the party, of his parents, of… Mike.
If you’re going crazy… we’ll be crazy together. Alright?
The voice… his voice echoes through his head, slowly calming him down from the panic.
He closed his eyes.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
When he opened his eyes the chill was finally gone, replaced by the humid air of the night. He let out a long, shaky exhale, thankful for not looking like more of a freak than he already feels in front of his friends.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, bouncing on the balls of his feet, forcing the adrenaline to morph into excitement for the cinema, grateful for the distraction even as he kept his mental guard raised high, just in case his… mind took over him again.
Will then cements on the thought of watching movies—it was something among many things he had always held sacred. Being friends with Mike since kindergarten meant he had the luxury of a VCR–buddy. He remembered the nights sitting cross-legged on the shag carpet of the Wheelers’ basement through the years, watching bootleg copies of Star Wars until the tapes wore thin. When Lucas, then Dustin finally joined and the Party was born, the basement felt fuller, complete, and normal. It became a habit, their ritual every summer—although, of course, there was always D&D.
But even with the joy of the Party, Will sometimes found himself missing the simpler days. Just him and Mike. Mike-and-Will.
He smiled, a memory of them, before everything had happened—1981, watching The Hobbit under a heavy, warm comforter in the Wheeler’s basement because the heater was broken. The glow of the TV had illuminated Mike’s face, casting him in flickering lights, and they had whispered thoughts and commentaries back and forth so they wouldn't wake Mike's parents. It had made Will’s heart full and content. It felt safe.
Well, at least… it used to be.
Will shut the memory down before it could ache.
Today, they were seeing Day of the Dead. They had been planning this for a week. Going from VHS tapes in Mike’s basement to a high-resolution screen of the Starcourt cinema was a massive step up. It was exhilarating, making Will excited.
He then checked his watch and frowned.
It had been twenty minutes since Will arrived. Max and Lucas were starting to look annoyed.
The heat of the Indiana summer was already oppressive, a humid blanket that clung to the skin and offered no relief, even as the supposed cold night air breezed against his skin. But outside Starcourt Mall, the tension radiating off Lucas, Max, and Will had less to do with the temperature and more to do with the fact that Mike Wheeler was late. Again.
When Mike finally skidded to a halt on his bike coming from afar—breathless and flustered, the excuses started immediately.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Mike panted, dropping his bike with a clatter. Mike skids as he parks his bike at the rack. He’s disheveled and flushed. Typical.
“You’re late,” Lucas cut in, checking his watch with theatrical annoyance. “Again.”
Will pounces affront, frustration in his face, “We’re gonna miss the opening—”
“Yeah, if you guys keep whining about it,” Mike shot back, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Let’s go. We’ll make the preview if we run.”
“If you guys keep whining about it. Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh!” Lucas mocks.
“Just please stop talking, dude. I was… busy.” Mike asks bluntly as the four enter the south entrance of the Mall.
“Let me guess? You were–” Lucas mocks with smooch-like noises. A big grin on his face.
This makes Max scoff and Will gag behind the two boys in front.
“Oh, yeah, real mature, Lucas.” Mike bites back.
Lucas narrates, in a high-mocking tone, “Oh, El! I wish we could just make out forever, and never hang out with any of our friends until the day we die!”
This makes Will stammer in chuckles as the four power walk through the south entrance of the mall. He’s right, though. Lucas couldn’t be wrong, cause Mike’s been like this all summer.
“Lucas, stop.” Max defends the thought. Though she’s smirking, clearly enjoying Mike’s discomfort.
“Well, Will thinks it’s funny!” Lucas defends himself.
“It is!” Will says, a big smile on his face.
“Yeah, it’s so funny that I want to spend romantic time with my girlfriend!”
Will flushes and feels a pit in his stomach, but brushes it off quickly and claps back, “Too much time. You’re late.” His voice was timid.
“Well, If he wasn’t so busy with his smooch-fest with Eleven, maybe he’d know what time it is–” Lucas teased, grinning as he dodged a half-hearted shove from Mike.
“Shut up,” Mike muttered, his ears turning red.
“–and I’m spending romantic time with my girlfriend too. Aren’t I?” Lucas explains and tosses his arm around Max’s shoulders carefully, she rolls her eyes but succumbs to the romantic gesture.
Which he definitely is. If Lucas can juggle his relationship with Max, and hang out with the party, why can’t Mike?
The Mike I know would never do this, Will thinks.
“Leave them alone, Lucas!” Max said, though she was smirking, clearly enjoying Mike’s discomfort and Lucas’ touch .
