Archive of Our Own

March, 22nd 1979 - 8th birthday

Will barely slept last night. He had opened his eyes a hundred times, convinced morning had come already, only to find darkness once more. He’d tried it all: counting sheep, tried every sleeping position there is and most of all, tried not thinking about it.

Nothing had worked. So when the first hint of faint sunlight finally slips through his curtains, he doesn’t hesitate. 

He practically jumps out of bed, and hurries to the door. He pulls it open just a crack and peeks out in the hallway. 

The house is still quiet. There’s no footsteps, no voices. Maybe everyone is still asleep and he’s the first one up. 

He tiptoes down the hall, each step placed carefully like he’s on a mission, and edges around the corner into the living room. He leans just enough to see into the kitchen, and finds his mother standing at the stove. She has her back turned while she’s stirring something in a pan. 

Will’s gaze drifts to the table where two presents sit, wrapped and waiting.

For a second, he just stares.

Then he takes a few small steps closer, as his eyes flick between them, already trying to guess what it could be judging by size and shape. 

His excitement bubbles up so fast he almost forgets to be quiet. And of course that means his mother notices him.

“Will?”

Will jumps and stops in his tracks. Joyce has turned around, one hand pressed to her chest in surprise. But the shock melts quickly into a smile, soft and fond.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” she says, shaking her head a little.

Will shifts on his feet. “I’m not tired anymore.”

That earns him a quiet huff of laughter.

“Mm-hm. I bet.”

She walks over to him, wiping her hands on a towel, and pulls him into a hug before he can say anything else. He leans into it immediately, familiar and warm, and she presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Happy birthday, baby,” she murmurs. “I can’t believe you’re already eight.”

Will smiles against her, but his eyes drift past her shoulder, back to the table.

Joyce follows his gaze.

“Oh, no,” she says, laughing under her breath. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I wasn’t-” Will starts, but it’s not very convincing.

Joyce nudges him gently toward the table. “Go sit. I’m almost done with breakfast.”

“Can I…?” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. His mother shakes her head firmly. 

“Not until everyone’s here.”

Will sighs, but climbs into his chair anyway. He folds his hands in front of him, at least trying to appear patient. But he’s unable to keep his eyes from the presents. Within seconds he’s inspecting them again.

He leans forward just slightly, trying to get a better look. The bigger one is wrapped in blue paper, and it looks a little messy. The corners are crinkled as if someone folded and refolded it a few times. The smaller one is neater, and the paper is yellow. 

From the kitchen, Joyce glances over and catches him staring again.

“Will,” she says, trying to sound serious, “if you keep looking at them like that, you’re gonna open them with your mind.”

Will ducks his head, grinning. “I’m just looking.”

“Sure you are.”

Will sits back in his chair, this time actually trying not to keep staring at the presents. 

A few minutes later, Jonathan drags himself into the room.

He looks like he’s only half awake. His hair is sticking up in every direction, and he’s still wearing his pajamas. He pauses in the doorway when he spots Will already at the table.

A grin spreads across his face.

“Let me guess,” he says, voice still rough from sleep. “You couldn’t sleep.”

Will nods immediately, unable to hide it.

Jonathan huffs a quiet laugh as he walks over, reaching out to pull Will into a quick hug. “Yeah, I figured. Happy birthday, Will.”

Then he ruffles Will’s hair and usually Will would tell him to not do that. But today he doesn’t even mind. The excitement overshadows every other feeling today.

Jonathan drops into the chair beside him, stretching a little, while Joyce moves around the kitchen and sets the table for breakfast.

Will swings his legs under the table, glancing between Jonathan and the presents like he’s making sure they’re both still there.

Joyce sets the last plate down, then stills. She doesn’t sit down right away. Instead, her gaze drifts toward the hallway as if she’s waiting for something.

Will follows her gaze without really thinking about it. Nothing happens. There’s no sound of a door opening or someone walking down the hallway.

After a second, Joyce lets out a quiet breath. Then she turns back, her smile slipping into place like it belongs there.

“Alright,” she says lightly, clapping her hands once. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

She hesitates just a fraction before she adds, “Your father’s probably still asleep. He got home late.”

Will glances at Jonathan, who’s already looking at their mom. Something silent passes between them. A quick glance, one that Will cannot read entirely. Then Jonathan looks away first and reaches for his fork like nothing happened.

Joyce finally sits down, and they start eating.

Jonathan nudges Will’s arm lightly. “So,” he says, “you excited for your party?”

Will’s face brightens instantly at the mention of the party. “Yeah. I can’t wait.”

He leans forward a little, his words spilling out faster now. “Mike said they’re gonna have balloons. And decorations. Like, everywhere.”

Jonathan smiles at that, softer this time.

“Sounds fancy,” he says.

Joyce watches him for a second, then smiles too, like she’s holding onto that excitement with him. “I hope Karen takes a lot of pictures,” she says. “You’re only eight once.”

Then she puts on an expression that looks like she’s thinking about something, until she tilts her head and grins at Will. 

“Or maybe I should just come along.”

Will makes a face immediately. The thought of having his mom at his birthday party might have been okay a few years ago. But no, he’s eight now. He doesn’t need to have his mom around for that.

“Mom,” he says, scrunching his nose, “you can’t come. It’s only for kids.”

Beside him, Jonathan lets out a laugh, shaking his head. Joyce raises her hands in surrender, smiling. “Alright, alright. I get it.”

She reaches over, smoothing Will’s hair back down where Jonathan messed it up. “I’ll survive.”

Will grins, satisfied.

Once they’re finished, the plates are cleared away and the table is wiped down, Will’s attention drifts back to the presents almost immediately. 

And his mother notices, of course she does. But her gaze flicks back toward the hallway now, back to where the door to her bedroom still remains closed. She looks there as if she’s considering something.

But eventually she turns back to Will and smiles at him, gesturing toward the presents on the table.

“You know what?” she says. “Go ahead.”

Will looks up instantly. “Really?” 

She nods, offering him a small smile. “We shouldn’t wake him.”

There’s something in the way she says it, but it passes quickly. And Will has other things to focus on anyway, so he doesn’t question it.

He nods eagerly and reaches for the first present, the one wrapped in bright yellow paper.

He tears into it, trying not to go too fast but failing anyway, the paper ripping open under his fingers.

Inside is a Dungeons & Dragons set, with new dice, and a booklet he recognizes immediately.

His face lights up at the sight of it.

“Mom!” he breathes, already pulling it out of the box, turning it over in his hands like he has to make sure it’s real. “This is amazing, I…”

Joyce smiles as she watches him. “You said you wanted it.”

“I did,” Will says quickly. “I really did.”

He looks up at Jonathan, then back at the set. “Mike and Lucas are gonna love this. We can use it today, we’re going to play that campaign Mike made specifically for my birthday and…” He cuts himself off, just shaking his head, overwhelmed in the best way.

Jonathan grins at him. “That sounds great.”

Will sets it carefully to the side for now, scared that it might just vanish if he handles it just slightly incorrectly. Then he reaches for the second present, the one he’s now sure must be from Jonathan, because he’s already grinning at him knowingly. 

This time he tries to actually take his time with opening it, but as soon as he catches the first glimpse of what’s inside, his restraint is out the window. He rips open the last inches much more forcefully and when he finally holds it in his hands, his eyes widen.

It’s a record. But not just any record.

“David Bowie?” he says, almost disbelieving.

Jonathan leans back in his chair, trying to look casual about it. “Yeah. Thought you might like it.”

Will traces the edge of the cover with his fingers.

“I do like it,” he says, quieter now, but just as bright. “I really like it.”

He looks up at Jonathan. “Can we listen to it later?”

Jonathan nods. “When you get back tonight.”

Will nods eagerly, already wondering what it’s going to sound like.

“Okay.”

For a second, he just holds it there, both hands wrapped around it, like he doesn’t quite want to put it down yet.

Then he looks between them.

“Thank you,” he says, sincere and a little breathless. “Both of you.”

Joyce reaches over, brushing his hair back again, her thumb lingering for just a moment against his temple.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Will beams at her and then looks back at his presents. This day is already amazing and he cannot wait for the rest of it.

Unfortunately, the moment doesn’t last very long.

Footsteps sound in the hallway, heavy, uneven ones, and before anyone can say anything, Lonnie appears in the doorway.

He squints into the room like the light itself is bothering him, one hand dragging over his face.

“What’s all this noise?” he mutters, voice rough. “Jesus.”

The air in the room changes instantly. Will stills, his grip tightening slightly around the record in his hands.

Joyce straightens where she stands, her expression shifting. “It’s Will’s birthday,” she explains, calmly. “He just opened his presents.”

Lonnie’s gaze drifts to the table, then to the torn wrapping paper, the boxes. His face tells them he’s not impressed.

“Yeah?” he says flatly. “You really spent money on that?”

The words make Will shrink in his seat without meaning to. He puts the record down slowly and instead his fingers find the hem of his shirt, twisting the fabric between them.

Joyce’s expression hardens. “It’s his birthday.”

“So?” Lonnie scoffs, already moving further into the room. “Doesn’t mean we gotta throw money around like we’ve got it.”

Jonathan shifts beside Will, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t start,” Joyce says, low and warning.

Lonnie lets out a humorless laugh, heading for the fridge. “I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying maybe we should be a little smarter about what we spend our money on.” He yanks the fridge open. “Kid doesn’t need all this crap.”

Will’s eyes drop to the table. His excitement from earlier has faded completely now.

Joyce takes a step forward. “He’s eight years old.”

“And?” Lonnie grabs a beer, slamming the fridge shut with more force than necessary. “He’ll live without it.”

“Lonnie, please.”

“I had like two hours of sleep,” he cuts her off, already turning away. “I’m not doing this right now.”

Joyce’s voice rises despite herself. “No, you never do this, you…”

“I said I’m not doing this,” he snaps, sharper now, not even looking at her.

For a second, the tension in the air is so thick it could be cut through with a knife. Then Lonnie shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, and heads back toward the hallway. “I’m going back to bed,” he says. “Had a rough night.”

The bedroom door slams shut behind him.

Will realizes he’s been holding his breath, and lets it out carefully. Next to him, Jonathan shifts again, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, though not all of it. 

Joyce stands very still for a second longer, like she’s bracing against something only she can feel.

Then she moves eventually, almost carefully now. But when she turns back to Will, her expression is softer. The aftermath of what happened still lingers in her eyes, but she’s trying her best to act like it doesn’t.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Why don’t you take your presents to your room, okay? And get ready. I’ll drive you over to Mike’s in a bit.”

Will nods quickly. He slides out of his chair, gathering his presents and holds them close against his chest.

“Okay,” he says, then leaves the kitchen to go back into his room, trying not to let his father’s words cloud the brightness of this day. 

By the time Will reaches the Wheeler house, his excitement is fully back. He could barely sit still on the ride over. 

Karen lets him in with a warm smile, wishing him a happy birthday and then tells him that the others are already waiting for him in the basement.

Will nods, clutching his things a little tighter, and heads for the basement. When he gets down the stairs he stops for a second and just stands there. 

Mike hadn’t been exaggerating. Every inch of the basement is decorated.

There are balloons taped along the walls, some of them are already drooping slightly. Streamers hang in crooked lines, crisscrossing the room in bright colors. And stretched across the back wall, just slightly off-center, is a banner that reads:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Will stares at it, taking it all in.

“Surprise!”

Confetti explodes into the air. Will flinches, startled by the sudden explosion, then a laugh escapes him as it rains down around him.

Mike and Lucas are already rushing toward him, grinning.

“Happy birthday!” they both shout at the same time.

Before Will can even react, they’re pulling him into a hug, quick and a little clumsy, all three of them bumping into each other.

Will laughs again, breathless now.

“You actually did all this?” he asks, looking around again, still a little in awe.

Mike shrugs like it’s nothing, but he’s smiling too wide to play it off properly. “Yeah, well. I said we would.”

Lucas crosses his arms, grinning. “He made us hang all of it. Took forever.”

“It was worth it,” Mike shoots back immediately.

Will ducks his head a little, smiling, warmth spreading through his chest. He really didn’t expect them to do all of this - just for him.

They pull him further into the room, toward the table, where a couple of wrapped presents sit waiting.

“These are from us,” Lucas says, nudging them forward.

Will sets his things down carefully before picking up the first one. He tears it open, his patience long gone. 

“A comic?” he says, lighting up as he flips through it. “ I don’t have this one yet,” he says, his eyes scanning the pictures. 

“Told you,” Mike says, glancing at Lucas like he needs the credit.

“You guessed,” Lucas mutters. “I picked it.”

Before Will can set the comic down properly, Mike is already pushing another present toward him. It’s a little smaller, but Will notices how carefully it had been wrapped. As if Mike tried to make it look right and kept adjusting until it did.

 “This one’s from me,” Mike says, a bit too quickly, like he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

Will opens it more carefully this time. Inside is a small D&D notebook, plain on the outside, but when he flips it open, he freezes. 

The first page is filled with Mike’s handwriting, a messy but determined title at the top: 

“Campaign Ideas for Will”

There are little drawings in the corners. Some stick-figure monsters, a badly sketched wizard hat and underneath, notes for adventures they could play together.

Will looks up, eyes wide, definitely surprised by this.

“You made this?” he asks. Mike shrugs, shifting his feet a little as if he’s a little uncomfortable now.

