Archive of Our Own

1. march 22, 1979.

Will’s eighth birthday is the first one he celebrates without his father.

Before Dad left, he’d been dreading it for a while. Last year there had been a baseball game the day after, and Will had cheered at the right times and learnt all of the rules so he understood what was happening, but he still got the feeling he was doing something wrong with the looks his dad sent his way, like he didn’t trust him or something. 

And maybe because of whatever it was he’d done wrong, he thought Dad would do for his next birthday what he’d done for Jonathan’s tenth – put a gun in his hands and a rabbit in front of it. Will still remembers the sound of his brother crying in his room and how he got frightened by every loud noise for the following few weeks.

These aren’t things he needs to worry about this year, because Dad packed up and left without leaving a trace. Will should probably feel more sad about that, but the hole he expected to be in his life was filled so quickly he hardly noticed it being there in the first place. He has Mom, he has Jonathan, he has Mike, and now he has his cool new friend, Lucas, too. They’re all he needs.

That’s why he wakes up excited for his birthday this year, bright and early. He thinks he might have had a nice dream, but he’s forgotten it now. Will changes into his favourite red flannel and tiptoes to the kitchen, keeping his steps quiet in case his family is still asleep.

There’s no need, it turns out. Jonathan and Mom are both standing at the stove, Mom holding a spatula as they lightly argue about something.

“I don’t think it’s ready to be flipped yet,” says Jonathan. 

“Hey, I know what I’m doing! It looks ready.”

“No, it looks undercook—”

Jonathan pauses in the middle of his sentence when he sees Will enter the kitchen and runs up to him to give him a quick hug, ruffling his hair. "He's awake! Happy birthday, Will."

Mom drops the spatula and gently nudges Jonathan away to do the same thing. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she says. “Eight years old, huh? You’re getting pretty grown up.”

Will is getting pretty grown up. He’s older than both of his friends, though only older than Mike by two weeks. He hopes he doesn’t have to get too serious and responsible yet.

“Thanks!” he peers at the stove. “What’re you making?”

Mom hisses out a bad word as she rushes to the stove in question, then looks between Jonathan and Will and says it again. “You didn’t hear that. And this is…more than ready to be flipped.”

She picks up the spatula and piles a charred pancake on top of a plate of other pancakes of varying condition. They approach the table with some caution.

Jonathan pushes a bottle of syrup towards Will. “Finally you can have this with something normal.”

“It’s good with eggs!” Will says defensively. 

“Eggs are good,” Jonathan agrees. “Syrup is good. But together—”

“Stop it, you guys,” Mom says. “Try the pancakes. We got up early for them.”

Will tries the pancakes. They’re crispy in a way pancakes should not be crispy.

“They’re really good, Mom, thank you,” he says.

Jonathan pulls a face at him when Mom’s not looking, and Will can’t help but giggle.

“Okay, I get it,” Mom says, grimacing as she takes a bite of her own portion. “Next time I’ll flip when Jonathan tells me to flip.”

They eat the rest of the pancakes anyway, because it’s a rare sight among the usual mornings of quick cereal and hurriedly scrambled eggs while Mom’s in a rush for work. Mom has work today, too, but she’s going in later.

“Put those in the sink,” she tells them. “You’re gonna love your present, I promise.”

He believes her. Mom always seems to know what he wants without him even saying anything. The three of them sit in front of the couch in the living room, and Jonathan hands him a stuffed tiger, string lights, some cushions and blankets with intricate colorful patterns.

“For Castle Byers,” Jonathan suggests. 

Will thanks him, already imagining what the place is going to look like after it’s decorated. Jonathan’s already made sure it’s strong and steady, and now he gets to make it his, a second home for when he needs it. 

Mom passes him a massive rectangular box that Will struggles to carry. He sets it on the floor and carefully opens it, awestruck when he does. Crayons line the box, neatly arranged in order of more colors than Will knew even existed. He runs his finger along them, and it feels like magic.

“This is awesome,” he breathes. “Thank you.”

“One hundred and twenty colors there,” Mom says, delighted by his reaction. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

He sits at the creaky desk with the big sheets of paper Mom gave him, and gets lost in creation. There’s so many colors he can’t decide on which ones to pick, so he uses them all. It comes more naturally than anything he’s ever done before, he doesn’t even have to try; he knows what colors will look right against each other, can blend them so it looks more real, popping out of the page.

Mom’s been walking past every minute to have a peek at his progress, and now that he’s done she sits beside him, leaning over to look. He’s made the spaceship soar, colors vibrant how they should be in real life, instead of the boring whites and grays he’s seen in the science books. It travels towards a planet in the distance, welcoming, glowing and equally multicolored. 

“Wow,” she gasps, amazed. “You made this? You’re so good. I definitely made the right choice with these.”

Will beams proudly. “It’s Rainbow Ship. You can have it if you want.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Mom clutches the drawing like it’s made of precious gemstone. “In that case, this is coming to work with me. I can’t wait for everyone to see how talented my own boy is.”

“Mom,” he complains.

“I’m serious! You can’t keep this hidden away, Will. The whole world has to see how great you are.”

Mom drops him off at Mike’s house on the way to work, and the door’s open before Will even gets there. Mike meets him on the lawn and hugs him so enthusiastically Will’s lifted off his feet. Distractedly, Will deducts that Mike might have been the one who was in his nice dream last night. 

“Happy birthday, Will!” he says, his voice muffled where his face is squashed into Will’s shirt. He puts Will down and leads him to the front door. “Come in, we’re waiting for you.”

Lucas hugs Will too, as soon as he walks into Mike’s basement. He only became friends with them a few weeks ago, living right next door to Mike. Mike had been a little wary of a third person in the group at first – well, maybe a lot more than a little. He’d been worried it would get in the way of his friendship with Will, but Lucas fits right in. He’s super nice, funny too, and he shares their interests. He doesn’t mind that Will is quiet, or that he and Mike are closer than most boys their age.

“Will, happy birthday!” he says. He grins. “Fan of Star Wars, right?”

The three of them watched the movie last week in this same basement, so invested they didn’t sleep all night, busy discussing the plot and characters until sunrise.. It’s one of those memories Will knows he’ll always remember: a shared bowl of popcorn, Mike holding his hand on the couch, all of them fascinated by the otherworldly happenings on the screen.

“Yeah,” Will says. 

Lucas looks pointedly at the coffee table, while Mike bumps Will’s shoulder with his. There’s so many figurines and toys that the table itself is hardly visible beneath them. Will stares, shocked that his friends went to all the trouble to get all of this for him.

Mike slings his arm around Will, smiling widely back at him. “Good, you like it! Look, I’m almost done setting up the game. I’ll tell you about the campaign, but I can’t say too much…”

Will listens to him talk, hanging on to every word as Lucas interrupts with questions every once in a while. Mike and Will found out about D&D just a few days ago, overwhelmed by how complicated it could get and all the different elements to it, but nonetheless excited to learn more about this new, great discovery together.

Will likes getting older, he thinks. There’s so much more to do, a whole lot more to explore, memories to unlock. He’s going to grow up, but he knows – he hopes – he’ll have the same people by his side as he does.

He looks around Mike’s basement and wishes for things to stay like this forever – safe and warm, never lonely when he’s surrounded by so much love.

2. march 22, 1984.

Will didn’t think he’d reach his thirteenth birthday.

It hadn’t been on his mind when he’d run from a monster through a twisted, crueller Hawkins for a week, shivering under the weak cover of Castle Byers with scarce amounts of food or water, not enough bullets, not enough strength. He wasn’t thinking of growing up, back then; he was thinking of how he’d never get to.

Then when the Demogorgon got him for the last time, when there was pain everywhere, so much that Will couldn’t scream because the pain was in his mouth and throat too, when he stopped feeling anything at all after that, he was sure that he would stay twelve forever, frozen in time in a place unreachable from home. 

Ever since he woke up in that hospital bed, every day has felt wrong, like he doesn’t belong. He’s supposed to be in the grave that was dug for him, not intruding into this town, into life. He’s glad to be alive, grateful to his family and friends for putting in so, so much effort to make sure of that, but he can’t help but think that death rejected him, too, told him he didn’t belong there either, put him back into the world so that he’d be there for the next bad thing.

With these thoughts clouding his mind in the early morning, Will burrows into the blankets, shivering. He needs water, because his throat always feels blocked, clogged with something slimy in the mornings even though he knows he’s dislodged…whatever it was that was in there. But he doesn’t want to get up yet.

Before he knows it, Mom is nudging him out of his half-asleep daze. “Hey, honey. You know what day it is?”

He pokes his head out of the blankets. It looks like there’s tears in her eyes. She cries a lot now, most of the time whenever Will says or does, well, anything. 

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds weird so he clears his throat. “Yeah. My birthday.”

“That’s right. Happy birthday,” she says cheerily, and she looks normal again.

It feels safer to get out of bed now that Mom’s here, so he does. He walks past his brother’s room, and Jonathan’s instantly at the door. “Happy birthday, bud! Just wait a second, I’ve got to give you something before you go.”

They sit on Jonathan’s bed in front of the stereo. Jonathan’s put up more posters and some photographs he’s taken with his fancy new camera on the walls. 

Jonathan pulls open a drawer and withdraws a record. “Here, it’s The Smiths. You’ve got great taste, so you’ll love it.”

“You do too, so I know I will. Thank you,” Will says.

He loves listening to music even more now, after last year. It had kind of saved his life when he was in the Upside Down, singing to himself to feel at least a little more normal, but it’s also been saving him recently, a distraction for when the world gets too silent and he starts hearing things he’s not supposed to be hearing. An escape from the voices that don’t speak to any of the other kids.

“You going out with your friends now?” Jonathan asks.

“Yeah. We’re going to the arcade, then Mike’s house after.” 

Will feels a little bad discussing this with Jonathan, because he knows Jonathan doesn’t really have friends of his own, except for Nancy now. Not everyone gets so lucky to have a wonderful boy choose them as their best friend on the first day of kindergarten. To be fortunate enough to have their best friends search endlessly for them for a week, never giving up, and still want them around after even though they’ve come back all messed up, fragile.

But thinking about them does make him feel better, makes some of the weird thoughts he had when he’d woken up go away. He hopes Mom will let him sleep over at Mike’s tonight.

“That’s cool,” says Jonathan. “Can’t believe you’re thirteen already. You’ll forget all about me now that you’re a teenager.”

“You haven’t forgotten about me,” Will points out.