Lucas followed through, wrinkling his nose. “What? It’s kinda gross.”
Max folded her arms, defending the concept, if not the person. “It’s cute.”
Will let out a chuckle, a dry sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. It is gross. Lucas pounced on it immediately. “See? Even Will agrees!”
Will felt the spotlight turn to him. He answered with another chuckle, trying to sound casual, “Because it is!”
“Alright, ha, ha. Very funny. You wouldn’t laugh like that if you had one too, Will. Would you?” Mike snapped, tired of being the butt of the joke as he grabbed his bag with a huff.
Will stood silently a few steps away, tolerating the banter. He forced a small smile, but internally, he felt a pit opening in his stomach. The conversation revolved around romance, around "sucking face," around things that felt alien and somewhat weird to him.
“Let’s just go,” Will said quietly as the gang turned toward the escalator.
The four continue to stammer through the bustling crowd as they go down, silent Excuse me’s every time someone is in the way, and that’s when they reach the middle section of the ground floor, at the Starcourt Mall foodcourt.
Right as they see Scoops Ahoy from afar, Mike abruptly bumps into three girls who’re gossiping. Great!
“Shit! Sorry!” Mike exclaims.
“Watch it!” The middle girl exclaims as they walk away.
“Yeah, watch it nerd!”
A loud familiar voice echoed through the floor, it’s Erica Sinclair.
It’s been a while since Will had seen her, if anything, the last conversation he’s had with Lucas’ sibling was when they hosted a campaign, the summer of ‘84 the time Ted Wheeler had to vacate their basement to work on something Holly broke—at least, that's what Mike had told them.
It’s funny to see her with more autonomy than she used to. From what Will remembered of her, she used to bicker with Lucas ever since he knew the kid, but this takes the cake.
“Isn’t it past your bed time?” Lucas bites.
“Isn’t it time you died?” Erica bites harder.
Ooh’s are heard through her friend group. Mike and Lucas roll their eyes, then Max bumps Will’s shoulder.
Max snickers at Will, “Savage.”
Will nods at her, chuckling as the four continue to walk.
“Psycho!”
“Butthead!”
“Mall rat!”
“Fart face!” Erica screams loudly.
Lucas blows a raspberry to his sibling’s direction with his tongue.
This triggers Max and pulls him away as they keep walking, “Well that’s mature!”
As the four of them continued to walk, Will’s attention drifted away from the group’s bickering. He looked around, trying to adjust to the sudden shift in atmosphere. The transition from the outdoor heat to the cold air conditioning and blinding neon lights of the Starcourt Mall Food Court was jarring—almost unbearable.
A crowd this size was never Will’s cup of tea.
The cold breeze hit him like a wall of ice. The noise was physical—a chaotic cacophony of arcade blasts, synth-pop, and hundreds of shouting teenagers that seemed to vibrate right through his chest.
Will trailed slightly behind the others, buried under the crush of lights and sound. He watched Mike lead the way, with Max and Lucas laughing just behind him, and felt a pang of loneliness hit him harder than he expected. He suddenly felt… indifferent.
He was supposed to be happy. Right? Before doubt could settle and drag the unwanted sharp ache back into his chest, he shoved his thoughts down. He forced a smile and locked his eyes on his friends. On Mike.
His eyes fixed blankly on the back of Mike’s head hoping it’d calm him down, but he didn't see the person in front of him stop abruptly. Then suddenly—
Thud.
Will slammed into the person with enough force to knock the wind out of himself.
It was like walking into a tree. Will stumbled backward, flailing for balance, his sneakers squeaking on the hard tile floor as he braced for the fall.
But he didn't fall. The stranger’s reflexes were fast—startlingly so. He instinctively reached out, a large, warm hand gripping Will’s upper arm to steady him. The grip was firm, grounding Will.
“Whoa—” the guy started, face flushed, and his voice deep and startled. Then, as he looked down, his expression softened instantly. “Oh. Sorry. Uh... you alright?”
Will blinked, his breath hitching in his throat. He looked up. And he had to look up.
The guy was striking.
He had thick, dark hair that fell effortlessly over his forehead and a warm, open face. He was wearing a white ringer tee with yellow and red stripes that hugged his chest, paired with orange shorts that showed off his athletic, powerful legs. He looked like he’d just walked off a varsity court—strong, solid, and undeniably imposing.
Wait.
Panic spiked in Will’s chest, sharp and cold. Pupils, shrinking in panic.