“Yeah. So you can… y’know. Be the one in charge.” 

Will smiles even wider now, his cheeks already hurting from it. He holds the notebook to his chest and looks at Mike as he says, “It’s really cool. Thank you.”

For a moment it looks like Mike’s cheeks are turning the faintest shade of pink, but then it’s already gone and Will is sure he must’ve imagined it.

Will decides not to dwell on it and instead reaches for the things he brought from home.

“I got this too,” he says, pulling out the D&D set, careful but excited. “From my mom.”

Mike leans in closer right away, his eyes lighting up. “No way.”

“We can use that today,” Lucas adds, already reaching for the dice.

For a moment, the three of them just hover there, looking at everything laid out on the table. Then Mike claps his hands once, sudden and decisive.

“Okay,” he says. “So, what do you wanna do first?”

Will blinks, surprised. He isn’t usually the one to decide what they’re doing. He usually goes along with whatever the other two want to do. “What?”

Mike looks at him like it’s obvious. “You pick. It’s your birthday.”

Lucas groans. “We don’t have to do everything he says.”

“It’s his birthday,” Mike insists.

“So?”

“So he gets to choose!”

Will hovers there between them, a little overwhelmed, a little embarrassed, heat creeping up into his cheeks.

“It’s okay. I mean, we can just… I don’t know, do whatever you want.”

“No,” Mike says firmly, turning back to him. “You pick.”

There’s something about the way he says it. Like it really matters. Like Will matters.

Will looks down for a second, then back up, smiling a little shyly. “Maybe… D&D?”

“See?” Mike says immediately, like he’s just proven something. “That’s a good choice.”

Lucas rolls his eyes, but he’s already pulling the set closer. “Yeah, yeah. Birthday rules.”

They settle onto the floor, dice clattering, voices overlapping as they start figuring everything out. At some point, they get so distracted with side stories and Mike making up impossible new rules that they stop playing all together. Their laughter echoes off the basement walls as they move on to something else soon. 

They take some of the comic books Mike has stacked down here and the one Will just got today and take turns reading paragraphs out loud, doing terrible voices for the characters.

At every turn, Mike circles back to it.

“What next?”
“Your call.”
“It’s your birthday, you decide.”

Every time, Will feels his face warm a little more. At one point, Lucas disagrees about what they should do next and Mike gets into a heated argument with him about it. He’s stubborn and loud in a way that’s almost ridiculous.

“It’s his birthday!” Mike says again, like it’s the most important rule in the world.

Will watches them, as something bright and overwhelming builds in his chest. For a second, it feels all too much. As if he might just burst any second from all the happiness he’s feeling.

A little while later, there’s footsteps on the stairs and Karen calls down, her voice bright, “Boys, I’m coming down.” 

Mike looks up immediately. “Okay!”

Will turns just as she appears, carefully making her way down with a camera in one hand and a cake balanced in the other. 

“Alright,” she says, smiling as she steps into the room. “Let me see the birthday boy.”

Will sits up a little straighter without meaning to. She puts the cake on the table in front of him and Will takes it all in: from the slightly uneven frosting to the row of candles pressed into the top. Eight candles. 

“Chocolate’s my favorite,” Will says sheepishly and smiles at her.

Karen adjusts the plate slightly, then glances at Mike. “You were right,” she says and winks at her son.

Will looks at Mike then, a little surprised.

Mike shrugs, suddenly pretending to be very interested in the table. “Yeah, well. You said it once.”

Will smiles, a little shy, warmth creeping into his cheeks again. “Thanks,” he says, glancing between them. “Both of you.”

Karen lifts the camera. “Alright, scoot closer, both of you. I need at least one good picture.”

Lucas and Mike immediately crowd in on either side of Will, shoulders bumping into his.

“Don’t move,” Karen says. “And smile.”

The flash goes off. Will blinks, laughing a little, just as she lowers the camera again. She gets out a lighter and starts lighting the candles one by one. When she’s done, she takes a small step back and looks at him.

“Okay,” she says, satisfied. “Now, make a wish.”

The candles flicker in front of him, and for a second everything feels very still. 

Will looks up and finds Lucas watching him expectantly, already leaning forward a little. Mike is watching him too, his eyes fixed on Will, like this moment matters just as much as everything else today. 

“Go on,” Lucas says.

Mike nudges him lightly under the table. “Blow them out.”

Then, like it’s important, like it’s a rule that can’t be broken, he adds, “But don’t forget to wish for something.”

Will hesitates. But he doesn’t even really need to think about it. 

He closes his eyes, and suddenly the world around him seems to fade. All he can think about is this, this moment. Mike sitting right across from him, Lucas beside him. The three of them here, together. 

He takes a breath.

I wish we’ll always stay friends.

Then he leans forward and blows out the candles. The flames flicker, then disappear all at once.

When Will opens his eyes again, they’re both still there, grinning at him. And something in his chest feels full in a way he doesn’t quite have words for yet.

March 22nd 1984 - 13th birthday

Will wakes with a sharp gasp. For the fraction of a second, he doesn’t know where he is.

It feels like there’s still shadows clinging to him, black writhing tendrils curling through his mind. The memory of smoke filling his lungs is still sitting too close.

He bolts upright in bed. He takes a shaky breath, too fast, and he has to grab the edge of his blanket just to steady himself. His skin is damp with sweat and his heart is pounding so hard it almost hurts. 

“It’s not real,” he whispers, voice shaking slightly. “It was just a dream.”

But the words don’t settle the way they’re supposed to. They never really do at first. Because it’s not just a dream. It never is.

Ever since he came back, it’s like something stayed with him. It’s nothing anyone could see, or something he can fully explain, but it lingers anyway, as if it’s woven into his thoughts. 

He can be fine one second, and then it’s there again. The darkness, the cold. The heavy feeling of something watching him.

Will squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his hands against them like he can force the images away. The monster flashes behind his eyelids anyway.

He shakes his head sharply.

“No,” he breathes, like saying it might make it stop.

Slowly, the images fade into the background. Just waiting for the right moment to appear again anyway. 

He lowers his hands, his breathing still uneven, and turns his head slightly. His gaze lands on the calendar pinned above his desk. Today’s date is circled with red marker and for a moment he just stares at it. 

Today’s his thirteenth birthday.

He remembers how it used to feel when he was younger. How he’d wake up before anyone else, too excited for proper sleep. He’d count down the days, spent hours thinking about presents, about cake, about his friends being with him.

Now it’s different. The excitement might still be there, somewhere. But it’s quieter now, like it’s been buried under something heavier.

Will pushes the blanket off and gets out of bed. He moves through his morning slowly, mechanically. Hoping that the steady rhythm of getting ready helps, but his mind keeps drifting anyway.

Back to the dream. Back to that place.

He swallows hard and reaches for the door, pulling it open. The smell of fresh pancakes hits him instantly. The next thing he notices is his mother humming softly to herself in the kitchen. It’s the kind of sound that should feel normal. 

Will steps into the hallway, walks in the kitchen, and as soon as Joyce sees him, she drops everything she’s been holding.

“Will!”

She crosses the room in seconds and pulls him into a tight hug, arms wrapping around him so suddenly, so firmly, that the air rushes out of his lungs.

“Mom!” he manages, half-laughing, half-struggling, “you’re crushing me.”

“Oh.” She loosens her grip immediately, pulling back just enough to look at him.

Her hands come up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks as her eyes search his, quick and careful, like she’s checking for something only she can see.

Like she needs to be sure he’s really here. 

There are tears in her eyes.

“I’m just…” she starts, her voice catching slightly. She swallows, tries again. “I’m so happy you’re here. We’re celebrating your thirteenth birthday,” she adds, softer now, like the words matter.

Then she pulls him into another hug. Will hesitates for just a second before relaxing into it.

She’s been doing this a lot lately. Holding onto him like if she lets go, he might disappear again.

Every day. Sometimes more than once. And he knows why she’s doing this. He remembers the way she looked when he was lying in that hospital bed. She didn’t seem to be able to really believe it. 

So he lets her. Even now, even when it’s a little too tight for comfort.

After a moment, she pulls back again, brushing her hands over his shoulders like she’s smoothing him into place.

“Go sit,” she says, her voice gentler now, steadier. “I’m making pancakes. Your favorite.”

Will nods.

“Thanks, Mom.”

He moves to the table and sits down. There are presents waiting for him, set in front of his usual spot.

He looks at them, and tries to focus on them. On the excitement this day should bring. On the brightness he should feel right now. But the edges blur as his thoughts drift once more back to the dream. 

His fingers curl slightly against the table. The presents sit there, untouched.

Later that afternoon, the house is filled with noise, as Dustin, Lucas and Mike insist on singing him Happy Birthday. 

They’re completely out of sync, all of them singing in different keys. Dustin is rushing ahead, Lucas dragging behind, and Mike is somewhere in the middle trying and failing to hold it together. It sounds objectively terrible, but Will finds himself grinning through the entire thing anyway.

By the time they finish, if it can even be called finishing, he’s already laughing, clapping his hands together as he shakes his head.

“Okay,” he says, still smiling, his voice teasing, “if I can wish for one thing for my next birthday, it’s that you guys never do that again.”

Dustin lets out an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to his chest as if he’s deeply offended by that statement. Meanwhile, Lucas immediately points at Will like he’s the one in the wrong. 

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Lucas says.

“We worked really hard on that,” Mike adds, nudging Will lightly with his shoulder, his tone playful but just a little more earnest than the others.

Will rolls his eyes, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “Yeah, I can tell.”

A moment later, Joyce comes in carrying a tray of snacks. She sets it down carefully on the coffee table that has been moved a little to the side. In front of the couch are now a few blankets and pillows, waiting for their movie marathon. 

“Alright,” Joyce says, “try not to make too big of a mess.”

“No promises,” Dustin says immediately, already reaching for a bowl with chips.

Jonathan huffs a quiet laugh from behind her, then he steps forward, a camera in his hands.

“Hold on,” he says, “don’t move.”

Before any of them can react properly, the flash already goes off and Will instinctively ducks his head, letting out a groan.

“Jonathan, don’t.”

“You’ll want these later,” Jonathan says, grinning in a way that makes it impossible to argue.

They begin to settle on the floor, shifting around each other, grabbing pillows, and getting comfortable.

Dustin drops down next to Will without thinking, his hands already greasy from the chips, but before he can get fully settled, Mike steps in, quick and certain.

“Nope,” he says, nudging him aside just enough to make a point. “Move.”

Dustin looks up at him, confused. “What?”

“I always sit next to Will.”

There’s no hesitation in the way he says it, no doubt, like it’s something that’s always been true and doesn’t need to be explained.

Dustin throws his hands up, leaning back with a scoff. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t know there were reserved seats.”

But Mike doesn’t even respond. He just waits for Dustin to scoot over and sits down in his place instead. Right next to Will. 

They’re sitting close enough that their shoulders almost touch and close enough that Will is unable to not be aware of it.

He glances at him, just for a second. Mike is already looking at him, smiling in that open, easy way, like nothing about this is strange. He looks like he’s right where he needs to be.

Will looks away quickly, ducking his head slightly as heat creeps up into his face, but he can’t stop the small smile that lingers anyway.

“Alright,” Jonathan says, moving toward the TV. “Let’s see what you picked.”

He glances back at them, one eyebrow raised, something teasing in his expression. “Hope it’s not too scary for you.”

Lucas snorts immediately. “We saw actual monsters last year. I think we can handle a stupid movie.”

Jonathan laughs under his breath, shaking his head as he starts the tape, the screen flickering to life and casting a soft glow across the room.

“Okay,” he says, “tough guys.”

He leaves the room just as the open titles roll on the screen. They’ve decided on watching Poltergeist first. 

At first, it’s fun. Lucas keeps up a steady stream of commentary, leaning back like he’s unimpressed, scoffing every time something even tries to be scary. “That’s it?” he says at one point, shaking his head. “That’s what people are afraid of?”

Dustin, on the other hand, is doing the opposite. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, whispering observations about how things are probably going to escalate, pointing out details no one else noticed until Lucas groans and shoves his shoulder.

“Dude,” Lucas mutters, “just watch the movie.”

But slowly something changes. Lucas stops talking first, Dustin follows not shortly after. The tension on screen builds and so does the one in the living room.

They’re all watching now, properly watching, their earlier confidence slipping into something more uncertain.

At a sudden noise on screen, they all flinch simultaneously. 

Dustin even lets out a small, startled yelp, immediately covering it with a laugh that’s just a little too loud. “Okay, okay, that one was unexpected.”

Lucas doesn’t even tease him this time. He just shifts slightly, eyes still locked on the screen.

Another scene builds, and before he can really think about it, before he can stop himself, his fingers find Mike’s hand. For a second he freezes, when he realizes what he’s done. But Mike doesn’t pull away. 

In fact, his fingers tighten slightly around Will’s, his attention still fixed entirely on the screen, like them holding hands is the most natural thing in the world.

Will’s breath catches, and he glances down to where their hands are intertwined now. 

Something spreads through him, starting in his hand, traveling up his arm until it settles somewhere in his chest.

It’s unfamiliar, but soft. He doesn’t have a name for it, he just knows it feels good. 

For a moment, he wonders if Mike can feel it too.