Jonathan pretends to think. “Sorry, who are you again?” he grins, but for a moment it looks like he’s about to cry, too. “Seriously, you better win a bunch of stuff. And be careful. Call when you’re at Mike’s.”

“You’re starting to sound like Mom,” Will says, rolling his eyes.

He thanks Jonathan for the record again before leaving, and he opens Mom’s present – some more games for his Atari, a set of high-quality colored pencils that he knows she can barely afford, especially after the Atari from Christmas. He loves them, and thanks her with gratitude, but he just wishes he wouldn’t cause any more trouble for his family.

Before he leaves, he swallows the white pills Mom makes him have every morning. Doctor’s orders. He puts on a too-big blue jacket over his flannel. It’s too thick for spring, but nothing seems warm enough nowadays. It’ll have to do. 

The arcade is – good. Will has a good time. His friends practically tackle him when they see him, however carefully, and he plays just about every game in the place. To his relief, Mike doesn’t go easy on him when they go against each other, though he can tell Will’s trying to hide his anxiety, waiting for something bad to happen like it always does when days start off good.

“You okay?” Mike asks once, when Will achieves an abysmally low score in Asteroids. His hand lands on Will’s shoulder.

Will shakes himself, nodding casually. This is the last thing he needs to be doing – acting on edge all the time, like he wants everyone to keep treating him like he’s going to break. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Okay,” Mike says. “Look who I found.” 

He’s holding out a gigantic plush tiger, the one he and Will have been saving to spend their prize tickets on for months. Will reaches out to pat its soft orange fur.

“Birthday present part one,” Mike explains.

“But you won it.”

“Yeah, for you!”

“We can share him,” Will decides. “You can have him on your birthday week.”

They stay at the arcade until they run out of tokens, which for Will takes a suspiciously long amount of time even though he hadn’t been able to get very many in the first place. This makes sense when he catches Mike dropping one into the pocket of Will’s jacket, and Mike reddens and pretends to tie his shoelaces when Will opens his mouth to ask.

The bike ride to Mike’s house isn’t far, but it seems like it stretches on for miles and miles. Even though he was only in the Upside Down for a week and he’s been back home for over four months, it’s still weird to see Hawkins so…normal. No vines, no monsters with countless teeth, no neverending darkness. His friends cycle beside him. Everything’s fine.

The four of them dismount and head straight for the basement, passing Mike’s mom on the way.

“Happy birthday, Will,” Mrs Wheeler says, lipsticked smile as she efficiently chops vegetables in the kitchen. “Are you having a good day so far?”

“Great, thank you, Mrs Wheeler,” Will says politely, pausing at the top of the stairs as his friends walk down. 

“That’s great to hear,” she says. “And your mom? How’s she doing?”

Will knows he probably shouldn’t mention the crying, or the longer hours at work, or the way he knows she doesn’t sleep because of how often she checks on him. “She’s good. She’s, uh, actually seeing someone, I think.”

Will hasn’t met Bob yet, and he can’t help but feel a little uneasy about it. He knows Mom would never date someone like Dad again, but he likes the comfort of Mom and Jonathan’s constant presence, and the idea of someone new in their home is…scary. He’ll think Will’s a freak, waking the whole house with his night terrors, according to the doctor. He’ll find Will’s creepy drawings, catch him panicking as he searches for a gun he doesn’t need anymore. After all that, Bob might leave Mom, and Mom would be even sadder than she is now.

“Oh, that’s right! The RadioShack guy, he’s–”

“Mom, stop interrogating him,” Mike says, appearing in the doorway of the basement. He tugs lightly at Will’s hand. “C’mon, birthday haver gets to choose the movie.”

Will returns Mrs Wheeler’s smile and follows Mike down the stairs. Dustin and Lucas are already fighting over a spot on the couch, but they both move to let Will sit in the middle, tumbling off and landing in a heap on the floor.

Will laughs at their antics, while Mike rolls his eyes and flops against the couch beside Will. Lucas manages to get up first and steals the spot beside Will, with Dustin against the armrest. 

Will wants to watch The Thing, because Mike has the tape and Will’s mom doesn’t let him watch many scary movies at home anymore.

“Uh, are you sure, Will?” Lucas asks tentatively. “You know what it’s about?”

“Yeah, I know,” Will says, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice as he takes off his jacket. He loves his friends, obviously, but he wishes they would act like they used to with him; they’d had so much fun seeing Poltergeist in sixth grade. And he’s pretty sure he can handle a fictional alien after everything, thank you very much. “I think it’ll be cool.”

Squashed against the armrest next to him, Dustin makes a similar uncertain face. “But what if–”

“Guys,” Mike snaps. “It’s Will’s birthday. We’re going to watch what he wants to watch.”

Will shoots Mike a grateful smile, and Mike gives one back, trying and failing to catch popcorn in his mouth. It bounces off the ground and lands sadly on the coffee table.

The other boys aren’t nearly as frightened by the movie as they would have been if last November had been like any normal month, if they hadn’t already fought against a monster much realer than the ones on screen. They’d done a much better job at defeating it than the guys in the film. Though, to be fair, this research team doesn’t have a mysterious superpowered girl on their side.

The movie makes Will feel a little better about his whole situation – at least his monster looked the same the whole time, it wasn’t like it could invade any human hosts and make them kill people while still looking like themselves. While the characters at the end of the film freeze to death, with the Thing having possibly overtaken their humanity, Will sits in Mike’s warm basement, undeniably and wholly himself. 

It’s dark outside when the movie finishes, and Dustin and Lucas are getting ready to leave. They’ll be at Will and Mike’s joint party next week, because of there only being two weeks in between their birthdays. They had been confused on why they hadn’t wanted their own parties for themselves, but Will likes sharing with Mike. Getting to celebrate together.

Will feels like he’s already falling asleep, crumpled against the couch cushions and fighting to keep his eyes open. He raises his head slightly and waves goodbye to Dustin and Lucas while they wish him happy birthday again on their way out.

Mike pokes him in the cheek and for some reason Will feels his face get warm. It’s probably because he’s tired. Whatever. 

“Wanna sleep over?” Mike asks. 

“Yeah. I gotta call Mom first.” Will rubs his eyes and starts to sit up.

“Stay here. I’ll call her,” Mike says.

His footsteps fade as Will finally relaxes and lets himself drift asleep. Mike’s basement is safe, familiar, it’s–

–not here anymore. Will blinks himself awake, but all he can see is black, an absolute darkness surrounding him on all sides. He tries to sit up, but he’s paralysed. It’s cold, so cold, but so restrained that he can barely even shiver. Then he feels it – the movement against his skin, slithering and squeezing. It does so with more force the more he screams in his head for it to stop. He looks into the dark and sees nothing, but he hears squelching footsteps heading straight for him, the volume of them unbearable. 

“Don’t,” he attempts, but as soon as the word escapes him he loses the ability to speak. He can’t move his mouth anymore, either, because there’s something in there, invasive, intending to tear him apart from the inside because to it, Will is not a human. He is a thing to be used and discarded once he isn’t needed anymore. 

“Mike,” he screams around the vine, and for a moment’s relief the vine disappears. But he still can’t breathe, because there’s a living thing in his throat, made of slime, about to wrestle past his tongue–

Even though he hardly made a sound, he’s still heard. “Will!” a voice reaches out for him, louder than the noise of the Demogorgon’s stomping movement towards him. The vines splinter and fall away, the darkness crumbles.

Will’s eyes fly open as he shoots upright, gasping for air as his vision blurs. His hands scrabble at his neck, “get it out, get it out–”

Fingers gently circle Will’s wrists, bringing his hands down from where they’re scratching at his throat. “Will, it’s Mike. I’m right here. There’s nothing, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

Mike’s in front of him, only just visible in the dim room, his big brown eyes comforting and concerned. Will’s breathing quickens as he finds his hands empty. Where’s the gun, he needs the gun, the Demogorgon’s coming and it’ll get Mike too if he’s not quick enough.

“Mike,” Will wheezes, “you have to go, please…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mike says firmly. “We got you back, remember? You’re home now, you came back to us.”

Will looks down at his wrists, still steadily being grasps, and then wildly around — he sees a D&D figurine on the edge of the table, board games from over the years piled on the shelves, his own drawings taped to the walls. Mike’s right. He’s home.

He chokes on tears, the fear still fresh. The memory of the vines tightening around him is too vivid, until he gives in and falls into Mike’s open arms. The gentle way Mike holds him is such a contrast to the merciless clutch of the Upside Down that Will’s breathing slowly calms, his sobs subsiding.

“It’s okay,” Mike says, soothing, uncaring of Will’s clammy skin and the way he’s dampening Mike’s shirt. “You’re safe.”

Will sits back once he’s pulled himself together enough, no longer shaking and crying. “Sorry,” he sniffs, ashamed. “Did I wake you up?”

“It’s only been an hour,” Mike tells him. His hand is warm and still on Will’s trembling one. “You were—you were shivering really bad, and your breathing wasn’t right. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Will whispers again. 

He knew something would happen today. The Upside Down still follows him everywhere, making sure he never forgets. Setting him apart from the other kids, who can be normal and have fun with their friends without having some major freakout.

“You don’t have to be sorry. I get nightmares too,” Mike says. 

His expression is one of honesty and true understanding. Some of Will’s embarrassment fades. “Really?”

“Really. Sometimes they’re about the monster. Losing El to the Demogorgon. But usually they're about…when you were gone,” Mike’s face is serious, faintly lit by the lamp in the corner. “But I’m fine once I make sure you’re okay,” he hurries on.

Will thinks of all the times Mike’s voice has crackled on the walkie at night, asking for help on the homework. In the morning, wondering if he wants to come over later. It had seemed like nothing, but to Mike, Will’s response was everything. 

“Oh,” Will says, his voice a squeak. “I didn’t know.”

Mike shrugs. “It’s okay. They’re scary, but they’re just bad dreams. It’s not weird to have them or anything. Do you wanna talk about yours?”

Wiping his face, Will shakes his head no. It’s already enough that he’s been crying in Mike’s arms like a baby. Mike doesn’t need to know about all the awfulness of the alternate dimension – Will remembers enough for the both of them.

And it’s hard to explain that his nightmares aren’t as simple as bad dreams. They demand that he pays attention to the evil. He can’t tell whether they’re warning or threatening him.

Mike glances at his watch and brightens. “Hey, your birthday’s not over yet! I have something for you. Birthday present part two.”