This guy looked like a jock.
He looked like the kind of guy who shoved kids like Will into lockers for staring too long, or for walking too close. Will flinched, his eyes closing instinctively waiting for a shove, a sneer, or a slur.
But the shove didn't come.
Instead, the guy just stood there, his hand still on Will's arm. And he was… looking. Not glaring. Just looking.
Will forced himself to meet the guy’s eyes. They were brown. And they were locked onto Will’s face with an intensity that caught Will completely off guard.
It wasn't the way he thinks people should look at each other—let alone, two boys. It was prolonged, heavy, and confusing.
Will felt a strange, terrifying buzz where their skin touched—a mix of fear and something else that made his stomach drop. Why isn't he letting go? Why is he looking at me like that?
“Uh... Yeah,” Will managed to stammer. His voice sounded thin, foreign to his own ears. He felt exposed, like a deer caught in headlights, “You?”
The guy blinked, as if he had forgotten where he was. He started to smile—a slow, hesitant thing—but the air between them felt thick, filled with something Will didn't have a name for.
Then, a sharp female voice cut through the mall chatter like a knife, echoing down from the railing of the floor above—a hard accent rolling off her tongue.
“Chance! Come on! The cab is idling at the North entrance and the meter is running! Let's go!”
The moment shattered.
He flinched visibly, like he’d been slapped awake. He snatched his hand back from Will’s arm. He looked… caught. A flush of red crept up his neck, and he took a half-step back, creating a sudden distance between them.
He looked at Will one last time, his brow furrowing slightly. It wasn't fear. It was a question he didn't have time to ask.
He turned and started to jog toward the escalator, moving with an easy, athletic grace as he hopped onto the moving steps. But just as he was rising away, before he disappeared onto the crowd at the upper level, he turned back.
He looked down.
Across the vertical distance and the sea of people, his eyes found Will’s again. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just stared for a heartbeat, his expression unreadable. Curious.
Chance.
His name is… Chance.
Then, the moment broke. Chance turned his head forward and vanished into the throng on the upper level, leaving Will standing alone in the crowd.
Will stood rooted to the spot, staring at the empty space where the stranger had been. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic rhythm of adrenaline that felt too big for his chest. He felt dizzy.
What just happened?
His mind raced, immediately jumping to worst-case scenarios. Was that guy going to hit him? Was he making fun of him? Was he memorizing what Will looked like so he could jump him once high school started? No, he didn’t look like he was.
Guys built like that didn't just stop. They didn't apologize. And they definitely didn't stare.
Will’s mind scrambled, trying to fit the pieces together—but the puzzle didn't make sense.
He rubbed his arm where the guy had held him, caressing the pressure from where he had held.
A heat crept up Will's neck, settling unmistakably on his cheeks. He felt weird. Shaken. Almost against his will, the corners of his mouth tugged upward, forming a small, dazed smile.
“Hey, Will!”
Mike’s voice snapped like a rubber band, breaking the trance. Will jumped, whipping his head around to see Mike waving impatiently near the entrance to Scoops Ahoy.
The smile fell from Will’s face. His face falls, morphing instantly from a soft wonder into a terror he didn't understand. He stared at Mike, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and hollow like a deer caught in headlights.
“We gotta go! C'mon!”
“Coming!” Will stammered. He took one last glance toward the upper ground level of the mall and shook his head violently to clear the static in his brain. He then ran to catch up with the party.
As the four enter Scoops Ahoy, with Mike leading, he dings the front bell, alarming Steve’s co-worker. A disinterested and tired look on her face.
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.
The woman screams to the back, “Hey, dingus, your children are here!”
Steve Harrington reveals himself from the back window from the inside kitchen, as he looks out, he sighs at the sight of the four, leaning out the window of Scoops Ahoy. “Again? Seriously?”
“Come on, Steve,” Mike pleaded, shamelessly invoking the name of the one kid Steve actually liked just to guilt-trip him. “For Dustin… just the back door.”
Ding.
Steve rolled his eyes but buzzed them in. The group scurried through the kitchen, dodging crates of ice cream, past the break room where Robin Buckley gave them a skeptical wave, and into the stark white back corridors of the mall.
The four set a fast pace, fueled by adrenaline and impatience. Will hurried to match his stride, stepping side-by-side with Mike while Lucas and Max trailed slightly behind, whispering and giggling.
“Come on, come on!” Steve try to make them get through the backdoor to the backrooms fast, “I swear, if anybody hears about this–”
The four answer simultaneously, “We’re dead!”