But then Mike jerks slightly as another jump scare hits, letting out a startled laugh, the sound blending with Lucas and Dustin’s reactions as the tension breaks for a second.

Mike doesn’t look like he’s noticing anything different. To him, nothing seems to have changed. 

Will looks at him for a second longer, then back down at their hands.

Maybe it’s nothing, he tells himself. Maybe it’s just the room being a little too warm and crowded with all of them pressed closed together on the floor.

He tells himself that’s all it is. But he still doesn’t let go. 

When the movie ends, the tension in the room breaks all at once. Lucas stretches in his spot, starting an argument with Dustin about what they should watch next. They keep talking over each other as they list options.

Meanwhile Mike shifts slightly beside Will and then, without even thinking about it, pulls his hand away.

The absence is immediate. It’s like something warm has been taken from Will too quickly and now he’s left with a strange, hollow space where Mike’s hand used to be. 

He curls his fingers slightly, like he can hold onto it, but it’s already gone.

“Alright, what next?” Mike asks, glancing between Lucas and Dustin before turning to Will, like the answer matters more coming from him. “What do you wanna watch?”

Will hesitates.

But suddenly it feels like everything is a little too much. The way everyone is looking at him, how his hand still feels strange from having Mike hold it for so long. 

“I don’t care,” he says quietly. “I… uh… I gotta go to the bathroom.”

No one questions it. And so he slips out of the room and makes his way down the hall, his steps a little too fast. The bathroom door closes behind him, and he locks it. 

For a moment, he just stands there. Then his gaze drifts downward, to his hand. He turns it slightly, like he might find something there. Maybe an explanation that would make sense of the feeling still lingering under his skin. But there’s nothing, just his hand.

After a moment, he forces himself to move, going through the motions, trying to ground himself in something normal. He uses the toilet, flushes, then steps up to the sink, turning the faucet on and letting the water run over his hands.

He tries to focus on that, the sound of it and the way it feels against his skin. His mind drifts anyway. Back to Christmas, when he was standing at this exact sink. How he’d doubled over, coughing until… that thing had come out. Dark, wet and wrong.

It had disappeared down the drain before he could even fully understand what he was looking at. And it never happened again after.

Will’s grip tightens on the edge of the sink. And soon the memories are already pulling him somewhere else again. The Upside Down. How it had been so cold there and how the dark hadn’t just been dark, but alive somehow. As if it was stretching and breathing around him.

“No.” he whispers, but it doesn’t stop.

His fingers clamp down harder on the sink, knuckles whitening as he leans forward, trying to hold himself in place.

“It’s not real,” he breathes, the words coming out uneven. “It’s not…”

It takes a moment. But slowly, the images start to fade again, receding just enough for him to breathe properly, for the room to come back into focus around him.

He lifts his head slightly, staring at his reflection.

He hates this. He hates that he still goes back there, that it still follows him, no matter how much times passes. And that he can’t even escape it today of all days.

A sharp knock at the door makes him jump.

“Will?”

It’s Mike.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he calls back quickly, even though his voice sounds slightly off to his own ears. “Just give me a second.”

He turns off the water, wiping his hands quickly on a towel before reaching for the lock.

Mike is standing outside in the hallway, and Will can see that his expression has turned into something that looks like concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks again. 

Will forces a smile. Or at least, he hopes it looks like one.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m fine.”

Mike studies him for a second longer, like he’s trying to decide whether to believe that or not. Then, slowly, his expression eases, a small grin replacing it.

“Okay,” he says. “Good.”

He shifts his weight slightly. “We picked the next movie,” he adds. “But you gotta do something else first.”

Will frowns slightly. “What?”

Instead of answering, Mike reaches out and takes his hand again. Just like that. 

“C’mon,” he says, already pulling him along.

The contact sends that same feeling rushing back immediately, warm and unfamiliar and impossible to ignore. He tries not to focus on it.

By the time they step back into the living room, Joyce is already waiting. She’s holding a cake, the candles already lit. Their small flames flicker softly in the dim light of the living room.

“There you are,” she says gently.

She steps closer, holding it out toward him. “Go on, sweetheart. Make a wish.”

Will hesitates for just a second as he steps forward. When he’s standing close enough, his gaze flicks once again back to Mike. He’s standing with the others, smiling at Will. 

Will turns back to the candles, closes his eyes and without even trying to think of something, the thought rises to the surface already. 

I wish I wouldn’t be so afraid anymore.

He leans forward, and blows out the candles.

March 22nd, 1986 - 15th birthday

Will stands in the middle of his room, the house around him is quiet in that unfamiliar way he still needs to get used to. It’s been months since they moved here and according to his mom that’s long enough that it should start to feel normal. This should feel like home, but it doesn’t.

Because home, at least for Will, has never just been walls and furniture and the shape of a place. For him it’s always been something else, something harder to explain, something built out of people and moments and the feeling of belonging somewhere without having to think about it.

And most of that is gone now. He left it behind in Hawkins. 

He exhales slowly and turns his head, his gaze landing on the easel in the corner of the room.

The painting waits there, like it has for days now. He hasn’t touched it since he finished it, he mostly just stood in front of it and studied it over and over again. He isn’t even sure what he’d been looking for.

Maybe he’s been trying to decide if it’s enough. If he is.

He stands in front of it now once more. He takes in the colors, the brushstrokes and all the details he’s added over time. While working on it initially, he hadn’t even fully understood what he’d been doing. But now he does.

His focus settles on the center of the painting, on the figure that’s supposed to resemble Mike. That small figure alone took him an entire day. And now, just looking at it, makes something in his chest tighten. 

He swallows, and for the hundredth time he imagines what it would be like to give it to Mike, to let him see it. 

What if he doesn’t like it?

What if he doesn’t understand it?

Or maybe it’d be even worse if he does. What if he asks Will why? 

Because Will knows that the answer isn’t something he can just say out loud. For a long time, he didn’t even have the words for it himself. It had been something distant, something easy to ignore if he didn’t look at it too closely. 

But the longer he worked on the painting, the more it took shape under his hands, the harder it became to pretend it was just a drawing for his best friend.

It never really was. Somewhere along the way it became something else entirely. It now stands for something that had been sitting in the back of his mind for longer than he wants to admit, maybe even longer than he realizes.

And now that this painting exists, it’s impossible to take back. 

Will reaches out, his fingers hovering just short of the canvas, like he’s afraid that touching it might change something, might make it more real than it already is.

His heart is still racing. Because this isn’t just a gift, it’s a confession.

There’s a soft knock on the door that pulls him out of his thoughts immediately. 

He blinks, like he’s been somewhere else entirely, then straightens slightly. “Yeah?” he calls. “Come in.”

The door opens just a little, and El steps inside slowly. A smile appears on her lips the moment her eyes land on him.

“I wasn’t sure if you were awake yet,” she says, her voice light, but a little tentative. “I wanted to give you your present.”

Will shakes his head almost instantly, a small, automatic protest. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted to,” she says simply.

She steps closer and holds out a small package, and for a moment something inside of Will refuses, but then he eventually takes it. Not doing it would be rude and at least it seems to be something small. 

“Thanks,” he says, and begins to unwrap it. Inside is a bracelet.

It’s simple, clearly handmade and it’s made from different shades of blue. The thread is woven together in careful patterns.

“It’s… I made it,” El says, watching his reaction closely. “I used blue. Because I know that’s your favorite color. Right?”

Will nods quickly, looking up at her, his expression softening. “It is. I really like it.”

And he means it. The fact that she made the effort, that she even thought of making something for him settles warm in his chest.

El smiles, obviously relieved he likes it.

“I think it is funny,” she adds after a moment, tilting her head slightly, “because Mike likes blue too. Or at least he wears it a lot. I never asked him if it was intentional.”

Will tries not to let his smile falter. He tries to keep it steady, as if her words don’t have any effect on him. 

“Yeah,” he says, maybe a little too quick. “I guess he does.”

El doesn’t seem to notice though. Instead she steps forward again and hugs him, her arms wrapping around him tightly. 

“Happy birthday, Will.”

Will hugs her back, steady and careful. “Thanks.”

She pulls away again, and her expression brightens almost immediately. “I can’t wait to pick up Mike at the airport,” she says.

“Me neither,” he answers and that part, at least, is as true as it can get. He’s been thinking about this day for weeks. Not because of his birthday, but because of Mike coming here to visit them for spring break.

El’s gaze drifts past him then, catching on something behind his shoulder. Will already knows what she’s looking at - the easel. He moves before he can think about it, stepping to the side and placing himself between her and the painting, even though it’s turned away from her anyway.

El looks back at him, curious but not suspicious. “Will I ever see it?” she asks. “What you’ve been working on for so long?”

Will shrugs, forcing himself to stay casual. “It’s not ready yet.”

She studies him for a second, like she might ask more, but fortunately decides not to press.

“Okay,” she says instead, accepting his answer easily. “We have to leave soon.”

Will nods. “Yeah.”

She gives him one last small smile before turning and stepping out of the room, the door closing softly behind her.

Will turns back to the painting again once he’s alone. For a moment, he just looks at it again, the same way he has for days now - hesitant and uncertain, as if he’s caught somewhere between wanting to hide it and wanting it to be seen. 

But now it feels different. Maybe it’s the way El said Mike’s name and how Will had felt his heart reacting to that instantly. Or maybe it’s because of the realization that Mike is going to be here, today, close and impossible to ignore. 

And suddenly his hesitation seems to break. Suddenly, the idea of keeping it hidden feels worse than the risk of giving it to him. His heartbeat picks up with the thought.

Will steps forward, hands a little unsteady as he carefully lifts the canvas from the easel. He rolls it up gently, making sure not to crease it. He secures it in place with a small band and looks at it resting in his hands. 

It feels final, like he can’t undo it now.

“Will!”

Jonathan’s voice carries up from downstairs, cutting through the moment. “C’mon, we gotta go!”

There’s movement in the house now, a door opening, footsteps on the first floor. 

“Argyle’s here!” Jonathan adds.

Will swallows, tightening his grip slightly around the rolled-up painting.

“Coming!” he calls back.

When Will comes downstairs, he finds his mother already in the kitchen, but something about the way she’s moving feels off. She’s pacing the small space a little too quick, almost restless. 

She’s going back and forth between the counter and the sink, not really finishing anything she starts, her hands busy but unfocused, and for a moment Will just stands there in the doorway, watching her, trying to make sense of it.

“Mom?” he asks finally.

She startles. Not dramatically, but enough that it’s noticeable. When she turns to him, her expression shifts into something brighter, but Will can see that it’s forced. 

“Oh, Will,” she says, like she didn’t expect him yet. “There you are.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she says immediately, but her voice has an edge to it that Will can’t really explain. Then she softens it, adding, “I’m fine. I just…” She gestures vaguely toward the counter, then toward the wall, where the telephone sits. “I’m waiting for a call. From a client.”

She nods toward it, like that explains everything. Will isn’t fully convinced, but decides to let it go. 

“Okay,” is all he says.

For a second, she just looks at him. And then something in her expression shifts again, her eyes widening just slightly. The next second she’s stepping forward, closing the distance between them and before he can react, she’s pulling him into a tight hug.

“Happy birthday,” she says, her voice warmer now. 

Will hugs her back, a little more carefully this time, aware of the tension still sitting in her shoulders.

“Thanks, Mom.”

She pulls back, but only just, her hands lingering on his arms like she’s not quite ready to let go yet.

“I’ll give you your present later,” she says, and then hesitates, like she was about to say something else and thought better of it. “Right now I just need to…”

She cuts herself off. 

Will knows something is off, like something is just slightly out of place. But he doesn’t ask because he’s learned, by now, that sometimes asking only leads to answers you didn’t want to get in the first place. 

Instead, he nods.

She recovers quickly, offering him another small smile. “Do you want anything special for dinner tonight?” she asks. “I could get a cake, if you want.”

Will shakes his head. “It’s fine. I don’t need anything.”

Her smile softens, something almost sad flickering through it before it disappears again. “Alright,” she says.

Footsteps sound from the hallway, and a moment later Jonathan and El step into the kitchen, already halfway out the door in their energy.

“Ready?” Jonathan asks.

Will nods, adjusting his grip slightly on the rolled-up painting still in his hand.

“Yes, coming.”

They head outside together, the sky already bright in that way California mornings always are. 

Argyle’s van is parked out front, the familiar logo painted along the side, and he’s already leaning out the window when they approach.

“Yo!” he calls. “Let’s roll, brochachos.”

They pile in. Jonathan takes the front passenger seat, while Will and El slide into the back. A moment later the van is already pulling away from the curb. 

For a few minutes, it’s quiet. Then Jonathan twists around in his seat, reaching back suddenly.

“Hey,” he says, tossing something toward Will.

Will barely catches it in time. It’s a cassette.

He turns it over in his hands, reading the label - Byers Mixtape #2, written in Jonathan’s handwriting.

“Happy birthday,” Jonathan adds, winking slightly before turning back around like it’s no big deal.

Will can’t help the small smile that tugs at his mouth.

“Thanks,” he says.

From the driver’s seat, Argyle glances at him through the rearview mirror. “Wait, hold up,” he says. “It’s your birthday?”

Will looks up. “Yeah.”

“Dude,” Argyle says, genuinely distressed. “You didn’t tell me? I would’ve brought pizza.”