Right. It’s still Will’s birthday. “But the party’s not until next week,” Will says, confused.

“I know. This isn’t your main thing, but I wanted to give you this on your birthday. While it’s just us here.”

“You didn’t have to,” Will says, but he already feels like he can breathe properly again.

“I wanted to,” Mike insists. “Wait here.”

Will’s chest seizes with panic for a second, but Mike only crosses the basement and pulls a notebook off the middle shelf. He looks oddly nervous as he hands it to Will, but only shows it in the darting of his eyes, the hesitant nod of permission for Will to open it.

He recognises Mike’s familiar handwriting immediately. Words cover the page and the ones following it, placed carefully like Mike’s tried to make it neater and easier to read, but some parts are still scribbled out.

The nightmare fades to the back of Will’s mind as he reads. He loves Mike’s writing – it’s like he can see right into his clever mind, escape for a while into the worlds crafted there. This story has nothing to do with disappearing or dying, only a lovable group of misfits travelling to a fantastical island and spending their days there discovering its treasures, swimming in the magical surrounding waters, basking in the sun and reminiscing on past adventures. It’s enough to make Will momentarily forget miserable, soul-sucking Hawkins in favor of the island, which is always sunny and free of close-minded contempt. 

As he reads, Mike sits close beside him, a blanket thrown over them. Mike’s rewatching The Empire Strikes Back with the volume turned down low, but keeps glancing over at Will to gauge his reactions.

“So what do you think?” Mike asks impatiently, after some unknown length of time has passed. The basement has dimmed further, but the lamp glows brighter.

Will looks up from the page where the two best friends stumble upon a wise, slumbering dragon with great wings and greater power. The sight of Mike and the basement pulls him quickly back into the real world; it’s no magical island, but it’s a sort of island nonetheless, giving him land to rest on when he’s so often drowning.

“It’s amazing,” he says. He’s not like Mike, master of words; he can’t think of the perfect thing to say. Will just tries to look at him in a way that tells him how much he means it. “I love it.”

Mike seems to understand. “I hoped you would,” he says, and unpauses the movie again.

Before continuing to read, Will wishes for this magic to stay around – to have time be stretched peacefully like in Mike’s story. For the hours playing games in the basement with his friends to be enough – enough to make up for the week of childhood he missed.

3. march 22, 1985.

Will is the oldest of his friends, so he’s the first of them to turn fourteen.

It sure doesn’t feel like it, though. He feels like he’s hooked up to some kind of machine that prevents him from growing up with everyone else. Frozen, asking to play games and hang out like they used to like a broken record.

He’s waiting for them by himself out the front of the newly installed Starcourt Mall, having shown up six minutes before the previously discussed time. He’d been hesitant to come here, but curiosity It’s early – the mall’s only just opening, families and groups of friends trickling in. Lots of them are laughing, chatting amongst themselves, and Will knows he’s practically invisible where he’s standing against the wall, but his face still burns with embarrassment, partially convinced that they’re laughing at him, talking about him. 

He checks the time. It’s three minutes to ten now. Mom and Jonathan are both at work, and they wished him a happy birthday and told him to have fun with his friends before they left. He’d said he would. He doesn’t know when that stopped being a given.

Will loves his friends, and he knows they love him, and it’s not their fault he feels so…lost around them. The Gate’s closed, Hawkins is free of interdimensional threats, and they’re moving on. Will had the Mind Flayer burned out of him, and his mind is his own again. He’s completely himself.

Yet he wants so badly to be anything but that. Being himself means bearing the knowledge of what he is, everything he’s not supposed to feel. He’s fourteen. He’s old enough to know what’s wrong.

Dustin is the first to arrive. He dismounts his bike and rushes at Wil in a crushing hug. “Byers! Birthday! A happy one, I hope?”

“Definitely,” Will says. When Dustin lets go of him, he notices that Dustin’s green hat is charred, the ends of his curls singed. “What happened?”

“Er,” Dustin wipes a smudge of ash off his chin, “my experiment required some…trial and error. But I won’t be caught quitting, even if it means sacrificing more hats.”

Will smiles, his nerves easing a little. Dustin’s just like that — his infectious energy, ability to bring spirit everywhere he goes. It’s cool that he’s going to camp this summer, but it’ll be different without him.

Lucas and Max show up next. Lucas hops off his bike and Max effortlessly tips her skateboard up, tucking it under her arm. “Sorry we’re late. This idiot was trying to run an elderly couple over.”

“It’s two minutes past, and I was trying to go around them,” Lucas argues. He smiles apologetically at Will and gives him a quick hug. “Happy birthday, man.”

Max stands back, smiling at Will as her red jacket rustles in the wind. “Hey, good to see you. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” says Will, smiling back a little awkwardly. He still doesn’t know Max too well, and can’t help but think of her poor first impressions of him. Weakly leaning his weight on Mike when he saw the shadow for the first time on Halloween, shuddering on a field with the beginnings of possession.

But she’s here, a member of the Party now, and she’s always nice to him even when she’s snarky with the other boys. So hopefully she doesn’t think he’s a monster, even though he was.

They stand there for some more time, watching more people flood into the mall. Will talks about the stuff he got from Mom and Jonathan and they discuss a movie they watched a few days ago.

He glances at his watch again. Ten past.

“Alright,” Max says, eyebrows drawn with annoyance on Will’s behalf. “We’re not waiting for him any longer, he can find us himself. Come on.”

The four of them head into the mall, and Will’s not, like, upset or anything. Even if it is his birthday, the one day in the year for Will, and Mike clearly would still prefer to spend it with El. El, who Will literally owes his life to, who’s cool and perfect and Mike’s girlfriend. They’re great together, and they’re both happy, and Will’s supposed to be happy for them. Of course he wants Mike to have someone. But the wrongness is still there.

They’re sat around a table in the food court, eating pizza that they wouldn’t let Will pay a cent for when Mike finally finds them. He’s breathing like he just ran a marathon and his blue polo is noticeably wrinkled.

“Sorry,” he puffs out, pulling a chair over to their table. He plonks down on it in between Will and Lucas, dumping his backpack on the floor.

“We said meet at ten, Mike,” Lucas points out.

“Lost track of time,” Mike says. He reaches over and gives Will a side hug, his arm firm around Will’s shoulders, his hand warm on Will’s upper arm. “Hi, Will. Happy birthday.”

Will hopes he hasn’t turned bright red, but his face feels hot. “Thanks,” he says, as casual as he can manage. 

Then he thinks of watching Mike lean in to kiss El at the Snow Ball, sweet and smiling. Mike going to the cabin almost every day, always late, always leaving early. Lost track of time. His generally dishevelled appearance. Will pulls away, all of a sudden cold, and Mike’s arm falls back to his side.

“El wasn’t allowed to come,” Mike says. “But she says happy birthday too.”

“That’s okay. Tell her thanks.”

Will feels too disgusted with himself to finish the rest of his pizza, so he pushes it towards Mike. 

“You sure?” Mike asks.

Will nods and Mike smiles and picks up the slice. They hand out gifts. Comics from Lucas that he’s been wanting to read for ages, a detailed science book covered in illustrations from Dustin. To his surprise, Max has gotten him a beautiful set of paints.

“I’ve seen you drawing in class,” she explains. “You’re really good.”

Will’s used to being noticed now, but not for things like that. It’s…nice. Nice to be seen as someone who’s good at art, instead of Zombie Boy. Or the kid who was possessed and got a bunch of people killed. 

“Thanks. I mean, it’s just doodles,” he says. “I’ll make good use of these.”

Mike looks between Will and Max with an emotion on his face that’s hard to decipher, even though it’s usually easy to tell what Mike’s thinking. It doesn’t seem like a good look, and Will’s heart races unpleasantly. 

The look disappears as soon as it arrived, and Mike’s normally expressive face turns completely neutral. He rummages around in his backpack and takes out a gift bag, tied with yellow ribbon. Mike’s always been terrible at wrapping gifts. 

Will unknots the ribbon, movements clumsy with anticipation, and peers inside the bag, looking up sharply in shock. Mike raises a brow and grins. 

“Mike,” Will says, turning the Walkman over in his hands. “Thank you. You shouldn’t have. You’re crazy.” 

Mike’s face changes at the word, his eyes softening in thought. The memory’s supposed to be comforting, but now it aches. Because that was before Mike started drifting, when he spent every hour by Will’s side. Will wishes he hadn’t been falling apart, that he had a better hold of himself back then so he could’ve cherished those moments before a little more. When Mike felt like his.

Now Mike’s just…confusing. Will can’t understand him like he used to. When El’s around, he’s different. Like he doesn’t even want to be around the rest of them, even Will. Especially Will. And when she’s not around, Will can see glimpses of the Mike he used to be, how they used to be – together – which only makes it much worse when he gets distant again.

Dustin gapes as he looks over the table. “Dude. You are crazy.”

“Is this why I keep having to pay for your shit?” Lucas asks.

“What? No,” Mike says. He grins again, almost flustered. Odd. “It’s nothing, Will. As long as you let me have a listen sometime.”

For a brief moment, Will lets himself imagine it – him and Mike hanging out in his room like they used to, handing Mike the headphones, just talking about things. But he knows before fully forming the thought that it’s not going to happen. 

They finish the pizzas and wander in and out of the various stores, each a different explosion of color and filled to the brim with people. It hardly feels to Will like he’s in small town Hawkins anymore. That’s probably a good thing – he can’t picture fleshy monsters or evil shadows bursting through the vibrant structure, tearing through racks of clothing and expensive toys behind display cases.

He tries to stop thinking about that and focuses on the present. They’re standing in a bookstore, and Lucas and Max have a romance book open and are reading lewd passages out loud to each other at increasing volume.

It’s funny. Will laughs and looks for Mike’s reaction, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, Dustin comes up beside him and jostles him playfully, a stack of books to buy in his arms. 

“You know, I’m kinda glad I’m not the only single one in the Party,” he says. “At least we’re in this together.”

Will freezes momentarily. “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Wait, that sounds bad,” says Dustin hurriedly. “But…you know what I mean. It sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Will agrees. “But…it’s not weird, right? We’re only in eighth grade.”

But Dustin…he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t have to watch the boy he’s in love with be practically wrapped around his girlfriend at all times, knowing that boy will never feel the same way, can’t feel the same way. He’ll fall for a girl who loves him back, and there’ll be nothing wrong about it.

“Exactly, young Will,” Dustin says. “We can’t fret. There’s so much time for us to find our fair maidens.”