As they walk, suddenly, Mike glanced sideways at Will. His expression was tight, his jaw set. He didn't look at Will with the softness he used to; there was a sharp edge to his gaze that made Will slightly uneasy.
“You were lagging back there,” Mike said. It wasn't quite a question.
Will blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“Who was that guy?” Mike asked, his voice low enough that Lucas and Max wouldn't hear.
Will’s stomach flipped. “What guy?”
“The one you ran into,” Mike said, his tone clipped. He looked straight ahead, refusing to meet Will's eyes. “You stood there staring at him for like, ten seconds. We almost lost you in the crowd.”
Will felt a fresh wave of heat hit his cheeks, unrelated to the humid corridors. Mike’s tone was hard to place. Was he annoyed that Will was slow? Was he worried?
It sounded possessive, like a kid upset that his toy was looking at someone else, even if he wasn't playing with it.
Why does he care? Why does he sound angry?
“I wasn't—I didn't stare,” Will stammered, his defense weak. He stared at his sneakers as they walked. “I just bumped into him. It was an accident—I don't even know who he is.”
Liar, his mind whispered. You noticed his eyes. You noticed his smile. You even caught his name, and Mike noticed you.
Stop it.
Will forced the image of the stranger’s smile out of his head as he blinked hard. Stupid. It’s stupid. Mike is staring at you.
Mike finally looked at Will, scanning his face, his eyes lingering on the flush of Will’s cheeks. He scoffed, a noise that was a mix of confusion and irritation. He shook his head, as if dismissing a thought.
“Whatever,” Mike muttered, turning away sharply, his pace quickening to a near-jog. “Let’s just get there faster. The movie’s basically starting.”
He grabbed the door handle to the cinema, leaving Will walking a half-step behind, heart pounding with a mix of shame and confusion.
Mike peeked his head through the back door entrance to the cinema. “All clear.”
Max and Lucas followed through, but Will paused at the threshold. His heart was still racing. Why did that feel so heavy? Why did Mike’s reaction feel so sharp? He shook his head, pushing the confusing tangle of emotions into the back of his mind.
He dismissed the thoughts and stepped in through the door.
They scrambled into the dark theater, fumbling for seats just as the screen widened and the opening credits for Day of the Dead began to roll.
We missed the previews, Will realized with a pang of disappointment.
“Great,” Lucas hissed from his seat, his head turning towards the seats Mike and Will sat, throwing his hands up in the dim light. “We missed the previews!”
“Well, maybe if Will hadn’t stood there staring at some random guy, we would’ve made it—” Mike shot back at Lucas.
Will bristled, the unfairness stinging more than he expected. He cuts Mike off. “Me? You were the one who was twenty minutes late!”
“Okay, and? But I did say that we’d catch previews if we picked up the pace, and you—”
“Shut up!” Max hissed, leaning over Lucas to glare at both of them. “All of you. It’s starting.”
Mike huffed, slouching down in his seat with his arms crossed. Will sank back, frustration bubbling in his chest, but he kept his mouth shut.
A few fleeting moments later, as the tension died down, Will and Mike passed out the candy they had packed—Reese's Pieces for himself, and handed over the others—feeling a brief flicker of normalcy. He steeds his focus to the big screen, stabilizing his breathing. This was normal.
Then, halfway through the movie, the power cut.
The theater plunged into pitch blackness. Everyone groaned in disappointment, then went silent.
For a minute, there was nothing. Utter darkness. The kind of dark that felt heavy.
When the power returned moments later, the audience cheered, relieving the tension.
Will did not cheer.
He felt a chill crawl up the back of his neck. The hair on his arms stood up. It wasn't the air conditioning. It was a cold that went bone-deep. A wave of awful memories hit him—the shadow, the feeling of the Mind Flayer’s smoke pouring into his nose and mouth, the cold of the Upside Down.
He gasped as he gripped the armrests, eyes wide and unseeing.
“Hey, Will?
Will's breath hitched and his head snapped toward the voice.
“Are you okay?”
It was Mike. His voice was soft, close to his ear. Leaning in, his face illuminated by the flickering screen, looking at Will with a look of concern. The sting of their petty arguments from earlier just… dissolved.
It snapped Will out of the panic, but it replaced fear with a flush of embarrassment and… affection. He noticed. Mike still cared.
Will felt his mouth go dry, and he swallowed hard against the sudden spike of nervousness.
“Yeah,” Will nodded, swallowing hard, his breath hitching, “I’m fine.”
For now.