Will lets out a small laugh. “It’s fine. It’s like, ten in the morning.”

Argyle considers that for a second. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair,” he admits. Then, his face brightening slightly, he adds, “I could still sing you a song, if you want.”

“No,” Will, El, and Jonathan say at the exact same time.

There’s a brief pause.

Argyle blinks, like he had been expecting a much different answer. Then he nods slowly. “Alright,” he says. “Just a thought.”

And then he turns his attention back to the road.

Will leans back slightly in his seat, both his hands now occupied. In one he’s still holding the rolled-up painting, and the other turns the cassette over and over again between his fingers.

For a moment, he lets himself drift back to other birthdays. Back when mornings like this felt lighter, filled with something uncomplicated and easy. When he didn’t have to think about everything too deeply.

When he was younger this day always felt special. Today it’s quieter, which doesn’t mean it’s bad. But it’s also just like any other day of the week. And maybe, he thinks, this is what growing up really is. It’s not those big, obvious changes one would expect when you reach a certain age. 

It’s just the way things that used to mean everything slowly start to feel like less, until you’re not sure it even happened at all. 

An hour later, they’re sitting at the gate. Around them there’s strangers moving past, and the distant echo of announcements over the speakers that blend together with the murmur of voices. 

Will barely hears any of it. He’s been staring in the same direction for what feels like forever now, his eyes fixed to the place where passengers start to appear. 

The painting rests in his hands, his fingers curled carefully around it, like letting go of it might undo whatever fragile decision he made earlier.

Beside him, El shifts slightly in her seat, leaning forward just a little more.

“He’s here,” she announces suddenly and she’s already standing before the words have fully left her mouth.

Will follows her gaze, and sees him too. 

Mike.

He’s making his way through the crowd, obviously a little rumpled from the long flight, but it’s unmistakably him.

Something in Will’s chest jolts, his heart kicking into motion far too fast, like it’s trying to make up for the months in between all at once.

He’s on his feet before he even realizes it, rising almost at the same moment El does.

“Mike!” she calls.

Mike looks up, and sees them. He starts walking faster immediately.

Will doesn’t move at first, he just watches what happens. How El breaks into a run to close the remaining distance between them and throws her arms around Mike. They kiss, then hug, both things happening so easily and certain that it makes Will look away briefly. 

He looks down at the painting in his hands, his fingers tightening slightly around the edges as he forces himself to take a slow breath.

Then the two seem to be done with their greeting and he takes a small step forward. Mike looks up at him immediately. 

“Hey,” Will says.

For a second Mike’s expression shifts into something that almost looks like surprise, like he hadn’t expected Will to be here. 

Will tries to ignore it and moves closer anyway, already leaning in slightly, like he’s done a hundred times before, but Mike doesn’t mirror it. 

Instead, he reaches out and claps Will on the shoulder, the motion quick, stopping whatever that moment could have been before it even begins.

Will hesitates, caught halfway between stepping forward and pulling back, and the result is something awkward, that isn’t really a hug but also nothing else at the same time. It lingers there for a second too long.

Mike steps back again and smiles, like nothing about it was strange. As if that was the normal way for them to greet each other after spending months apart. 

Will forces himself to smile back.

“Hey,” he says again, quieter this time.

He tries not to let his disappointment show. 

Mike’s attention shifts almost immediately, glancing between them, taking everything in quickly, already moving on. Until his eyes land on the painting in Will’s hands.

“What’s that?” he asks.

For a split second, Will freezes. He knows this is the moment he thought about for weeks. The one he built up in his head over and over again. The one where he would hand it over, just say it and then… But all of his courage is gone, like it had never been there to begin with. 

He shifts the painting slightly, and makes a vague, almost dismissive gesture with it, like it’s nothing of value. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he says. “Just… a painting I’ve been working on.”

Mike nods once.

“Cool.”

And then, just like that, his attention is drifting once more. To El, to Jonathan, to anything that isn’t this. 

Will stands there for a moment longer, the words he didn’t say still caught somewhere in his throat. 

He keeps the smile on his face, because he knows that’s easier than what he was actually supposed to do. But deep inside him, everything feels off. Wrong in a way he can’t fix. This isn’t how he imagined this to go, not even close.

And he will come to realize that this isn’t even the worst part of the day.

It’s not the awkward greeting at the airport, not the way everything between them felt just slightly off from the very beginning. It’s not even what happened at Rink-O-Mania, El’s outburst, or their argument that followed, when Mike basically admitted that he hadn’t even thought about calling him.

All of that is bad, but none of that is what stings the most. It’s something Will only fully understands when the day is already almost over. 

Mike never said it once. He didn’t say it when they met at the airport, not in the car, not at any point during the day. 

He never said happy birthday.

At first, Will tries not to think about it, and tries to explain it away. He tries to find reasons until it almost makes sense. Maybe he was distracted, he hadn’t seen El in months, and of course she would take up all his attention.

Of course.

Of course.

But the thought keeps coming back anyway, because Will knows with unwavering certainty that he would never forget Mike’s birthday. Mike is his best friend, has always been. Or at least that’s what Will thought for most of his life. 

But now, after everything that’s happened today, after the way Mike looked at him or even worse - the way he didn’t look at him - it seemed like everything was slowly slipping out of his reach. As if, after everything they’ve been through, they’re suddenly speaking different versions of the same language.  

Will isn’t sure about anything anymore. Maybe he had been wrong. 

The truth is, the distance has changed something between them. Or it might’ve even started way back. Now it seems like there’s so many things unsaid between them and Mike’s attention drifts easily toward El, like that’s where it belongs.

And after all, she’s his girlfriend. She should matter more to him. It’s normal.

But the fact that it might be normal doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. 

He looks down at the painting in his hands. He is standing in his room again, alone. The painting almost feels like a testament to how everything went wrong today. 

He thinks back to this morning, when, for a brief moment, he’d actually felt ready to give it to Mike. But now it just feels heavy in his hands, like something he should’ve let go a long time ago.

It was never just a gift, that much he knows. And after today, Will isn’t even sure if Mike would understand it. If he’d really see it. He would probably just look at it and see something that Will might not be able to say out loud just yet, or that maybe, he isn’t supposed to feel at all. 

For the first time since he finished it, he wonders if he should have made it at all.

He puts the painting on his desk. He hasn’t decided what he’s going to do with it now. He’s not sure if he’d be able to destroy it or simply throw it away. Maybe it will be just another thing that he will have to hold on all by himself.

He leaves his room and stands in the dim hallway for a moment. The house is quiet now that everyone has retreated to their own spaces.

Will’s gaze drifts toward El’s room across the hallway first. Her door is closed.

He can still remember the way she looked after dinner, the way everything seemed to crumble all at once. The anger and hurt she’d felt had been too big to hold in. 

For a moment he considers knocking on her door, just to check if he’s okay. But he knows her and if he knocks now, if he tries to talk to her, she’ll only pull away further. 

So he doesn’t.

His eyes shift instead, landing on the guest room where Mike is staying while he’s here. His door is closed too. 

Will pictures himself going there, waiting until Mike opens the door and just say it to his face: you forgot. He could remind him that it’s birthday today. 

The idea lingers longer than it should. But just as quickly as the thought comes, it falls apart again. Will knows how that would look. He’d seem desperate and Mike probably wouldn’t even react well to it. 

It wouldn’t be worth it. It would only make him feel even smaller and more embarrassed than he already feels. 

And so he turns away and heads downstairs instead. The light in the kitchen is still on, even though no one’s around anymore. 

He opens the fridge, not really sure what he’s looking for, maybe just something to drink, and then he sees it. The leftover pie from yesterday his mom brought home. There’s one slice left.

Without really thinking about it, Will takes out the plate and sets it on the counter where he just looks at it for a second longer. He tilts his head as he reconsiders what he’s about to do. It’s stupid, he knows that. But he does it anyway.

He moves to the drawers, opening them one by one until he finds what he’s looking for. There’s a single small candle, slightly bent near the base, and a lighter tucked behind a stack of things no one uses anymore.

He presses the candle carefully into the pie, adjusting it slightly until it stands upright. By the third try the flame catches and the candle flickers to life. 

Will watches it.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Not like this. Not… alone. 

Then he closes his eyes, leans forward as the thought begins to form in his head. 

I wish he would understand.

He blows out the candle, and opens his eyes again. The flame is gone, left in its wake only a thin trail of smoke that curls upward until it fades away too.

He takes the plate again and walks over to the trash, where he tips the pie into it and watches it disappear out of sight. 

The plate feels strangely light in his hand afterward. He puts it in the sink and leaves the kitchen, flicking off the light while going out.

The house is still quiet as he makes his way back upstairs. 

March 22nd, 1989 - 18th birthday

Will doesn’t wake all at once this morning. It takes him a few minutes to come back to full consciousness. And for those few brief, fragile seconds, everything feels still and untouched. It’s a small window of time where nothing has really caught up with him yet. 

It’s that one moment of every day where he almost forgets. He forgets what’s missing, that she is missing.

Unfortunately, it never lasts long. And then it all comes back sharp and immediate, making it impossible to ignore it.

El is gone.

She’s been gone for a year and a half now, since that day in November, since everything ended, since everything changed, and still, the realization hits him the same way every time, like his mind hasn’t learned how to adjust to it yet.

Will stares up at the ceiling as his thoughts catch up with him whether he wants them to or not.

He wonders, not for the first time, if it will ever stop hurting like this. If one day he’ll wake up and it won’t feel so heavily. If maybe forgetting will one day not be something brief, but something permanent. 

He pushes himself up eventually. He knows there’s no point staying in bed. 

The room is quiet around him, and still unfamiliar in small ways, even though he’s been staying here for so long. The reason isn’t that it’s not comfortable, but because it was never meant to be his in the first place. It’s Nancy’s old room. 

Now it’s his, or at least as close to that as things get these days, since moving out of the basement. 

Joyce and Hopper are in their own place now, and Will stayed here, because it was easier and their apartment barely has enough space for two, anyway. 

Will gets dressed slowly, going through the motions without thinking too much about them, letting routine carry him through what his mind doesn’t want to linger on.

When he finally steps into the hallway, another door opens at the same time. 

When Will looks up, he sees Mike standing a few steps down the hall, just outside his room. His expression shifts almost immediately when he sees Will. It almost looks like surprise, before it eventually settles into something Will cannot fully read. 

For a moment, neither of them moves.

The silence stretches, not uncomfortable exactly, but not easy either, like there’s something unspoken sitting between them that neither of them quite knows how to approach.

Then Mike exhales quietly and steps forward, a faint grin pulling at his lips.

“Hey,” he says. “Happy birthday.”

Will can feel a smile forming on his own lips as well now. 

“Thanks,” he answers, but Mike doesn’t stop there. He walks over to him now and pulls him into a hug, quick at first, but then it lingers, just a little longer than it needs to. 

Will stiffens for only a second before relaxing into it, the warmth of it settling over him, almost overwhelming when he lets himself notice it too much.

He hadn’t expected it, and maybe that’s why it feels like so much more than it actually is. 

He lets himself stay there for that extra second, or even two.

Before Mike pulls back suddenly, like he’s just realized something, like he’s stepped a little too close to something he didn’t mean to.

He smooths down his shirt, clearing his throat, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor before shifting anywhere but directly at Will.

“Uh…” he starts, then stops, then tries again. “We should… go eat. Breakfast.”

Will watches him for a moment, the absence of the hug still lingering in a way that feels strangely noticeable.

Then he nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

And together, they head down the hall.

Will leaves immediately after breakfast. He’s promised his mother to come over for a little while since she wanted to have at least a little time with him on his birthday.

They talk for a few hours, not about anything important, not about anything that lingers too long. Maybe because there’s this unspoken thing now to avoid any heavy themes or anything that would scratch just a little too close to wounds that haven’t fully healed yet.

And then, later, he calls Jonathan.

The line rings a few times before he picks up, and when he does, the familiarity of his voice soothes the knot in his chest just the faintest bit. 

“Hey, birthday boy,” Jonathan says, a smile in his voice even if Will can’t see it. “Sorry I couldn’t make it.”

Will leans back slightly where he’s sitting, the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. “It’s fine,” he says. “I know you’ve got stuff going on.”

And he means it. There’s no resentment there, no disappointment. He understands that things are different now and that everyone is moving forward in their own way, even if it means not always being in the same place anymore.

They talk for a while after that, longer than Will expects, about small things at first. Mostly about Jonathan’s classes, the people he met, things that don’t really matter but still feel important in the moment. 

“What are you doing later?” Jonathan asks eventually. “They throwing you some big party or something?”

Will huffs a small, quiet laugh.

“No,” he says. “Nothing like that. It’s just gonna be us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah,” Will replies, shifting slightly. “Me, Mike, Lucas, Dustin, Max.”

There’s a brief pause, like Jonathan is picturing it.

“We’re just gonna play D&D,” Will adds. “That’s it.”

Jonathan lets out a soft breath that sounds mildly amused.

“So… basically like every other Saturday night with you guys.”

Will smiles faintly. “Yeah,” he says. “Pretty much. But I don’t know… I’m just not really in the mood for anything big.” 

The silence that follows is different. Jonathan doesn’t respond right away, and Will knows, without needing to hear it, that he understands.

“You still miss her,” Jonathan says finally, his voice softer now, more careful. “Right?”