Will ignores the last half of the sentence. Even though it’s said jokingly, it stings. “I’m older than you.”

“Right on, old man. I forget.”

Dustin insists on buying Will a book too, and he chooses a high fantasy with a red-eyed creature on the cover. It’s thick, the text tiny, and Will hopes to get lost in it.

Mike comes up behind him then, peering over his shoulder. Will’s heart hammers against his ribcage at Mike’s proximity, his rare interest. He’s sure Mike can hear it, an irregular rhythm that only emphasises the wrongness within him.

“Read that on Tuesday,” Mike says casually. “It’s great. You’ll love it.”

Will inwardly questions how Mike had time to read such a massive book in a day when he’d been with El at the cabin for most of it. Unless he’d been reading it with her, but she’s hardly expressed interest in Mike’s choices of literature. 

The main thing Will doesn’t understand is why Mike’s telling him what he’ll love when he’s been resistant to even share the same air as him, let alone talk to him about books. He doesn’t get why he’s stopped existing to Mike now that El’s back. 

Or maybe he does get why. Does Mike realises why Will was taken now? Why Will was punished when he lost control of his body, then his mind? All the times Mike had said Will’s dad was wrong about him, every instance he had defended him from a bully, it was all pointless. Because they’d been right about Will. It makes sense, then, that Mike’s latched onto El, this girl who’s endured so much worse but who never would’ve been as weak as Will has.

Of course he doesn’t voice any of this to Mike. He and Mike don’t have as much to say to each other nowadays; he’s not the one Mike saves his thoughts for anymore. 

Dustin buys the books. The mall grows busier as the day goes by, as do Will’s nerves. They have to duck their heads and swerve around corners whenever they see kids from school, and it’s a strange normality to have that be their biggest problem again. But it’s worse than it was before, because Will knows that the bullies were right about him. He can feel their eyes burning lasers into him, analysing his colorful hand-me-downs, the way he tries to seem invisible and fails. 

Mike seems to sense his discomfort, to Will’s utter shock. He nudges him. “Hey. Had enough of this?”

“If that’s okay,” Will says uncertainly.

“‘Course it’s okay. We’ll do whatever you want,” Mike says.

Yeah, this is bad. Really bad. Will hates how he can’t stop himself from smiling back at Mike, his face warming. Every time Mike acts like this towards Will, it seems like it’s going to last. 

“My house?” Mike asks.

Will tries not to sound too enthusiastic, but most of it slips through his tone. “Yeah, sure!”

“We’re gonna head to mine,” Mike announces to the rest of them. “Who’s in?”

The others voice their agreements, and they head off. Will’s ridden his bike through Hawkins his whole life, but his hometown’s starting to feel less and less familiar with every new discovery. He remembers the tunnels snaking underneath. Recalls what happened down there, the deaths, and that he was the reason. 

The sight of the Wheeler house is a relief, then, as it quiets his thoughts of last November. They leave their bikes and Max’s skateboard outside, and the basement is a calming contrast to the crowded, artificial atmosphere of the mall. 

Will ends up on the couch with Mike on his left and Lucas on his right, with Max perched on the armrest and Dustin digging through the board games on the shelves. He’s not thinking about how close Mike is compared to the comfortable, normal distance Lucas is from him. He’s trying not to think about anything at all.

They all watch Dustin barely save a stack of games from toppling over, and Mike’s arm brushes Will’s, and Will’s heart swells with hope. 

“We haven’t played D&D in a while,” he says to Mike.

“Oh,” Mike averts his eyes, fiddling with his collar. “I dunno. I haven’t had time to work on any campaigns. Maybe another time.”

Will nods and carefully schools his expression to not let the disappointment show, but the weight of it only gets worse over the next hour. Mike’s the only one whose heart clearly isn’t in it, hurrying his turns and placing all the wrong cards so he gets out early. Will chances a glance at Mike, slouched on the couch beside him, staring off into nothing. 

He accidentally catches Mike’s eye, and Mike smiles at him, small and forced, nothing like before at the mall. Will feels sick. He never thought him and Mike would be the kind of childhood friends that grow apart as they grow older, but he doesn’t know what else this could be. They’re not the exception. It doesn’t matter what they’ve been through; time can stretch even the strongest bonds thin.

“You good?” Lucas asks. “Dustin’s been looking at your cards the whole time and you haven’t even noticed.”

“I was doing no such thing,” Dustin mutters. “You snitch.”

“You snitch,” Lucas mocks.

“You cheat,” says Max. “You’re not even winning. I am and I haven’t looked at a single card.”

Will puts his cards down and looks up. “I should go. Mom doesn’t want me biking home after dark.”

Mike’s forced smile drops. “Sure. I’ll bike with you back.”

“Don’t. You really don’t need to,” Will says, flushing with embarrassment. Mom probably asked Mrs Wheeler to make Mike promise to take Will home, like he needs to be babysat.

“No, you don’t,” Max says abruptly. “I’m going home the same way. We’ll just go together.”

Mike’s mouth turns down unhappily but he doesn’t object, just continues to sulk in his corner on the couch. Will doesn’t know if it’s something he did, or El’s absence causing Mike’s bad mood. He never knows anything anymore when it comes to Mike. The world used to make more sense with Mike by his side, but now things are more uncertain than they’ve ever been.

Dustin leaps up from where he’s lying on the floor and throws his arms around Will again. He still smells like chemicals. “Bye, Will. Wish for me not to blow anything else up tonight!”

“If you do, that’s on you,” Will says, cheered.

Lucas makes the noise of a small explosion as he collides into the both of them, and Will laughs and slips away so he doesn’t tumble to the ground. 

He turns and is met with Mike’s flickering gaze. “See you, Will,” he says. Not coldly exactly, but unlike him.

“Bye, Mike,” Will says, attempting to display equal indifference. He’s not sure it works, because it’s Mike he’s talking to.

Will doesn’t look back when he leaves the basement.

The ride back with Max is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. The sound of her skateboard’s wheels against the ground is constant, but not unpleasant. She’s the kind of girl Will’s dad would look down upon for doing things like skateboarding and playing video games and speaking her mind, but Will likes how she doesn’t try to be who people want her to be. He hopes he can be less afraid of being that.

They skid to a stop in between their places. “Hope you had a good birthday,” Max says. Her voice is kind, but she’s wearing a slight frown.

“I did,” he says, concealing his inward panic. He can’t be that obvious, can he? She can’t know already.

“Good. Don’t let Wheeler ruin anything, alright? He’s an asshole.”

“No, he’s not,” Will says automatically.

“Not to you, he’s not,” she says with a little huff of amusement. “Well, not usually. He was different with you last year. Anyone with eyes could see that.”

Will’s surprised to hear her mention last year — everybody else skirts around the topic like the plague. He’s cautious with what he says, in case he makes his feelings too clear. “I guess things are different this year.”

“Some of it’s a good different,” says Max. “You won against the Mind Flayer. Now I get to know the real you.”

But she doesn’t know who the real you really is, a voice in Will’s mind hisses. 

“What do you think?” he asks uncertainly.

“That you’re a lot cooler than your weird stalker friends,” she says with a grin. “See you around. And you’d better show me what you make with the paints.”

“You’ll see,” he replies, then he sees the look on her face as she looks in the direction of her house. The shadow casting over her features – too similar to the one he’d seen on Jonathan’s face when they were younger, flinching as he heard their father’s keys jangle at the front door.

Will thinks of how grateful he’d been to have Mike’s house to run to when his was nothing close to home, and Mike’s voice over the walkie when he wasn’t able to. He takes a breath and says in a rush to Max, “you know my place is right here. If you need–want to hang out.”

Max smiles, easygoing, but her eyes shine. “Okay.”

He waves goodbye back and crosses the short distance to his house. Almost as soon as he closes the door, the phone rings.

Will mouths a sorry to Mom in the kitchen and picks up the phone. He hates how his pulse picks up as he realises without sound who’s on the other end.

“Hey,” says Mike.

“Hey,” Will answers, the irritation of the day seeping into his tone. “I can’t be on here for long.”

“That’s fine.” There’s silence for a short moment, then, “Sorry. I know I was weird today.”

Just today? Will wants to say, but he has a bad feeling about going in that direction now. “If that’s how you want to put it.”

“I don’t know how to put it. But it wasn’t to do with you.”

It’s hard to tell how much truth is in the words over the phone. “Was it to do with El?” Will asks.

“No,” Mike says immediately. Then, slowly: “I don’t know.”

Mike sounds so truly lost that Will waits with bated breath for him to continue, but he never does. Just stays on the line, wanting Will to be the one to say something.

“Thank you again for the Walkman,” he decides. “I’ve been wanting one for a while.”

“I know,” says Mike. “How was the ride back?”

Will doesn’t know why Mike called if he wasn’t going to explain, but he’s oddly relieved he did call. “Max is really cool. You could be nicer to her.”

“It’s just weird having someone new. We can’t let just anyone into the Party,” Mike says. “But I guess I’ll try.”

“Okay." An silence follows, not comfortable but awkward, a discomfort that Will never experiences with Mike. It causes his stomach to drop. "I should probably hang up now.”

“Same. I think Mom’s gonna call me up for dinner,” Mike says with a note of disappointment. “Happy birthday, Will.”

“Thanks. Bye, Mike.”

Will hangs up the phone, his head spinning. There’s a cake on the dining table with 1 and 4 candles stuck into the frosting, and Will pulls out a chair and puts up with Mom and Jonathan’s singing, exaggerating his mortification.

Despite how skeptical he’d been about Bob at this time last year, Will would do anything to have him standing here beside Mom, joining in to embarrass him and make his ridiculous jokes. He knows he’ll hardly be able to stomach the sweetness of the cake, sitting here celebrating another year while Bob remains forty-three forever.

Jonathan’s lens hovers in front of him. Will puts on a smile. The camera flashes. 

“Make a wish!” says Mom.

Will wishes to grow up, and with that to grow out of this ill-fitting skin, tainted by sin that was present long before the Upside Down. The feelings will pass. His heart will eventually realise the wrongness of them just as his brain does.

It takes him several tries to blow out both of the candles.

4. march 22, 1986.

Will is almost two thousand miles away from his hometown when he turns fifteen.

Even though he’s been in California for half a year now, nothing about it is familiar. Not the relentless sun, not the long stretches of houses that all look the same, not the strangers who know nothing of his disappearance and impossible resurrection. Not even his best friend since kindergarten.