It’s not really a question. Not the kind of question that demands an answer at least.

Will’s grip tightens slightly around the phone, his eyes drifting unfocused for a second as they always do when he lets himself think about it directly.

“Yes,” he admits. “It’s just…” He hesitates, searching for something that feels right, something that doesn’t sound too small for what it is. “It’s not the same without her here.”

Jonathan exhales softly on the other end, like he’s been holding that breath.

“I know,” he says.

Another pause.

“But you should still try to enjoy it, okay?” Jonathan adds after a moment. “It’s your day. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

Will lets that sit for a second. Then he nods, even though Jonathan can’t see it.

“I’ll try,” he says.

They don’t stay on the phone much longer after that. A few more words, a quiet goodbye, something easy to end on. Then Will hangs up and puts the phone away.

On his way back to the Wheeler house, Will lets his thoughts drift, as he passes the familiar streets of Hawkins.

It’s hard not to think about her.

Ever since El died, ever since she made that decision, there hasn’t really been a day where she wasn’t there in some form, lingering at the edges of everything.

Will has tried to understand it. He really has. He tried to see it the way she must have seen it and tried to accept that, in her mind, there wasn’t any other option. 

But understanding it doesn’t make it easier, nor makes it hurt less.

No matter how many times he tells himself she might have made the right decision, it still means she’s gone. And they’re all still here, supposed to move on with their lives as if nothing ever happened. 

They all think of her, every single day. But Mike took it the hardest, of course. 

In the weeks after it happened, it was like something inside him had cracked open completely, like everything he’d been holding together just… fell apart all at once, leaving nothing behind to keep him steady.

Will remembers clearly how Mike had barely slept, barely ate and how it sometimes seemed like he wasn’t even there at all. 

They all tried to be there for him - Lucas, Dustin, Max, they all did what they could. They stayed close and tried to fill the silence when it got too heavy, tried to pull him back into something that resembled normal.

But it wasn’t easy, and it sure as hell wasn’t quick. It was slow and uneven, just like healing works. And even now, a year and a half later, Will isn’t sure if it’s something that ever fully goes away.

Mike is better now. He laughs more, talks more. And somewhere along the way, without either of them really planning it, the two of them started spending more time together than they ever did. 

They’d stay up long into the night, where their conversations drifted from one topic to another without really talking about anything at all. Eventually, inevitably so, they kept circling back to her. They shared memories, small details and things that felt too import to keep to themselves. 

Sometimes it would happen gradually, when a pause just lasted a little too long. And then, one of them would start to cry. The other always followed not shortly after. 

They were there for each other through the worst of it and in a way, it brought them closer. 

Will thinks about those nights sometimes.

The ones that stretched until morning, until exhaustion took over, until Mike would end up falling asleep in Will’s bed without meaning to, his breathing evening out slowly after hours of trying to hold himself together.

Will had never wanted to like those moments. He told himself, over and over again, that he shouldn’t. It was wrong to find anything good in something that came from so much pain. Mike was still hurting. 

But there was a part of him, a small, selfish part, that couldn’t just ignore the way it felt to have him there. Close enough to reach out without thinking about it. To just exist in that space without the fear it might be too much or that it might be noticed in the wrong way.

That fear had been there for so long, lingering in the background of everything that was going on between them. Until it suddenly wasn’t anymore. 

It had been until that one moment during Christmas break. It hadn’t really felt like anything special at first, just another late night, another endless conversation. The words had come out before Will could stop them.

He told Mike he’d had feelings for him, for years. And for a second, Will had thought that everything might shift, that something between them might break or change in a way that couldn’t be undone.

But Mike hadn’t looked surprised, which had surprised Will even more. He had just smiled, soft and knowing, and said that he’d figured already. He’d known, or at least he’d suspected.

Will apologized immediately. Because that was what he thought he was supposed to do. 

Mike had interrupted him fast and told him there was nothing to apologize for. To him, it didn’t change anything. He didn’t want to lose Will. And Will had said the same. Because no matter what he felt, no matter how complicated it was, he had never wanted anything more than to be a part of Mike’s life, in whatever way he was allowed to be.

They hugged after that. With that one single gesture, a weight he’d been carrying for years had finally fallen off him.

But then something funny happened, and Will still can’t really tell when exactly it started, because it didn’t happen all at once. It happened gradually, over the course of weeks and months, in small moments others might’ve missed. Until eventually, they became impossible to ignore. 

At first, it was just the way Mike looked at him. His gaze would linger a little longer than usual, like he had forgotten to look away in time. There were quite a few moments where Will would glance up and find Mike already staring at him. Not in a casual, passing way he was used to, though. 

And every time Will pointed it out, every time he asked, half-teasing, what are you looking at? Mike would get weird about it. As if Will pointing it out made him nervous. 

At first, Will thought the worst. He thought that maybe this was some kind of delayed reaction to what he had told Mike and that things were now shifting between them after all. As if Mike had only needed some time to properly process it. 

But it didn’t feel like that. Because beside those glances, Mike seemed to be moving closer in other ways too. The way he would come by Will’s room in the evenings, at first with some excuse, something about homework, about being bored, about not wanting to be alone, and then, eventually, without one at all, just showing up and staying.

Then he’d started to suggest they go out more often, just the two of them. He’d insist, to be exact. They went to the movies, or took walks without having a destination. 

What Will noticed the most, though, was the way Mike would reach for him. Touches that used to be casual suddenly weren’t. Mike’s hand would brush against his arm and then linger there for a second too long. He would lean into him without thinking, always searching for Will’s space. Hugs became more frequent too. 

It all felt like Mike had stopped holding himself back.

Will doesn’t know what it means.

He’s tried not to think about it too much, tried not to let his mind run too far ahead of what’s actually there, because he knows himself well enough to understand how easily hope can turn into something else. And he really doesn’t want to read into something that isn’t real.

He just lets it happen now, because he cannot deny that he’s enjoying it, all of it. Maybe someday whatever this is or whatever it could become, might finally be something they actually talk about. 

By the time evening has arrived, the house fills with the voices of their friends. Their laughter carries down into the basement before they’ve fully reached it. 

Max is the first to reach Will, and she pulls him into a quick hug that lingers just long enough to mean something, followed by Lucas and Dustin, who both talk over each other as they hand him their presents, the energy between them loud and chaotic.

For a while, it works just fine. It’s a welcome distraction from all the other things lingering in the back of his mind. 

Will smiles, laughs when he’s supposed to, thanks them, lets himself be pulled into it, into the feeling of it, like maybe if he just stays in this moment long enough, it will hold together.

But then, when they sit down, there’s a shift. They can all feel it instantly, the way the energy that filled the room only moments ago starts to fade away. 

He looks at his friends, one after the other. He knows neither of them has to say it out loud, because they’re all thinking the same. He can see it in their eyes.

Something is missing. Someone is missing. There should be six of them.

Surprisingly enough, Mike is the one who speaks first.

“I don’t want to see those faces,” he says suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

They all look at him.

“It’s Will’s birthday,” Mike continues, sitting up a little straighter as if to prove his point further. “And I didn’t spend days working on this campaign just for you guys to sit here and wallow in self-pity.”

There’s a brief pause, because no one had expected Mike - of all people - to be the one pulling them out of it. 

Max raises an eyebrow slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Wow,” she says. “That might actually be the first smart thing you’ve said in a while.”

Mike scoffs immediately, rolling his eyes. “Yeah? I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

“Doubt it,” Max shoots back.

“Can we just play?” Lucas cuts in, already reaching for the board, his tone practical but lighter now. “That was the whole point.”

And that’s what they do. They fall into it instantly, like stepping back into something familiar and well-worn. It’s something that still stayed the same, even after everything else has changed.

The campaign is perfect. It’s immersive in a way that pulls them in completely, Mike guiding them through it with an ease and confidence that makes it clear how much thought he’s put into the planning of it. 

They laugh, and they argue. They get caught up in the story and for a little while, at least, it feels like it used to, like nothing is missing at all.

It lasts longer than Will expects. Long enough that he almost forgets why they’re here tonight.

“Oh my god.”

Dustin sits up suddenly, his eyes wide.

“I almost forgot.”

Everyone turns toward him at once.

“What?” Will asks.

Dustin grins, already halfway to his feet, as his gaze drifts toward Will. “We have another surprise for you.”

Will immediately shakes his head. “I don’t know if I’m a huge fan of surprises.”

“You’ll like this one,” Max says, standing with Dustin now.

“Definitely,” Lucas adds.

Before Will can protest further, the three of them are already heading for the stairs, moving quickly, exchanging looks like they’re all in on something he isn’t.

Once they’re headed up the stairs, it’s just him and Mike left. The space down here feels much quieter now, without all of their voices. 

Will glances at Mike, suspicion flickering across his expression. “You know what this is about?”

Mike shakes his head immediately, holding up his hands slightly. “I swear, I don’t. They didn’t tell me anything.”

He leans back a little, looking just as curious as Will feels.

They sit there for a moment and just wait for the others to come back. 

Will shifts a little where he’s sitting, his hands resting loosely in his lap, his attention drifting back to the board in front of him even though he’s not really looking at it anymore.

Beside him, Mike is unusually still.

“I wanted to give you something,” Mike announces out of the blue and Will looks up at him.

“What?”

Mike shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, even though there’s something off about the way he says it, something slightly uneven. “A present.”

Will shakes his head again, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You didn’t have to do that. The campaign was already supposed to be my present, remember?”

“I know,” Mike says. 

There’s a brief pause before he pushes himself up and moves to a corner of the basement where he reaches for something sitting behind some boxes on the floor. He must’ve hid it there before they came down here obviously. 

When Mike comes back, there’s a wrapped present in his hand which he holds out to Will.

“Here.”

Will takes it carefully.

For a second, he just looks at it, his fingers brushing over the paper, suddenly very aware of Mike sitting back down next to him.

He can feel Mike watching him.

His heart picks up just slightly, as he starts to unwrap it. Once it’s all the way stripped off the paper, he finds a sketchbook. 

Will stills for a moment, but then a genuine smile spreads on his lips as he turns it in his hands, flips it open and looks through the empty pages. 

“Mike, this is great.” He looks up at him. “Thank you.”

Mike shrugs again, but this time it’s different. Not just like he’s trying to dismiss the importance of the gesture, but because he looks nervous now. 

“I just thought, y’know,” he says, his words coming out a little uneven, “since you’re going to NYU and everything… you’ll probably be sketching a lot, and… whatever.” He trails off, like he’s lost track of what he was trying to say initially.

Will’s smile doesn’t fade.

“I love it,” he says. “Really.”

Mike nods once, like he’s trying to accept that, but there’s still something there. Will can see that there’s something else. Something Mike is about to say or do. But Will doesn’t rush it, he just sits there, the sketchbook still in his hands, and waits. 

Mike is quiet for a moment longer. But when he takes a deep breath, Will knows he’s ready. And then he finally starts talking. 

“I just… I know things are about to change,” he starts. “With college and everything. You going to New York, me staying here for a bit, it’s… it’s not gonna be like this anymore.”

He hesitates briefly, then continues, pushing through it.

“And I just… I wanted you to know that I don’t want that to mess anything up. With us, I mean.” He shakes his head slightly, like he’s trying to correct himself as he goes. “Not that it would, but… things already have changed, right? Not in a bad way, just-” He exhales, frustrated with himself. “Different. It’s different now. And I don’t even know if you’ve noticed, but I have. I’ve noticed.”

His voice tightens slightly.

“And it kinda scares me,” he admits, quieter now. “Because after everything we’ve been through, after everything we lost…”

His voice breaks just a little on that, but he keeps going anyway. It seems like now that he’s started, he won’t stop until he’s finished.

“I can’t lose you too, Will. I just can’t.”

Will swallows, as tears are already gathering in the corners of his eyes. But he tries to blink them away for now.

“You’re not going to,” he says softly. “We’re still gonna be friends. Even if we’re in different places. That doesn’t change anything.”

Mike nods, like he wants to believe that.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know. You’re probably right.”

But something in his expression doesn’t settle. There’s more.

“It’s just… there’s something else,” he continues after a second, his voice quieter again, more uncertain. “And I don’t… I don’t really know how to explain it. I’ve been trying to figure it out, trying to find the words for it, and I just… can’t. Which is…” He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a humorless laugh. “That’s never happened to me before. I just know it’s there. And I don’t know what it is yet, or what it means, or what it could… what it could turn into, but… I feel it. I do. And that scares me too.”

His voice lowers slightly.

“Because I don’t know if it’s real, or if it’s just… everything else. The grief, the stuff we went through, losing her… maybe it’s just that, messing with my head. But it doesn’t feel like that. It feels-” He stops, searching for the right words, then shakes his head again. “It feels real. It feels real when I’m around you. When you laugh, or when you look at me like… like that.”

Will doesn’t move. He’s not even sure if he’s still breathing. 

“And I know I should probably just… let it happen,” Mike says. “Just see where it goes, what it means, if it means anything at all. But I can’t. Not right now. I’m too scared.”

The admission hangs in the air for a moment and Mike looks down at his hands now.

“Because if I’m wrong, or if I mess this up somehow, or if it changes things in a way we can’t fix, then I lose you too. And I can’t risk that. Not now. Not after everything.”

He swallows.

“I need more time. To figure it out. To understand it. And I know that’s not fair to you, and maybe you don’t want to wait, or maybe you don’t even-” He stops himself again, not continuing this thought further. “I don’t know. I just… I can’t do this yet. I’m not ready.”

For a moment, everything feels suspended, like the world has narrowed down to just this, the space between them and the weight of what was just said.

Because Will does understand. He understands exactly what Mike is trying to say, even if Mike doesn’t have the words for it yet.

And a part of him, a very loud and overwhelming part at that, is internally screaming, because this - this is it. Mike just admitted it, in his own way, in his own tangled, uncertain, complicated way.

But Will can also see the fear and hesitation in his eyes. Mike is holding himself back, not because he doesn’t feel something, but because he feels too much and doesn’t know what to do with it. 

Will would never, ever, try and push him into something he isn’t ready for. And so he just smiles at him again. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and the words make Mike look back up at him. The uncertainty in his face is something Will has never seen in him before. 

“It’s okay if you need more time,” he continues. “You’re allowed to figure it out at your own pace. But… if you want me to, I’d like to be there for that. As your best friend.”

For a second, Mike just stares at him. Then the relief seems to hit him all at once, visible in the way his shoulders loosen and the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath the entire time.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding quickly. “Yeah, I want that.”

Before either of them can say anything else, the silence breaks suddenly with the sound of loud voices coming from upstairs. A second later footsteps follow as the others make their way back down.

Will turns just as they arrive at the bottom of the stairs. 

Lucas stands front row, carefully balancing a cake in his hands, the candles already lit, their small flames flickering with every step he takes. Behind him, Dustin and Max are talking over each other, their argument already in full swing before they’ve even fully entered the room.

“I told you it would turn out fine.”

“That doesn’t mean it did.”

“At least I didn’t almost burn it”

Max cuts him off immediately. “I didn’t burn it, and for the record, I made sure it’s actually edible this time,” she adds, glancing toward Will with a small, proud smile.

Dustin scoffs. “That’s a low bar.”

“Okay, can you two shut up for like five seconds?” Lucas says, already moving toward the table, carefully setting the cake down. “He’s supposed to blow out the candles before they melt.”

Will laughs, and pushes himself to his feet.

“Alright,” he says as he steps closer while the others form a loose circle around him, waiting expectantly for him to blow out the candles. 

For a moment, everything feels still.

Will looks at the candles, and he doesn’t have to think long for a wish to form. 

He closes his eyes. 

I wish we’ll all be okay.

He leans forward, and blows them out. When he opens his eyes again, the first thing he sees is Mike, standing a few feet away, watching him. He’s smiling. And somehow that alone feels like a promise worth holding on to. 

March 22nd, 1992 - 21st birthday

Will hesitates for just a second before stepping inside. For some reason, the simple act of walking inside feels like he’s doing something illegal. 

But he does it anyway and the moment the door closes behind him, the noise of the bar wraps around him. There’s voices layered over music and laughter spilling from a table close to him. 

And the feeling intensifies once more. He feels like he shouldn’t be here, and any moment someone’s gonna walk up to him and tell him he’s in the wrong place.

The bouncer who’s standing right in the entrance has his eyes on Will instantly, holding out his hand with a grumpy expression on his face. Will hands him his ID, and the man scans the card for a moment. Will’s pulse races under his skin as he waits for him to be done. 

The man looks at it, then back at him again as if to check it’s the same person.

For a second, Will wonders if he’s about to be told no. But then the man nods, hands him back his ID, and steps aside. 

Will exhales quietly and moves past him. It takes him a moment to adjust, to scan the room properly, his gaze moving from face to face, from table to table, searching until he finds them. 

Lucas and Dustin are sitting at the counter, leaning into each other, talking loudly over the noise, their hands moving animatedly as they speak. It almost looks like they’re arguing. 

Will smiles to himself.

Some things don’t change.

He walks over, making his way through the crowd, and as soon as they notice him, both of them straighten, sliding off their stools almost immediately.

“Hey!” Dustin says, already reaching him first.

“Birthday boy,” Lucas adds, pulling him into a quick hug.

Will laughs softly, returning it. 

“How does it feel?” Dustin asks, stepping back and looking at him like he expects something different.

“Yeah,” Lucas adds. “Twenty-one. Big deal.”

Will shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Honestly? I don’t feel any different.”

“Lame,” Dustin says immediately.

Lucas snorts. “Give it a drink or two.”

They move over to one of the tables, claiming a space big enough for four. A waitress comes by not long after, pen already in hand.

Dustin doesn’t even let Will speak.

“It’s on us tonight,” he says quickly.

Will frowns. “You don’t have to-”

“We want to,” Lucas cuts in.

“Yeah, don’t ruin this,” Dustin adds. “It’s tradition. Or it is now, at least.”

Will hesitates, then gives in with a small shake of his head. “Fine. But just this once.”

“Sure,” Dustin says, clearly not meaning it.

They order a round of beer, the words feeling strange coming out of Will’s mouth, even now, like he’s still getting used to the idea that he can just… do that.

Then the waitress leaves, and for a moment, it’s just them again.

Will leans back slightly in his chair. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “The subway was messed up. One got delayed, another got canceled, so I had to walk the last few blocks.”

Lucas waves it off immediately. “It’s fine.”

“You’re here. That’s what matters,” Dustin adds. 

There’s a brief pause.

“And where’s Wheeler?” Lucas asks, and glances around as if Mike might just be sitting at a different table. 

Dustin shrugs. “Talked to him this morning. He said his train was leaving this afternoon.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow. “Which means he should already be here.”

“Yup,” Dustin says, rolling his eyes slightly. “So… typical Mike, I guess.”

Lucas huffs a laugh. “Always late.”

They both chuckle, and Will joins in, the sound easy enough to fake, to blend in with theirs.

But to be honest, he’s been nervous about this evening for days already. And that nervousness is now in full bloom.

It’s been a while since he and Mike had seen each other for the last time. Longer than it should have been.

They’ve talked, of course. They called each other from time to time, which kept things from fading completely. But it hasn’t been the same, not at all. It’s not like back home when everything felt constant and close and certain. 

Life got in the way, is what one could call it. There’s the distance, after all.

And maybe… Will let it happen. Maybe he stopped reaching out as often, telling himself he didn’t want to be annoying and didn’t want to be the one always calling. He didn’t want to be the only one holding onto something that might not mean the same thing anymore. 

At least they never lost contact. There was always something there. 

It’s just been different ever since that night of his 18th birthday, where Mike stood in front of him and admitted that there was something he didn’t understand yet, something he wasn’t ready to face. 

Ever since that night something exists between them that neither of them has fully dared to touch again. But it lingers quietly in every conversation and even louder in everything they don’t say.

Will keeps wondering almost every day if it’s still there. If it ever changed into something more. Or if he’s still waiting for something that will never happen.

“There he is!” 

Lucas’ voice cuts through Will’s thoughts so suddenly that it takes him a second to catch up, his head turning almost automatically in the direction Lucas is already looking.

Mike is pushing his way through the crowd, moving quickly, like he’s been rushing the entire time. His hair is slightly messy, his jacket half unzipped, a bag slung over his shoulder like he hasn’t even stopped anywhere yet. He must’ve come here straight from the train.

Dustin and Lucas are already on their feet before Will can react, stepping forward to meet him halfway.

“Finally,” Lucas says.

“Dude, you’re late,” Dustin adds accusingly. 

Mike exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I know and I’m sorry. The train was delayed and then I had to switch trains at some random station.” He gestures vaguely, clearly still trying to catch his breath. “It was a mess, really.”

They laugh it off easily. But then Mike turns, and his eyes land on Will.

For a moment, everything around them seems to still. It’s as if someone has muted the voices of the bar and everyone stopped moving. 

Will can see how Mike’s expression shifts, from rushed into something softer. His eyes seem to focus a bit more now, like he’s taking in the sight of Will properly. 

Will feels that same, familiar pull inside of him. The one that urges him to finally stand up with the others. 

“Hey,” he manages to say and immediately feels stupid for it. He really could’ve come up with something more original after all this time.

“Hey,” Mike replies simply. And then they move toward each other. They hug and at first it just feels familiar, but it’s not entirely the same Will remembers it. Mike arms wrap around him and Will can feel something in the way he holds him. It’s just slightly tighter than necessary. 

“Happy birthday,” Mike murmurs into his ear and Will can feel his warm breath on his skin. 

“Thanks,” Will answers, glad that his voice seems to be working just fine. He can’t say that about his heart right now. At first it seemed like it stopped beating all together, and now it’s beating way too fast. 

And when they finally pull back, the space between them feels different somehow, charged in a way he can’t quite ignore.

“You look great,” Mike says then, almost off-hand, but it catches Will completely off guard. He can feel the heat rise to his face instantly and his gaze drops to the floor before he can stop it. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, hoping that no one sees the redness on his cheeks. 

They sit back down.

Mike slides in next to him on the bench, close enough that there’s no real space left between them. Their thighs press together immediately because of how little space there is.  

The contact is constant, grounding and distracting at the same time, and Will has to force himself not to react to it, not to shift away or lean into it too obviously.

Mike drops his bag beside the table, exhaling like he’s finally able to relax.

Lucas glances at the bag now sitting on the floor. “Did you not even go to your hotel first?”

Mike lets out a short laugh. “I didn’t even book one,” he admits. “I figured I’d deal with it when I got here.”

There’s a brief pause. Lucas is raising his eyebrows and Dustin just shakes his head, grinning like he didn’t expect anything else from Mike. 

Will speaks before he can think about it.

“You can stay with me,” he offers. The words come out naturally, as if they had already been sitting there, just waiting for the right moment to arise.

Mike turns toward him immediately. He looks genuinely surprised at the offer.

And Will feels the doubt creeping up. The instinct to take it back, to brush it off like he didn’t really mean it in the first place, surges up fast. But it’s too late now. The offer is already there, hanging between them.

Mike studies him for just a moment longer, until finally, a smile spreads on his lips.

“I’d like that,” he says, and Will knows that he means it. He smiles back at Mike and for another moment, it seems like it’s just the two of them in that crowded bar. 

The moment doesn’t last long, because it’s interrupted by the waitress returning with the drinks they ordered. She sets the beers down one by one, and Mike orders one for himself quickly, like he’s just remembering where he is.

Once everyone has a glass in front of them, Lucas leans forward slightly, lifting his.

“Alright,” he says, grinning at them. “To all of us finally being legal.”

Dustin lets out a short laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t think we’d make it this far.”

“That’s reassuring,” Will mutters, but there’s a smile there anyway.

They all raise their glasses, and let them meet in the middle with a soft clink. 

Will’s gaze lifts instinctively to his side and it meets Mike’s surprisingly enough. He must’ve been watching him already.

The look between them lasts only a second, maybe two. And it still feels like an eternity. It lasts long enough that Will feels something warm spread inside his chest.  

Then they pull back, and all of them take a sip. 

Dustin is already talking again, launching into the first thing that comes to his mind without any transition time. 

“So, how’s Max doing?” he asks, turning to Lucas. “She’s still in Europe, right?”

Lucas nods, leaning back slightly. “Yeah. She needed a break from everything, so she’s traveling for a few weeks. Said she wanted to just… not think about classes and everything for a while.”

“Can’t blame her,” Mike says.

“I wanted to go with her,” Lucas adds, “but I’ve got exams, so…”

They fall into conversation easily after that, the way they always have. They update each other on college, on people, on things that feel important and insignificant at the same time.

Will tries to follow along, but his attention keeps slipping back to Mike every once in a while. The fact that he’s right there - close enough that Will can feel the heat of his body pressed against his side where their legs touch - is making it impossible to not getting distracted by it. 

There’s a faint trace of cologne, mixed with something that’s familiar and hasn’t changed even after all this time. It’s something that Will would recognize anywhere without needing to think about it at all. 

And every time Mike laughs, every time he leans in a little more, Will feels it all. The same reaction of his body, like nothing has changed at all. As if the past three years never existed. He’s still right there, stuck in something he never really managed to leave behind.

A part of him hates that it still makes his heart stumble, that it still affects him like this. After all the time, the distance and trying to move forward… it’s still the same. Or even worse, because it feels somehow heavier now. As if the distance has only made it grow more. 

Will tried, he really did. He went on dates, met new people and let himself exist in something that should have felt like progress, like proof that he could move on. 

It was fine, mostly. But he never found anything that made his chest tighten like this. He never met a single person that made him feel too aware of every small detail about them. And that realization settles slowly, heavily, somewhere deep inside him.

At this point he’s not even sure he will get over Mike. Ever.

It’s Dustin who breaks the rhythm of their conversation again, and by that also Will’s endless train of thought. The way he’s leaning forward and the grin on his face are already screaming trouble. 

“Alright,” he announces, clapping his hands together once. “It’s time for shots.”

Will immediately shakes his head. “No. No, I’m good, I really don’t-”

“Too late,” Lucas cuts in, already flagging down the waitress.

“Guys, I-” Will tries again, but there’s no real conviction behind it, and they both know it.

A few minutes later, there are four small glasses lined up in front of them, and Will eyes his like it might personally offend him.

“This is a bad idea,” he mutters.

“Relax,” Dustin says. “It’s your birthday.”

“That’s not a good argument,” Will replies, but he picks up the glass anyway. Now that it’s here already, he might as well give it a try.