Will’s trying not to care as much as he does. He hopes the neon lights of Rink-O-Mania will blind him, so that his gaze doesn’t repeatedly go back to Mike and El’s joined hands, to Mike as he and El pull each other forward without a glance back. 

One foot in front of the other, Will skates behind them, and it feels like wading through shards of glass. He can’t believe how stupid he was. Almost dizzy with excitement as they’d waited at the airport, holding that painting like it would ever mean something to Mike coming from Will. Reaching for Mike, caught up with the nostalgia of their goodbye in Hawkins when they’d held onto each other with the grief of starting the next chapter of their lives without each other. 

Yet it’s obvious Mike didn’t feel the same emptiness as Will did being apart, evident in the letters Will watched his sister read over and over again while he only received sympathetic looks from his family when there were deliveries, in the way Mike dodged Will’s sorry attempt to hug him. 

He finally looks back at Will now, and as they lock eyes Mike’s smile falls. Will studies Mike’s face for the care Mike had once had for him, but finds only an unexplained disappointment – maybe that in their months apart, Mike had freed himself from the fraying thread that tied them together, while Will’s still tangled in it. Will waits for him to say something, like a simple happy birthday, but he just looks away, tugged toward by El’s hand. 

Will slides into a booth alone as Mike and El wait for their milkshakes. He tears off a piece of his cotton candy and it melts on his tongue like sweet acid. He twists the friendship bracelet that El made for him around his wrist, beads of purple and yellow stringed together. He’d almost cried. It was such a beautiful gesture from someone who’d barely had her own birthday celebrated before. 

Unable to stop himself, he looks over to where Mike and El are. Mike has no issue with touching El as he easily drapes his arm around her, leaning close to say something into her ear. He looks different than he did when the Byers left Hawkins. Taller now, hair longer than Will has ever seen it as evidence of their time separated, his features sharper but his eyes still the soft brown that Will’s forever memorised the shade of. 

Mike and El grab their drinks and settle across from him. Will drops his gaze to the stained table as El starts talking about her stellar grades, her newfound friends. He wonders what else she’s told Mike in her letters, giving him a skewed perception of their life here. 

He feels Mike’s eyes burning into him, but he doesn’t look up. “Sounds fun,” Mike says in response to El’s description of her supposed sleepover at Angela’s house. He directs his next question at Will, but his voice is monotonous. “You made a lot of friends too?”

“Yeah,” Will says, just as flatly. “Great friends.”

Will looks up and Mike immediately looks away, to El; his eyes are wide at Will’s bitter tone, jaw clenched. 

He likes some of the people at Lenora Hills High outside of that horrible group of friends. Most don’t give him a second look in the halls, and the classmates he does speak to ask him about his art, where he moved from, how he feels about the California weather. One of them even complimented his Alan Turing poster, calming some of his nerves. 

Will looks for Mike in all of them, but he never finds any part of him. None of them are like his best friend, even if that best friend has forgotten all about him. There’s no inside jokes, no one who knows him. If he didn’t have El, he thinks he’d lose himself completely.

Mike darts another glance at him before turning back to El. “Cool.”

Mike and El trade milkshakes. El shoots Will a questioning glance, and he feels bad about calling her out for lying to Mike. Of course she doesn’t want him to know how she’s struggling at school and hasn’t made friends – it’s not like Will has told Mike much about Lenora either. He knew after the first month of silence that he couldn’t expect any acknowledgement. He tries to look at her apologetically, but she doesn’t catch it.

“Mm-hmm, mine’s better,” Mike says, sipping at El’s milkshake.

“No, it isn’t!” El giggles. 

Will fists the plastic that his cotton candy was in and looks intently at Mike’s stupid hat and stupid sunglasses lying on the table. He looks up sharply when he hears a familiar voice.

“Milkshakes? Yum!” Angela exclaims, skating right up to them and leaning over the table before he can register what’s happening.

Will sees Mike’s surprised expression, El’s eyes filled with dread. Every time he thinks this day can’t get worse, it does.

“Where, oh, where have you been hiding this handsome thing?” 

Angela raises her brows as she and her three friends look from Mike to El, paying no mind to Will. It doesn’t feel good to be invisible when it means it’s her they’re staring at her like this, like she’s weak and easily made a joke of. Mike blinks and El glances at him uncomfortably. 

“Uh, Angela,” El mumbles, every trace of her excitement evaporated. “Thi–this is Mike. My boyfriend.”

She looks off to the side, her mouth twisting as if she doesn’t believe what she’s saying. 

“Angela. Pleasure,” Angela shakes Mike’s hand, her bracelets clinking together.

“Heard a lot about you,” Mike nods, completely blind to El’s anxiousness. “It’s really cool to finally meet some of El–Jane’s friends,” he corrects.

“Friends?” Angela laughs, and it’s the same laugh Will and the Party heard for years from Troy and the others when they went to school together. He doesn’t know how Mike isn’t at least noticing that something’s off. 

“Yeah! Super cool,” she continues, as El stares at her as if silently begging for her to go away. Finally Mike looks at her with some confusion as Angela’s friends nudge each other, snickering.

“Come on, friend. Let’s skate, shall we?”

Will catches the glint in Angela’s eye, like she’s planning something. Shit. 

El starts, “I wanted to finish this with my–” 

“I’ll hold onto that.” El’s milkshake is snatched up, and El herself, wide-eyed, is snatched away fast before Will can think of a way to stop them.

Will stands quickly, staring uselessly as El’s dragged onto the rink. There’s a massive camera being lifted. “Oh, no.”

Mike stands too, all of a sudden right beside Will. “What?”

He turns to Mike. He has to say something before something terrible happens. “El. She hasn’t been telling you everything,” he blurts out.

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s lying to you, Mike.”

“Bullshit!” Mike says, disbelieving. 

Will’s instantly stung. His old best friend always believed him, no matter what. “No, listen to me. She’s having problems here.”

“Problems. Okay,” Mike stutters, his gaze dropping to somewhere on Will’s face. “What kind of problems?”

There’s a circle forming around El, left in the middle of the rink. Will should have said something. Maybe then, there’d be someone to stand there with her. 

The music shuts down. “All right, everyone. This next song is dedicated to Jane – the local snitch!”

El’s surrounded, mocking hands reaching towards her, names being called that Will can’t hear from where he is. Will exchanges a panicked glance with Mike as El slides her hands over her ears in the way Will used to when he’d get shouted at across the yard in first grade, reminded of his father’s furious voice filling the house with noise.

Mike skates clumsily away from Will, arms swinging as he tries to stay balanced. Will watches, helpless, as chocolate milkshake splatters onto the front of El’s dress. She hits the rink hard, her face crumpling as she escapes the crowd. Will’s heart sinks. 

They move forward in the same direction. El’s disappeared, but Will hears the jeers still. Jane was meant to be a fresh start. Not a lab number – a name for a person, but they’re sneering it like she isn’t. Mike whips his head towards Will, frantic.

“Check the bathrooms,” Will tells him.

“The girls’ bathrooms?”

Will grits his teeth. “Just check them, Mike.”

Mike’s in and out of the bathrooms before Will can even blink, door screeching shut as he shakes his head. “Not there?” Will asks.

“No. You should’ve told me she was having trouble,” Mike hurries forward, scanning the area around the rink, and Will can think of nothing but to follow him. 

As if Mike wanted to hear anything at all from Will. “Well, I didn’t know they were gonna be here, Mike,” he snaps.

“Yeah, but you knew she was having trouble for, like, a year and you didn’t tell me,” Mike argues without looking at Will.

Will doesn’t get why Mike's putting the blame on him, instead of, well, Angela. “I didn’t know she was lying to you.”

“Which is why you were being a douche to her all day?” Mike turns his head slightly, eyes still not quite meeting Will’s.

The lights are too bright. The music and overlapping voices around the rink are making Will’s head pound. “I wasn’t being a douche!”

“You were!” Mike faces Will directly, his eyes narrowed in blatant annoyance. “You were. You were rolling your eyes, you were–you were moping, you were barely talking. You basically sabotaged the whole day–”

“She was lying to you, Mike,” Will says again. “Straight to your face–” his hand shoves lightly at Mike’s shoulder, and his real, physical presence after six months of imagination makes the ache in Will’s chest even worse. “–ever since you got here. And…I’ve been a total third wheel all day, it’s been miserable.”

It’s too vulnerable, like Will’s expecting Mike to care. He’s not. He knows he doesn’t. But how he wishes he would. “So sorry, if I wasn’t…wasn’t smiling.”

Mike stares at him. “Yeah. Whatever, man.”

Will’s not his problem. He walks away.

The words slip out without Will meaning them to, full of desperation. “Well, what about us?” 

Mike’s eyes soften a little as he halts and faces Will again. “...what?”

Will looks right back at him, the built-up hurt from all his time in California flooding out. “You’re mad that I didn’t talk to you? Seems like you made it super clear that you’re not interested in anything I have to say–”

“That’s just not true,” Mike interrupts, indignant. Will’s hurt flares into exasperation.

“You’ve called maybe a couple times. It’s been a year, Mike.” It doesn’t take Will long to remember that it hasn’t, it's only been half that. But missing someone so essential to him has stretched time into something torturous. “Meanwhile, El has, like, a book of letters from you,” he continues.

Mike’s eyebrows raise, and he knows this is the wrong path to go down. “That’s because she’s my girlfriend, Will.”

“And us?”

Will immediately regrets asking. He doesn’t want to hear the answer, but more so he hates not knowing what Mike thinks of him now. Maybe just as someone who should’ve stayed in the past, getting in the way now because he didn’t.

“We’re friends,” Mike says it like he doesn’t want it to be true. “We’re friends.”

“Well, we used to be best friends.”

Because that’s something Will has to remind him of now. Mike freezes, at a loss for what to say as he opens and closes his mouth. “Then maybe you should’ve reached out more, I–I don’t know. But why is this on me? Why am I the bad guy?”

Will can’t stand to look at him anymore. He wishes he could think of Mike as the bad guy, but all he thinks of is how all the good Mike’s done for him ever since they started knowing each other. From the start, he made sure Will wasn’t alone. But now they’re reaching the end of them, and Will feels more alone than ever. He’s lost a lot as he’s grown older, but he didn’t expect to lose Mike at barely fifteen. It’s too soon.

Mike exhales quietly. When he speaks, his voice is soft. A semblance of a best friend. “Let’s just…just find her. Okay?”

He looks at Will with dark, searching eyes, but doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for. Will sighs and drifts after him, a ghost of Mike’s past.