They raise them again into the middle of the table.

“To bad decisions,” Lucas says.

“To Will,” Mike adds.

Their glasses clink, and then Will downs it in one gulp. The regret is immediate. 

The sharp and burning taste is so strong, he almost spits it right back out. He coughs a little, as he tries to swallow it anyway, his face scrunching up in protest. 

“God.” he chokes out, grabbing for his beer to take a sip from it to wash down the taste. “That’s awful.”

Dustin bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, your face!”

Lucas is no better, already leaning back in his seat, grinning. “First shot experience, huh?”

Will glares at them, still coughing slightly. “That was not worth it.”

Beside him, Mike laughs too, softer but just as amused.

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t like those either.”

Will glances at him, and finds Mike smiling at him. And the sight hits him harder than the alcohol. 

Of course, Dustin and Lucas aren’t satisfied with one shot, and so one round turns into another. And then another. 

By the time Will loses count, they’re well past it. His focus is slowly blurring at the edges and his body starts to feel lighter. The tension he didn’t even realize he was holding starts to slip away, his laughter coming easier now, less restrained.

The noise of the bar fades into something softer, the voices around them blending into a background hum.

And Will’s actually having fun now. They’re laughing through all of their conversations now, the alcohol making everything just a little bit funnier than it might actually be. They slip into old stories like no time has passed at all. 

And somewhere in between all of that, Will is hyper aware of something else. Because Mike is still close, no, closer than before. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened, but now Mike leans in more often, his shoulders brushing against Will’s when he laughs.

Will doesn’t move away, he doesn’t even consider that possibility. Sitting there, with Mike so close, feels natural. Like it was always meant to be this way. 

By the time they finally get up to leave, Will can clearly feel the effect of the alcohol on his body. He feels a slight dizziness when he stands, and a brief moment where the floor doesn’t feel as steady as it should be. But it passes quickly and they head toward the door.

Outside, the cold air hits them immediately. It helps him to clear his head at least a little. 

Dustin and Lucas are already trying to wave down a cab. Dustin stumbles slightly as he misjudges the curb, and catches himself at the last second before breaking into laughter like it was intentional.

“Dude,” Lucas mutters, grabbing his arm to steady him. “You’re gonna die before we even graduate.”

“I’m fine,” Dustin insists, still laughing.

A cab finally pulls over, and they pile into it, still talking over each other, still caught up in something Will can’t quite follow anymore. He laughs along anyway.

The ride is short, or maybe he just wasn’t fully aware for most of it, because suddenly the car has stopped again and he and Mike are climbing out onto the sidewalk in front of his apartment building.

They lean back in through the open door just long enough to say their goodbyes, before the cab pulls away, taking Dustin and Lucas with it.

Him and Mike head inside, up the stairs and eventually into his apartment.

And with every step further in, Will can feel the fog of the alcohol lifting just a little bit, at least enough to make him more aware again. Especially of how close Mike still is, and the fact they’re now alone in his apartment. 

Will exhales, running a hand briefly through his hair before turning toward him.

“You can take the couch,” he says, gesturing toward it. “It’s not the most comfortable, but it’ll do for a night.”

Mike turns his head and looks at the couch, like he’s considering more than just where he’s going to sleep. Something about that look makes Will nervous, and before he can stop himself, before he can think it through properly, he adds, “Or, you can take my bed. It’s big enough. We used to do that all the time anyway.”

The moment the words have left his mouth, he can feel another wave of heat rising in his face. He realizes that what he’s offered might be too much. The truth is, it would be different now than from when they were children. 

“Or just take the couch. Whatever you prefer,” he adds quickly, the words tumbling out a little too fast, as he tries to undo whatever damage he might’ve already made. 

He looks down at his hands, and focuses on them like they’re the most important thing in the room, like if he doesn’t look up, this moment might pass without becoming something else entirely.

There’s a soft sound, and then he can hear the shifting of fabric paired with footsteps on the wooden floor. 

When Will finally lifts his gaze, Mike is not standing across the room anymore. He let his bag slip from his shoulder and it now sits on the floor behind him. Mike is stepping forward, slowly, like he’s closing the distance between them with intention.

Will’s feet don’t move, because they can’t. Mike stops in front of him, close enough now that there’s barely any space left between them at all.

“I haven’t given you your present yet,” he says.

Will lets out a small breath, something that almost turns into a laugh, trying to keep it light.

“I don’t need a present from you. You’re here, that’s more than enough,” Will tells him, at least trying to keep his voice somewhat casual. Even though a part of him is entirely sure that nothing about this situation is casual anymore. 

“It’s not, Will. Not by far.” 

Mike says it with the kind of determination that seems impossible to argue with. And so all Will can do is stand there and keep staring at him, as the distance between them seems to shrink with each passing second. 

Mike takes a breath before he starts talking.

“I know I… wasted a lot of time. More than I should have. And I know I probably kept you waiting for something that I didn’t even understand myself yet, which isn’t fair, and I… I’m sorry for that. I really am.”

He pauses, just briefly, like he’s trying to decide how much to say, how much he’s allowed to say now that he’s started.

“I just… there was so much I didn’t get,” he continues, a little faster now, the words coming easier the longer he keeps going. “About myself, about… all of this. And I kept thinking that if I just gave it enough time, if I just waited it out, it would make sense eventually, or it would go away, or I’d figure out the right way to deal with it without… messing everything up.”

His gaze flickers down for a second, then back to Will.

“But it didn’t, it stayed. And I think I knew that. I just didn’t want to admit it. And I was scared. Like, more than I’ve ever been scared of anything, which is kind of stupid, considering everything we’ve been through, but this… it felt different. Because it was you. I kept thinking that if I got it wrong, or if I pushed it too far then I’d lose you in the end.”

The words slow down there, feelings much heavier.

“So instead, I did nothing,” he says, a faint, almost self-aware huff of breath slipping through. “Which, turns out, was actually worse. Because running away from it didn’t make it go away. It just made everything feel… unfinished. Like I was always holding something back, like there was this thing between us that I wasn’t letting exist properly, and it just… it made it harder. For both of us.”

He looks at Will then, their eyes meet under the dim light of his apartment. 

“And I kept telling myself I just needed more time,” he continues. “That I wasn’t ready yet, that I’d get there eventually, that I just had to figure myself out first before I could even think about what this meant. And maybe that was true, at the beginning. Maybe I did need that time. But at some point, it stopped being about figuring things out… and started being about avoiding them. And the last few years, being away from you, not seeing you all the time, I thought that might make it easier,” he admits. “I thought maybe distance would fix it, or at least make it quieter.”

He shakes his head.

“It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse. Because it made me realize how much of my life is better when you’re in it. How much I… miss you when you’re not there. How much I still look for you in everything, even when I don’t mean to.”

His voice falters just slightly, but he takes another breath and keeps going anyway. The whole time Will is just standing there, listening to every single word like someone whose life depends on them. 

“And I think… I think I’ve known for a while now,” Mike says. “I just didn’t want to say it out loud. Because saying it makes it real. And once it’s real, I can’t pretend it’s something else anymore. But… I don’t want to live without you Will.”

The last sentence comes out so easily, so simple, as if it is the most natural thing in the world to say. But for Will, it makes his already fast heartbeat pick up once more. 

“I don’t want a version of my life where you’re not in it like this. And I think I’ve been trying to protect that for so long that I didn’t realize I was also… holding it back. And I know I might be too late. I know you could’ve moved on, or maybe you did, or maybe you just… gave up waiting. I get that, you would’ve had every right to. But I needed to say this anyway, I needed you to know. Because I’ve been keeping it to myself for far too long.”

He lets out a small breath, something nervous and relieved at the same time.

“And I probably could’ve just said this in, like, one sentence,” he adds, a faint, self-conscious smile flickering briefly.

“I love you, Will.” 

Will doesn’t answer right away, because he’s physically unable to if he’s honest. He can just stand there and look at Mike, while a part of him still waits for the joke to land. He waits for Mike to grin and tell him it isn’t all that deep after all.

But then he can see the effect his silence has on Mike. His expression shifts just slightly the more seconds pass. There’s uncertainty creeping in, and the way he holds himself looks more like he’s bracing himself for something, preparing himself for the possibility that he’s said too much, or maybe just too late. 

But none of that is true. This, every single word that was just spoken, is exactly what Will has been waiting for. 

He just needs a second to catch up to it, to let it sink in, to make sure he doesn’t ruin it by trying to say too much all at once.

So instead of answering everything Mike just put into words, instead of trying to match it with something equally big and complicated, he takes a small breath and says the only thing that feels possible in this moment.

“Mike.”

Mike reacts immediately, like he’s been waiting for anything, any kind of response. “Yes?”

Will hesitates for just a fraction of a second, his heart still beating fast, but not with fear anymore. It feels more like anticipation now.

“I think…” he starts, then stops again, letting out a quiet breath before continuing. “I think I might want a present from you after all.”

For a second, Mike just looks at him, like he’s trying to understand what he means, but then he nods, without hesitation, like whatever it is, he’s already decided he’s going to give it to him.

“Okay.”

Will takes that last step toward Mike, the last few inches that have been separating them. 

“Kiss me,” he says simply.

For a brief moment, Mike looks genuinely surprised, like the directness of it catches him off guard. But the surprise fades almost immediately and is replaced by something that looks a lot like relief. 

A small smile spreads across his face, and then he moves, closing the remaining distance between them in one smooth motion, his hand coming up instinctively as he pulls Will closer.

When their lips meet, there’s no hesitation left in either of them.

The kiss isn’t rushed, but it isn’t careful either. It feels like something that has been building quietly for years and now, finally, has found its way out in the open.  

Will feels his breath catch for just a second before he leans into it fully, his hands lifting to rest at the back of Mike’s neck, holding onto him without even thinking about it. His body acts on instinct, like this is something he already knows how to do.

As the kiss deepens, everything else seems to fall away, the noise of the city outside, the thoughts that had been crowding his head all evening, until there’s nothing left but this moment, this closeness, this feeling that finally, after everything, something has fallen into place.

And for the first time in a long while, it doesn’t feel uncertain or fragile or temporary. It just feels right.

When they finally pull apart, it takes Will a second to remember how to breathe properly again. 

He lets out a quiet, almost disbelieving breath, and then, with a small, breathless laugh, says, “Wow.”

Mike huffs out a laugh too, running a hand through his hair, still standing way too close, like neither of them has fully figured out how to step back yet. “Yeah,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Wow.”

They both laugh again, a little overwhelmed, like they haven’t fully realized that this is really happening. 

And then, almost out of nowhere, Mike says, “I know this is gonna sound weird, but… I’m kind of hungry.”

Will blinks at him for a second, and then a laugh escapes him. 

“You’re hungry?” he repeats, shaking his head in amused disbelief. “Confessing your feelings for me made you hungry?”

Mike laughs too before he answers. “No… well, maybe. I don’t know. I think it’s the alcohol. That always makes me hungry.”

Will exhales, still smiling. “Okay, yeah, fair,” he says. “I think I am too.”

He glances toward the kitchen, already knowing the answer before he says it. “I don’t really have anything here, though. But there’s that diner down the street, it’s open all night. We could go there, get fries or something.”

Mike nods immediately, like the suggestion is more than enough. “Sounds good.”

And just like that, they’re moving back out the door again. 

This time Will barely feels the cool air against his skin, because he’s still too aware of everything else that seems to have shifted since that moment in his apartment. Since Mike said those words, the words he’s been wishing to hear for years. And that kiss that still seems to linger on his lips even now. 

His stomach flutters with every step, with every glance he steals toward Mike as they walk side by side down the street, like he needs to keep checking, to make sure he’s still there. All of this feels too good to be true. He’s certain that if he just looks away for long enough, it could all disappear.

But every time he looks, Mike is still there, walking next to him. 

And when they reach the diner, when Mike steps ahead just slightly and pulls the door open for him without thinking about it, something in Will almost gives out completely. His legs are legitimately shaking now, and a wide grin spreads on his lips, the kind that makes his cheek ache.

Mike notices, of course.

“What?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting in mild suspicion. 

Will just shakes his head, still smiling. “Nothing.”

The place isn’t too crowded at this time of the night. There’s only two other tables occupied and a man standing behind the counter, looking almost bored. 

“You want anything special?” Mike asks him, but Will shakes his head. He couldn’t even think of something if he really tried right now.

“No, just get whatever you want. We can share.”

Mike nods and while he turns toward the counter, Will walks to one of the empty booths by the window. Will slides into it and feels the cool vinyl of the seat pressing into his back and legs. 

For a moment, he just sits there, that smile still resting on his face. He’s sure if anyone were to look at him right now, they might think he’s completely out of it. 

But for Will everything feels clearer than it has in a long time.

Of course there are still things they need to talk about, and things they need to figure out. There’s so many questions still open, like what this all means, where it goes from here and how it even fits into everything else in their lives.

Today that uncertainty doesn’t feel as heavy, though. It’s not something he needs to be afraid of, because now they’ll figure it out together. 

When Will notices movement in the corner of his eyes, he looks up automatically. But what he sees makes him pause for a moment. He definitely didn’t expect for Mike to come up to him with a small plate with a piece of pie on it.

Right in the middle of it is a small candle, already lit and flickering gently as Mike makes his way back to the table.

“Where did you even get that?” he asks, glancing briefly around the diner as if the answer might be written somewhere on the walls.

Mike just shrugs, like it’s no big deal at all, like this is something anyone could have done. “I asked nicely,” he says, then adds, with a small, playful wink, “Turns out that still works.”

Will lets out a quiet breath of a laugh, still a little caught off guard as Mike sets the plate down carefully in front of him before sliding into the seat across from him. 

“They’ll bring the rest in a minute,” Mike says. “I told them we’d eat actual food too.”

But Will barely hears that part, because his gaze is fixed on the candle. 

For a moment, everything feels strangely familiar. As if this exact moment has happened before. 

Mike leans forward slightly, resting his arms on the table, watching him with an expectant expression.

“You know what to do,” he says, his tone light but warm. “Blow it out. Make a wish.”

Will huffs a soft breath through his nose, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I think I’ve got the hang of it by now.”

“Good,” Mike replies, his grin widening just a little. “You’ve had enough practice.”

Will leans forward slowly, his elbows resting against the table, his gaze lingering on the candle for a second longer before it drifts back up, finding Mike again without even trying.

And for a moment, he just looks at him. He takes him in, the way he’s sitting there, relaxed but attentive. He looks at Will like this matters to him, like Will matters.

Then Will closes his eyes, and the thought comes without hesitation or doubt this time. 

I wish I get to feel like this forever.

He leans in, and blows out the candle.

March 22nd, 2004 - 33rd birthday 

Will wakes slowly, and at first he doesn’t really register what it is that’s pulling on the edges of his consciousness. There's soft, and warm brushes against his skin. 

Then it happens again. A gentle press of lips against his cheek, then his temple, then just at the corner of his mouth.

Will blinks his eyes open, still half caught between sleep and waking, and the first thing he sees is Mike, hovering just above him, a grin already spreading across his face like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Cool,” Mike says, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re awake.”

Will squints at him, because the sunlight spilling through the windows is just a little bit too bright for him. “Yeah,” he mutters, shifting slightly under the covers. “Because you just woke me.”

Mike doesn’t even try to look like’s sorry.

Will turns his head, glancing toward the alarm clock on the bedside table, and immediately frowns when he sees the time.

“Mike,” he says, dragging a hand over his face. “It’s seven.”

“It’s not that early,” Mike replies, like that’s a completely reasonable argument.

Will looks back at him, unimpressed. “You usually don’t get out of bed before ten on weekends.”

Mike shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Yeah, well. Today’s different.”

Will studies him for a second, then pushes himself up a little, leaning back against the headboard.

“It kind of seems like you think it’s your birthday,” he says, a hint of amusement slipping into his voice.

At that, Mike’s grin only widens.

“Happy birthday,” he says, softer now, but no less excited, and before Will can respond, he leans forward again, closing the distance between them and kissing him properly this time, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.

Will melts into it instinctively, still half waking up but already smiling into the kiss, one hand coming up to rest lightly against Mike’s arm.

When Mike pulls back, he lingers just close enough that Will can still feel his breath.

“Sorry for waking you up so early,” he adds, though there’s not much apology in the way he says it.

Will lets out a quiet breath, blinking a few more times as he tries to fully wake up. “It’s fine,” he says. “I just need a second. And maybe coffee.”

That’s all it takes.

Mike straightens immediately, like a switch has been flipped. He practically jumps out of bed with an energy that is entirely unreasonable for the time of the day. 

“Already on it,” he says, heading toward the door.

Then he stops, turning back, his expression suddenly very serious.

“You’re not allowed in the kitchen.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a surprise,” Mike says, like that explains everything. “And if you try to come in, I will lock you in here.”

Will lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re not going to lock me in my own bedroom.”

“Don’t test me,” Mike shoots back, already halfway out the door. “Stay put.”

Will lifts his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll stay.”

Once Mike is fully gone, Will leans back against the headboard, letting his head fall back slightly, his eyes closing for just a moment longer. 

Thirty-three. Somehow that number feels strange to him, like it doesn’t even belong to him yet. 

It’s hard not to think about how quickly it all happened, how the years seemed to stretch endlessly when he was younger, every birthday feeling like something distant and important, something to count down to.

And now they’ve folded into each other, until suddenly he’s here, in a life that once felt impossible to even imagine.

Back then, everything felt uncertain. He was always afraid of things falling apart at any moment, if he didn’t hold onto it tight enough. 

But the past years have been… good. More than good, actually. They were steady in a way he never thought life could be, filled with small, everyday moments that somehow meant just as much as the big ones. 

Mike is still here. Not just here, but with him, in the life they built together, in the space that feels more like home than anything else ever has.

The fact that they made it here, that they found their way through everything that stood in their way, through years of uncertainty and fear and things left unsaid, it still feels unreal to him sometimes. He sometimes thinks he might just wake up one day and find out it’s all just been a dream. 

But then he wakes up next to Mike again and realizes once more that this is really his life. That he really gets to feel this happy.

The quiet of the apartment shatters with a sudden clatter coming from the kitchen. It sounded like something metallic hitting the floor. 

Will straightens immediately and strains his ears for any other following sounds.

“Mike?” he calls, pushing himself up a little more. “Do you need help?”

“I’m fine!” Mike calls back almost instantly, his voice slightly muffled but determined. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Will lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head, already able to picture the chaos unfolding out there. He stays where he is, just like he promised, even if curiosity is starting to get the better of him.

A few minutes pass until the bedroom door finally opens again.

Mike steps in carefully, and the reason for that is the plate he’s holding in his hands. He’s staring at the cake on it with a focused expression that makes it clear how seriously he’s taking this. 

Or at least, it’s something that is very clearly meant to be a cake.

Will presses his hand over his mouth to suppress the laugh bubbling up inside him. The sight of it is just… indescribable.

The whole thing is leaning slightly to one side, the surface uneven, the color somewhere between burnt and questionable, like it may have gone through something traumatic on its way here.

Mike notices.

“Don’t judge,” he says quickly, narrowing his eyes just slightly, though there’s a hint of a smile already breaking through. “I tried my best, okay?”

Will nods immediately, lowering his hand again, though the grin stays, impossible to hide now.

“I can tell,” he says, and somehow it comes out sincere, even if his eyes are still sparkling with amusement.

The candles atop of it are tilting at dangerous angles, barely holding onto the uneven surface. They’re flickering as if they might give up any moment. 

But Mike makes it back to him and sits down on the edge of the bed beside him. He holds it out toward him with a kind of quiet pride that makes Will’s smile widen a little more.

Because it’s not about how it looks, Will couldn’t care less about something like that. It’s solely about the fact that Mike made this for him, that he tried even though he clearly has no idea what he’s doing. 

“Thank you,” he says, more quietly now.

“You should probably blow those out,” Mike answers and nods toward the cake in his hands. “Before the whole thing catches fire.”

Will lets out a soft breath of a laugh, his gaze lingering on the candles for a second before he shakes his head.

“I don’t think I have anything left to wish for,” he admits, almost without thinking about it. “I already have everything I want.”

Mike groans immediately, tipping his head back slightly. “Okay, well, then wish for world peace or us winning the lottery or something,” he says, waving his free hand vaguely. “Just, please blow them out before I burn the apartment down.”

Will laughs again, but then he leans forward. He waits for a moment, but nothing comes. No thought, no wish. Nothing he’d been quietly hoping for.

He’s meant it: there’s nothing left to wish for. He’s already got everything he ever wanted.

But he takes a breath anyway and then blows out the candles, his mind completely blank.

Mike carefully sets the plate down on the nightstand then, and when he turns back to Will, he reaches beneath his shirt and pulls out something he’s been hiding there. 

An envelope.

He holds it for a second, as his lips form an almost tentative smile.

“There might be one wish you haven’t had granted yet,” he says.

Will immediately shakes his head, a soft huff of disbelief escaping him. “No,” he says, already reaching out to gently push Mike’s hand back. “We agreed. No more presents.”

Mike raises an eyebrow as if he doesn’t remember any conversation like that ever happening.

“We did agree,” Will continues, his tone half amused, half serious. “Because every year it got more ridiculous, and last year you were about to… what was it again? Buy me an entire studio space in SoHo?”

Mike makes a face. “It was not an entire studio…”

“It was three rooms and a rooftop,” Will cuts in.

“It was a good rooftop,” Mike argues weakly.

Will laughs, shaking his head. “Exactly. That’s why we said no more presents. We just spend the day together. That’s enough.”

Mike watches him for a moment, then tilts his head slightly, still holding the envelope out.

“This isn’t like that,” he says with a kind of certainty that immediately softens Will’s resistance. “It’s not another… over-the-top, financially irresponsible disaster.”

Will narrows his eyes slightly. “That sounds suspicious.”

“It’s not,” Mike insists, a small grin tugging at his lips again. “It’s just… something I know you wished for.”

Will almost laughs at that.

“You don’t know that,” he says, but he can’t deny the pull of curiosity. 

Mike just shrugs, like he’s completely confident anyway.

“Open it,” he says.

And that’s enough. Will reaches for the envelope and opens it carefully.

But when he pulls out what’s inside, he’s mostly confused. It’s a flyer about… Boston? He turns it in his hands, as if there might be a secret hidden message somewhere on it he hasn’t spotted yet.

He looks up at Mike, clearly not following. “Is this your way of telling me you want to go on a trip or something?”

For a moment, Mike just smiles at him. The kind of smile that makes Will’s own smile reappear despite the ongoing confusion.

“Massachusetts is going to legalize gay marriage,” Mike eventually says. “Officially. In a few weeks. It’s already settled.”

Will just stares at him, the meaning of it not quite catching up yet.

“And when it’s done,” Mike continues, “we could go there.”

He pauses, just for a second, like this is the part that matters most.

“And if you still want to… if you still want to spend the rest of your life with me,” he adds, his gaze holding Will’s now without wavering, “then I’d really like it if you’d let me be your husband.”

The room goes quiet. And suddenly it feels like something small has shifted into place. Something Will didn’t even fully realize had been out of place before. Mike had been right: there had been one thing he had been wishing for. But it was the kind of thing that seemed too unrealistic, even for a birthday wish. 

“Is this… is this a joke?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer, even though nothing about Mike’s expression suggests anything but sincerity.

Mike shakes his head immediately.

“No, it’s not.” Is his simple answer.

“I can’t…” Will starts, then stops, laughing softly in disbelief, his hands coming up briefly to his face before dropping again. “I can’t believe this.”

Mike’s expression doesn’t waver.

“You should,” he says gently. “Because it’s happening.”

And then, after a small pause, Mike adds, “But… I kind of need an answer. Do you want to marry me?”

That’s when it finally fully hits.

Will lets out a sound that’s half laugh, half something else entirely, something overwhelmed and disbelieving and so full it doesn’t know where to go. He moves without thinking and throws his arms around Mike. 

“Yes,” he says immediately, the word tumbling out of him before anything else can. “Yes, yes, of course, yes.”

It keeps spilling out again and again, as if one time isn’t enough to make it clear.

“Yes, yes, yes.”

He’s laughing and crying at the same time now and he doesn’t even try to stop it. 

When he pulls back just enough to look at Mike again, his vision is slightly blurred.

“I love you,” he says, the words coming easily, naturally, like they’ve always belonged there. “I love you so much.”

Mike smiles back at him, and Will can see that there’s tears forming in his eyes as well. But since it’s all because of pure overwhelm and happiness, Will can live with that.

“I love you too,” Mike answers. “I can’t wait for us to be husbands.”

Will lets out another laugh, softer this time, before leaning in and kissing him again. It feels necessary, like he needs to seal it. And now, there’s no doubt left at all. 

They stay where they are after that, just the two of them in their bed, like nothing beyond these walls really matters just yet. 

Mike slips out of the room for a moment, only to return with two mugs of coffee and a pair of forks.

“Breakfast,” Mike announces as he climbs back onto the bed and hands Will one of the forks. He makes it sound like it’s completely normal to have cake at not even 8am in the morning. 

But Will doesn’t argue with him. And so they eat the cake which is surprisingly good for what it looks like. They sit close together against the headboard, passing the plate back and forth, their knees brushing under the covers. 

They talk about Boston first, about how long they should stay, what they could do while they’re there, whether they should make a whole trip out of it or keep it simple, and neither of them seems entirely capable of keeping it simple for very long.

“And then we go to Hawkins for a few days,” Mike says, already halfway into the next idea, “and then we go on a honeymoon.”

Will raises an eyebrow, amused. “You’ve thought about this already?”

Mike shrugs, completely unapologetic. “Maybe a little.”

“A little,” Will repeats, smiling into his coffee.

Mike launches into it anyway, listing places, ideas, plans that get progressively more unrealistic the longer he talks. But Will doesn’t stop him. He’d go with each and every one of his crazy ideas in a heartbeat. 

Not because of where they’d go, or what they’d do, but because it would be with him.

Suddenly Will realizes he’s spent most of his birthdays wishing for something. It had always been things that seemed just slightly out of reach. 

Now one of his biggest wishes is becoming true, and it’s the one thing he never even had to ask for in the first place. 

Even after everything they’ve been through, Mike is still right here beside him.

They made it. And now they’re going to stay together for the rest of their lives.

For the first time, that thought doesn’t feel like a wish.

It feels like a promise.