They walk side by side in silence, until it’s broken by a scream. All the attention in the place is drawn to Angela on the floor, the blood on her face distinct and the jutting of bone graphic even at a distance. And El, standing stone-still over her with a rollerskate in her hand, red dripping from the bright orange wheels.

Will rushes to her left, Mike to her right. “Oh…oh my god,” Will manages.

He hates that El thought this was her only option. For months she’s put up with Angela’s vicious bullying and still tries to laugh along with them all, treating them kindly because that’s all she knows how to do. All the hurt had accumulated to this, and Will just stood there like an idiot after she got yanked away, like yesterday. He’s her brother, he’s family – he’s supposed to have her back like she’s always had his.

“Holy shit, El,” Mike says. “What did you do?”

El doesn’t move. Tears fall onto the chocolate stain on her dress while Angela clutches her broken face and wails.

“What did you do?” Mike repeats, his voice coated in horror.

More tears roll down El’s cheeks as she closes her eyes, breaths trembling. Will wants to hug her or say something comforting, but that seems something Mike would want to do.

Mike does no such thing. With some bewilderment, Will leaves him with her to call his brother with a barely understandable explanation, but it must be frantic enough for Jonathan and Argyle to drive back at a speed that must be faster than what’s legal. They pull the three of them away from the scene, but the attention follows them.

Will crosses his arms against his chest, standing shoulder to shoulder with Mike in front of the booths where El’s slumped, shaking and fighting tears. He’s not invisible anymore; from the gaggle of vibrantly dressed teenagers gathered around a still-bleeding Angela, there’s eyes on him too. Observant of how out of place he is. 

Jonathan’s hand lands on Will’s shoulder. “Come on. Time to go.”

The ride back is neverending. Jonathan and Argyle don’t allow a singular minute of silence, and Will has to practically become one with the door so that he isn’t knocked into Mike’s slouched figure when the van meets a bump in the road. Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees Mike’s eyes bore into him, but he doesn’t look away from the road.

Dinner drains the last of Will’s energy, a bleak end to an awful day. Mike glares coldly at his risotto like he’s just found out it murdered his entire family back home. El doesn’t speak a word, far removed from the conversation and stuck somewhere else in her head. Will turns his fork over in his hand and contemplates stabbing himself in the eye with it.

Even Mom’s acting…off. A conference in Alaska? Will would press for further information, but everyone’s talking at a faster pace than he can think. El drops her cutlery with a clatter and storms away from the table and Will can’t blame her, especially after Mike’s cold comment. He has to admit, California really doesn’t suit Mike.

“We don’t need to talk anymore about my work. It’s boring stuff,” Mom says, frazzled. “How has your birthday been, Will?”

Will’s just taken a forkful of risotto and struggles to swallow it. Mike’s staring at him again, suddenly very interested in everything Will says and does after ignoring him for hours earlier. A heavy look, tinged with despair, the most emotion he’s shown all dinner.

Will thinks he hears Murray wish him a happy birthday. Even Argyle had said it this morning too, the words accompanied by a gift bag he’s still too suspicious of to open. This all feels like a bad dream, except Will just wants to go to sleep so it ends. 

“Just great,” he tells Mom. “I think I’m going to go to bed. I’m really tired.”

“Are you sure, honey? There’s a cake in the fridge for you.”

“Vanilla,” Jonathan supplies.

“We can have it tomorrow,” Will pastes on a smile. “Goodnight.”

He washes his plate in the sink and heads for his room. The house here is so much bigger than the old one in Hawkins, so it takes longer to get there. But the room is finally starting to feel like his room, after having put up posters and drawings, art supplies scattered all over. His eyes catch onto the big plush tiger on the table and start to sting. Then the rolled up painting, still jammed into his backpack into the corner.

God, he could have spent those hours doing anything else. Such as getting over his best friend whom he doubts even wants that title after today’s shitshow. But as much as he hates the sight of it, it’s the best of all of his art. Because he put so much of himself into it, a piece of himself translated into colour.

Will sinks onto the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands. He can’t imagine what the rest of spring break’s going to be like if this is the first day. Maybe when Mike leaves this time around, it’ll be the last time he and Will see each other. El will visit Mike in Hawkins and Will won’t come; Mike will make up some excuse to miss every meetup Will’s at.

It’s dramatic. They’ll probably still be fine to hang out, even if they’re not close anymore. But the thought of their friendship crumbling, seeing each other less and less until they stop seeing each other at all – it’s like dying but slowly, the pain of it happening worse than the end. Will tries to blink them back, but the tears trickle through his fingers and down the backs of his hands anyway. He trembles with the effort of crying silently. He’s fifteen now. It should be easier to hold everything back. 

Will still hasn’t built up the courage to emerge from his room when there’s a knock. Will hates that he recognises it: a soft collision of knuckles against the door, the volume of it loud enough to hear but never to startle. He lets out a sharp, shaky exhale and wipes his eyes.

He thinks about not answering the door, but it’s Mike. So he answers.

And fine, maybe California suits Mike just a little. He’s replaced the clashing colours of the clothes he’d worn to the airport for a loose black t-shirt and grey pyjama pants, solemn shades. The low light of the hallway softens his features, prominent freckles and forlorn dark eyes and hair wet and curling.

“Hey,” he says. “You left kind of suddenly.”

“I’m tired. It’s been a long day,” Will says curtly, but his voice cracks at the edges. “Did you need something?”

“What? No.” Mike’s eyes turn sadder. Will feels frustrated tears prickling behind his own. 

“Right, then.” Will closes his hand around the door handle and begins to close it, but Mike slaps his palm against the door, preventing him from doing so.

“I didn’t forget,” he blurts out. “I know it’s your birthday. I wanted to tell you happy birthday before, but…but—”

“But what?” 

Mike tenses with something akin to panic. He swallows visibly, his hands twitching at his sides. Doesn’t say a word.

“Goodnight, Mike.” Will quietly closes the door, leaning against it. His cheeks grow wet with tears once more, saltiness on his lips. 

He hears through the door a whisper. “Will, I’m sorry, alright?” 

Will doesn’t answer. “Just want us to be okay,” Mike mumbles, futile, and his footsteps fade down the hallway.

Again Will looks at the tiger plush. The painting he’d poured his soul into. A dice set he’d found at a secondhand store. A photograph Jonathan had taken of the Party when they were in elementary tacked to the wall. In that one they’re gathered around the table in Mike’s basement – Dustin, his hands gesturing animatedly as he talks; Lucas, tossing a die into the air and looking up at it with anticipation; Mike, beaming beside Will despite his usual reluctance to be captured on camera; Will, matching Mike’s smile as they both lean in close to have a look at the die’s landing. Even two thousand miles away, home is all around him.

Will doesn’t wish to go back to those times. That was when he first fell utterly and foolishly in love, too young to know what it meant to love in the way that he did. But he feels frozen, unable to move on, allowing the shadows of his past to catch up again and again. 

To ask for something means to hope for it, and hoping only makes room for disappointment. And so on Will’s fifteenth birthday, he stops making wishes, vowing to forget the unfulfilled want aching at the back of his mind. 

But Will’s always been the forgotten one. He’s never been the one to forget.

5. march 22, 1987.

Will’s sixteenth birthday arrives with a clap of thunder.

The raging storm would ordinarily be uncharacteristic of spring, but the world’s on the verge of collapse, so Will lets it slide. But it’s impossible to close his eyes and block out the crackling across the dark sky, a parallel to the deafening split of Hawkins. 

His headphones blare into his ears to muffle the storm, and he pauses the scratching of his pencil across the page when he notices the minute hand on the clock tick over to twelve. 

Nothing changes. Vecna’s still alive and waiting to take everything for himself. On every birthday for the last four years, Will’s wondered if it would be his last. This year is no different. 

But not everything’s the same. Barely twenty seconds after it turns to midnight, the door to the basement creaks open, letting a cool draft of air in. Will closes his sketchbook and looks over his shoulder, sliding his headphones off onto the desk.

Mike makes his way over to Will, starting to say something, but Will shushes him and gestures to Jonathan dead asleep on the couch. 

Mike startles, as if he’d forgotten there was someone else in the room. “My room?” he mouths.

He’s right there, one hand on the edge of the desk, leaning so much into Will’s space that Will can share the warmth of his body. He only looks half-awake, eyes bleary and curls a mess, so Will allows himself to look, even though he’s long committed each of Mike’s features to memory.

“Okay,” Will mouths back, and when he stands up, Mike doesn’t back away. 

They’re so close that Mike’s breath ruffles Will’s bangs slightly, his lips near enough to brush against Will’s forehead if Will dares to turn his head. He doesn’t dare, staying as still as his trembling self allows. 

“Your room, Mike,” Will reminds him, keeping his eyes on a loose thread unwinding from Mike’s fraying sweater. Careful not to meet the intense weight of Mike’s gaze.

Inhaling sharply, Mike steps back. For a moment he looks caught, face flushed as he runs a hand through his hair, but then he nods and the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. His eyes twinkle, crinkling at the corners with it, and it’s like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

He pushes Will’s chair in for him and holds the door open, whatever that means. Will returns his smile and they head to Mike’s bedroom, their steps muffled by the bucketing rain outside. Even in the dark, Will knows the layout of this house better than the back of his hand.

Will’s just flicked the lights on, squinting to adjust to the sudden brightness when Mike envelops him into a hug, exhilarating and all-consuming. Will can smell the shampoo Mike’s been using for the past few months. He presses his fingers into Mike’s back through his sweater, skating them over the texture of the soft knit as Mike lightly skates his hands up and down Will’s back, sending tiny shocks of electricity through his shirt before he draws back.

“Happy birthday, Will,” Mike says warmly, looking much more awake now with widened eyes and cheeks a little pink. 

Will’s face is burning. His throat is dry. “Thanks, Mike,” he says, voice hoarse – from a hug. 

But Mike hasn’t held onto him like this since Will left for California in tears, when they thought it was all over. Today might be Will’s last birthday, but he’s gotten his best friend back. And that’s something he’d gladly trade the rest of his life for.

“Why’re you up so late?” Will asks, trying not to pay too much attention to Mike’s hands hovering at his waist.

“Wanted to be the first to say it,” Mike murmurs, ducking his head to look up at Will. “And you don’t sleep when there’s a storm like this.”

Will fidgets with El’s friendship bracelet, unsure of where to put his hands with Mike so close. It makes little sense that Mike notices things like that, but not the glaringly obvious truth that Will’s almost let slip so many times. Will remains thankful for Mike’s obliviousness – there’s nothing in the world worth ruining this for.

“Okay, well, you are the first. And I wasn’t sleeping, so I guess you’re right,” says Will. “Was there something–”

“Yeah, there is something.”

Before Will can ask, Mike’s long arms wrap around him again, this time more tenderly, Mike tucking his head into Will’s neck. Hesitantly, Will hugs him back.

“I’m really sorry about last year,” Mike says before Will can ask. He sounds and feels like he’s shaking. 

Will stiffens in surprise, breaths quickening. Mike must mistake it for resentment, because he pulls back wearing an expression too comparable to one of a kicked puppy. Struggling to hide his amusement, Will bites back a grin.

Mike’s face melts into pure and utter relief. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” Will says. “You know I’m not mad. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. It was horrible.”

Mike collapses inelegantly onto his bed, limbs sprawling, and Will curls up on the foot of it. He waits for Mike to keep speaking, the silence broken by the storm.

“I’m really sorry,” Mike says again, eyes shining with sincerity. “Even if it hadn’t been your birthday…I made you think we weren’t best friends anymore. Because for some reason I was too scared to mail letters.”

“You’ve been up against actual monsters, Mike,” Will laughs lightly. “What’s so scary about writing to me?”

“It wasn’t you.” He shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them again to look earnestly at Will. “It was something wrong with me. I was trying to figure out how to make it right, but it just got worse.”

It’s not much of an answer, but it’s honest. Mike takes a deep breath, “...you were going to give me the painting that day, even though it was your birthday. But you couldn’t, because I ignored you. I didn’t even hug you the way I’d been wanting to since the first day without you. I missed your voice every day you were gone but I wouldn’t even talk to you.”

Will stares at him. A few of the wires in his brain are probably malfunctioning – if he could see them, they'd be flashing red as sirens. There’s a suffocating fear that Mike’s going to ask about the painting, but it’s soon alleviated.

Mike’s gone red. “Sorry. That’s…super pathetic. And I didn’t mean to bring the mood down so soon, it hasn’t even been your birthday for an hour yet. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Will says. “I swear I forgave you, like, the day after, okay?”

“Okay,” says Mike. He still looks nervous. “Okay, um. I was gonna give this to you last year, but then all that shit went down, and it was kind of awkward to give it to you after, you know?”

The box on the nightstand that Mike hands him is clearly well looked-after, the wood polished and silver clasp secure. Will carefully undoes it and pushes up the lid.

“It wasn’t really my gift,” Mike interrupts hastily. “I mean, it is, but we did it together.”

There’s stacks of paper neatly bound together, all of them covered in writing and illustrations. The art style is nothing like Will’s, more eccentric and dreamlike, but it’s him. Many of Will the Wise, swathed in magic, and some of just Will, throwing a die or holding a paintbrush or listening to a rock record. There’s campaign notes to incorporate his character, a combination of Mike’s scrawl and someone else’s handwriting.

“Mike,” he says. “Is this…”

Mike smiles at the ceiling, and there’s not as much pain in it as there would have been a few months ago. More nostalgia. “Yeah. I’m sorry I joined another party, Will. It was so different without you, not a good different, and I told him that. Eddie said…” he swallows, and there’s emotion shining in his eyes. “He got the idea for this, so we could plan to play together when you came back. We just kept adding to it. I showed him some photos for the drawings, I hope you don’t mind. Working on this for you, well, it didn’t make me miss you any less. But it helped.”

Will feels tears start to prickle in his own eyes. “Mike…are you sure? I didn’t know him like you, I shouldn't take this.”

“You didn’t,” Mike says. “But you should have. He thought you sounded really cool – I wouldn’t shut up about you. And you would have loved him. He liked good music, good art. He was brave. Selfless but to a fault.”

He sits right up, puts his hand on Will’s knee. Will holds his breath for one second, two. “If Vecna comes back,” he says urgently, “you can’t be like him. You’ve been more brave than you should’ve had to be. Just be selfish for once.”

“Mike.”

“Promise me.” Mike’s voice is so soft. “You won’t sacrifice yourself or do anything stupid like that.”

“I promise.” Will links Mike’s pinky with his, and something so old and so forbidden is reviving in his chest, something he thought would stay dead forever. Something like hope.

Mike relaxes back and his hand lifts off Will’s leg. He leans over the side of his bed to retrieve something underneath it. “Good. Got this for you too. I know you’ve missed him since you came back.”

He places a big stuffed tiger in Will’s hands. The same one Mike had won him at the arcade five years ago. Will had cried over leaving it in Lenora like a lovesick idiot, like it was a wedding ring.

He almost does so now, but manages to blink back the tears. He scratches behind the tiger’s ears and holds it tenderly to his chest. “When did you even have the time to get the tickets for this?”

Mike tucks his hair behind his ear. He’s cut it shorter so it doesn’t get in his face anymore, and Will can fully see the intensity of his blush. “I, uh. Snuck to the arcade a couple of times.”

Will remembers all the times Mike had claimed to be heading to the cabin to see El, only for El to shake her head with disinterest when Will asked her if she’d seen much of Mike lately. He doesn’t know what any of this means.

“You’re right,” Will says. “I did miss him. Thank you.”

Outside, lightning cracks at the same time Mike smiles. “Are you tired yet?”

“A little. But I doubt I’ll sleep ‘til the storm’s over.”

“What were you drawing downstairs?” Mike asks. “I haven’t seen your art in ages…” 

“It’s not your birthday,” Will scoffs, but Mike looks at him pleadingly, and Will knows he’s done for. 

“Fine,” he says, and Mike grins with the easy win. “I’ll go and get it.”

“Miss you already.”

Mike pushes up from the bed like he’s going to follow Will to the basement, but then seems to change his mind and flops back onto the bed with his arm thrown over his eyes. Will takes the opportunity to look at him, take in his familiarity, the way he has to bend himself to fit on the bed with his height, the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. 

He goes back to the basement. Jonathan mumbles something in his sleep as Will opens the door, but doesn’t stir. Will picks up his sketchbook and pads back up the stairs, flicking through the pages to ensure he knows where the ones Mike can’ t see are.

Mike swings his legs over the edge of the bed as Will sits beside him. His posture is as awful as always, so much so that he has to look up at Will despite his taller stature. His eyes sparkle with interest.

Will opens the sketchbook. The first page is relatively safe – Mike, Will, and Holly riding to school on their bikes, their hair ruffled by wind, leaning in to hear the radio better. Will hopes Mike doesn’t notice how well he’s mapped out his features, having kept them in the forefront of his mind for so many years, slowly but noticeably changing as they grew up.

“This is incredible,” Mike says. “Am I really that tall?”

“Compared to me and Holly, yeah,” says Will. He makes sure to skip the next page and flip to the third.

It’s horrible, not because it’s badly done, but because it’s macabre and disgusting and would purely be an object of nightmares if it wasn’t real. The Demogorgon’s teeth seem to jump out of the page; its maw is gaping, the layers of graphite as plentiful as its hunger; claws dripping with human blood and reaching to take more. 

Will sucks in a breath at the sight, remembering the half-awake, post-nightmare haze he’d drawn it in. He doesn’t dream about that week as much as he used to, but when he does, it’s like he’s really there again. It’s hard to unsee the Upside Down when he wakes up in his own house, when he goes to school, when he walks around town. 

Mike’s quiet while he looks down at the page, his eyebrows knitting together. His hands twist together in his lap. He tears his gaze away and locks eyes with Will, looking at him like…

Will banishes the observation. “Sorry. I know it’s weird. And creepy.”

“You know,” Mike tells him, his hand brushing Will’s as he holds up the sketchbook closer to his face. “You’re going to get out of here one day. You’ll go to, like, New York or something. And then everyone’s gonna know your name.”

“Mike, stop.”

“I’m serious, Will. You’re going to make it,” Mike says. “But I’ll remember this. And I’ll remember you showing me your stick figures and shapes in kindergarten and thinking it was the best thing I’d ever seen. I still do.”

“I was terrible back then.”

“No, you weren’t, I have evidence. I keep everything you give me.”

“What?”

Mike rubs at his face, almost shy. “I mean, obviously. It’s yours.”

“Would you show me later?” Will asks. “A lot of my old stuff got left in the California house.”

“Of course. As long as I get to keep them,” Mike says. “That’s really shitty, though. I fucking hate those soldiers.”

“Yeah, well. Sorry I have to keep stealing your clothes.”

Mike shakes his head, eyes dropping to his own Pink Floyd shirt that Will has on. “What? No. No, you look great.” He coughs. “Um, sorry. I mean…anyway.”

Before Will can question what that was, Mike goes to turn the page. He panics and remembers to skip past three pages in order to avoid the incriminating content.  

The next sketch is of El. It was a good day when Will went to visit her at the cabin that time, and she’d been smiling a lot, which was a rarer occurrence since they’d gotten back to Hawkins, so he’d made sure to capture it onto the page. Her hair is in a loose braid, tied with Max’s scrunchie. The sight of it makes Will’s heart wrench – it feels wrong to celebrate anything when she’s lying in a hospital bed, and his friends are mourning, and El’s training and trying not to crumble under the pressure. 

He glances to the side to glean Mike’s reaction, but his face is doing something complicated that Will can’t decipher.

“Is everything okay with you guys?” Will asks.

“Yeah,” Mike says, then shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ve had a lot of time to figure shit out, and I have.” He avoids Will’s eyes. “I tried to talk to her about it, but she just said whatever’s between us, it’s not important right now. Which I know it’s not, but I have to end it.”

Will stops breathing. “What? But you said you love–”

“No,” Mike says. “I mean, yes, but it’s not–” he cuts himself off. “It’s fine. We don’t have to talk about this right now. I like the drawing.”

They continue to flick through the pages, Mike complimenting Will until he’s certain he’s red all over. The storm calms to a mere drizzle and Will stifles a yawn.

Mike closes the sketchbook. “Sleep in here?”

Will tries to protest, out of an admittedly weak sense of self-preservation. “It’s okay, all the stuff’s down in the basement anyway.”

“It’s no big deal,” Mike says. “My bed should be roomy enough.”

Will stays still as a statue on the bed while Mike switches on the lamp and switches off the lights. He only unfreezes when Mike laughs at him and gently pulls on his arm to get him to move.

He slips underneath the covers, silently blaming his shiver on the weather when Mike’s fingertips graze the back of his hand. “Goodnight, Mike,” he whispers.

“Goodnight, Will,” Mike whispers back. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” says Mike, always insistent on the last word nowadays.

Sixteen is going to be a hard year, but Will falls asleep easily tonight, smiling into Mike’s pillow. Right before he does, he breaks the previous year’s vow in his state of drowsiness and wishes, with all the hope in his heart, to not lose anyone this time around.

+1. march 22, 1990

Will turns nineteen under a non-apocalyptic sky, living to see another year and beyond in a world that wanted him dead for a long time.

And this time, he feels less guilty about it. The sun streams through the curtains onto his face, and he welcomes it. He’s grateful he made it here, out of Hawkins and its horrors. He misses it sometimes, because it was home, but New York makes him feel alive in a way that Hawkins never did.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and wanders into the kitchen, where there’s already a plate of eggs on the counter, doused in the perfect amount of syrup. Beside it there’s a mug filled to the brim with coffee, the milk forming a heart design over it.

“Looks like your barista training paid off,” he says to Mike’s back.

Mike turns around where he’s washing dishes at the sink, a plate clattering. He smiles bright and beautiful, wipes his hands, and folds Will into his arms.

“Happy birthday,” he says.

He showed up at Will’s apartment just the night before. Two weeks ago, there had been a letter in which he asked Will what he was doing for his birthday, and Will had called him and asked him to come to New York for the week. He’d said yes.

“Thank you,” Will says into Mike’s shoulder. “And thank you for breakfast.”

If they were together, Will would kiss Mike right here and right now, looking forward to a lifetime of birthdays by his side. But they’re not, so Will detangles himself and steps back before their closeness can get weird.

He eats his eggs and Mike sits beside him with a second plate of them and does the same. Over coffee, they talk about everything — new albums and movies, the book Mike’s writing and the painting that Will’s working on, Mike’s grand plans for today.

They’ve already discussed most of this over the phone, but it’s even better to hear Mike’s voice in person instead of holding the phone to his face and wishing he could pull him out of it, to see his animated expressions so human and so him. Mike’s looking at him just as closely, his attention devoted more than ever.

“You’re going to get us lost, Mike,” Will laughs. “I’ve been here for months and I still don’t know my way around.”

“Whatever. As long as we’re lost together,” says Mike. “And as long as you’re still having a perfect birthday.”

“All I asked for was you here, Mike,” Will says. “It’s already perfect.”

He’s been letting his tongue slip in these past few days that Mike’s been here, his words a little too affectionate. Mike’s always been that way, so surely it’s fine if Will returns the affection now that they’re together again after living states apart since the summer. And maybe he likes seeing the blush that spreads across Mike’s face, even if it doesn’t mean anything, even if it’s just a natural reaction to appreciation from his best friend.

They finish their coffee and Will gets up to answer the calls from his family and friends while Mike continues with the dishes. The rest of the Party’s coming for the weekend to celebrate, to Will’s gratitude. When he hangs up the phone, he feels light and warm in his love for and from his friends.

The knowledge that there won’t be a phone call — that there’ll never be a phone call — from his sister is still painful, but it’s not so much a raw, bleeding wound anymore. It’s an absence that’s always noticed. An essential part missing. 

The framed photograph on the shelf jumps out at him, taken by Jonathan when they all went to the beach in California. El’s not looking at the camera but out onto the open ocean, her dress flowing in the wind, hair long and wavy, eyes wide with wonder. 

She’s everything. She’s gone. But there’s little Will can do now but remember, and he does. He smiles at the memory of them burying a disgruntled Jonathan under the sand, her shrieking as she first waded into the cold water, and drops his hand from the phone.

Will takes a shower, letting it wake him up properly. He pulls on a striped yellow shirt he’d thrifted, a little tight around the shoulders and waist, and a pair of denim shorts. He looks at himself in the mirror, but he can’t tell if he looks older. His hair’s different now that his mom’s not cutting it anymore, more of it pushed back. The shadows of his face aren’t as prominent as they were in the direct aftermath of the Upside Down’s destruction, when it all came back with an insistence to haunt him. 

Even if it doesn’t look much like it, New York’s changing Will. Or maybe he’s the same, just less afraid to be himself.

Mike’s ready to go when Will opens the door. He’s wearing a white shirt with blue sleeves and jeans, and his hair falls over his forehead. The sun’s on his face and Will can see every freckle, and he loves him with all the ferocity and gentleness of his soul. 

Mike looks nervous, chewing on his lip. He breaks into a smile when he sees Will, his eyes alight with the sun and something else. 

“You look good,” Mike says to Will. There’s a tremor in his voice that Will doesn’t know if he’s imagining.

“Thanks.” Will’s face goes hot. “You look good, too.”

New York suits Mike far more than California and Indiana ever did. Will’s been trying not to think about Mike having to go back to Hawkins after this week because it hurts, and he can tell it hurts Mike, too. He’s taken a gap year, and Will has no idea where he’ll be after. Mike could be halfway across the globe next year, and Will doesn’t think he’d survive that much distance. The earth would tilt on its axis. It would cease its orbit completely, sensing a disturbance.

Mike’s planned perfect day is pretty far from it. They get hopelessly lost, and the streets are stiflingly crowded, and at one point it gets swelteringly hot. But Will is, without a doubt, happier than he’s ever been in this place that he knows he can call home.

Mike buys him everything he looks at with the slightest bit of interest, and has his arm around Will almost the whole time as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. It was ordinary, once, when they were little, but then the town started telling them that it shouldn’t be. Mike’s easy touch is far more frequent here than it was when they were teenagers, and certainly a lot more than the months since the summer where they’ve only been in contact with each other through the phone line. 

But it isn’t enough, because even after moving to a new, terrifying city and surrounding himself with all kinds of fascinating people, the person Will loves is still his childhood best friend, his forever favourite. It’ll always be Mike, even if Mike was halfway across the globe; it was him thousands of miles away, it was him in another dimension. 

That’s why he wants, pitifully, for Mike to sweep off his feet and kiss him. To be taken on dates, and to know that he’s enough for the boy he loves to love him back.

Now the two of them find themselves at the balcony of Will’s apartment, a massive birthday cake between them covered in sprinkles and candles of various mismatching colours. Ahead of them, the city lights glimmer below the night sky.

Mike has a lighter in his hand and he’s painstakingly lighting all nineteen candles. He doesn’t say anything as he does so, and neither does Will in fear of breaking his concentration. 

He lights the last candle and puts the lighter down. His face is tinted with orange flickering light, the flames reflected in the dark of his eyes. Will’s never seen anything so mesmerising.

“You got any wishes left in you?” Mike asks softly.

“I can think of one,” Will says.

If Will could wish for anything, he'd wish for El back. Even if it was only for a goodbye, he'd give away every wish for the rest of his life just to say how sorry he is, and to tell her how loved she is because she hadn't heard it nearly enough. 

But he can't bring himself to wish for someone he'll never get back. He has to heal, and trying to reverse the past will only cut through the stitches of the wound.

Then there's the undying wish that’s lived inside Will for so long it’s a part of him, at first a shameful secret buried in the dark for no one but Will to feel. Yet now he exposes it to the light, and it doesn’t look so rotten after all. It's bearable to look at, a weight that could be shared between two if he let it be.

He takes a deep breath and looks at Mike, who’s looking back at him like he always has. Fourteen years ago, Will wished for a best friend and he was given one. But Will has always wanted more.  

In this moment, unchanging from all the years between then and now, he wishes for Mike. To love him and to not lose him because of it.

He lets out the breath and blows out almost all the candles in one go. There’s a lone candle left, its flame strong.

“Go on,” Will says. “Help me out here. You deserve a wish, too.”

Mike swallows, blinking rapidly. He leans forward and blows it out, staring at him through the smoke like he’s waiting for something. “What’d you wish for?”

“I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

“It might,” says Mike, barely audible then louder, “it might.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” Mike shifts impossibly close to Will, taking Will’s trembling hand and tangling their fingers together. “I’d make it come true.”

Will’s heart thrums in his chest. When Mike cups his jaw, thumb caressing his cheek like he’s the loveliest thing Mike’s ever held, Will leans into the touch.

Mike’s breaths come out shaky, too. “Can I tell you what I wished for, then?” 

“Tell me,” Will whispers. Mike’s thumb brushes over Will’s bottom lip.

“I wished to kiss you.”

“I’d let that come true,” says Will, and Mike closes the gap between them.

Will’s eyes fall shut, and the city buildings and noises of traffic disappear around him, his world narrowed down to him and Mike on the balcony. He’s shaking all over, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He’s imagined this countless times, in countless scenarios, but its realness is nothing short of overwhelming. He half expects the sky to open up red and swallow them whole, for the complex to come crashing down, but the world stays still for them, holding a great breath.

Mike’s hands gently hold his face as he pulls back the smallest distance, nudging the side of his nose against Will’s. “Are you sure you want this?”

Will lets out a watery laugh. “Are you? Or are you just giving me what I wished for?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” says Mike. “I wanted to tell you before you left Hawkins again. And over the phone, and the second I knocked on your door. I thought I was brave enough to all those times, and I wasn’t, but I am now.”

“Tell me what?”

“That I’m so lonely in Hawkins,” Mike admits, his voice breaking. “And our calls were the only thing I looked forward to. Then you chose me to spend your birthday with, and we’ve had this day together, and I feel like I can be myself again. I’m still scared of who that is, but I owe you the truth, the one thing I do know about myself. Which is that I love you, Will.” He lets out a fractured exhale like it’s the first time he’s letting himself breathe. “I’m sorry you wasted any wishes on me.”

Will brings his hand up to wipe Mike’s tears, astonished that he can touch him like this. “I’m not sorry at all,” he says fiercely. “I’ll never be sorry for loving you.”

He kisses Mike properly this time, burying a hand in Mike’s hair and pressing the other to his back, clinging to the warmth of his skin through his shirt. Mike’s fingers curl around Will’s waist with tenderness, pulling him closer until Will’s senses only consist of the gentle slide of Mike’s lips against his own, the faint scent of smoke and fresh air, the rhythm of a pulse which could be either Mike’s or his own that seems to say I love you a hundred times over.

“Stay,” he gasps into Mike’s mouth, “don’t go back to Hawkins.”

Mike rests his forehead against Will’s, breathing shallow. “I’m wherever you want me to be.”

“Right here. For as long as you’re willing. Whatever happens next year–”

“I can’t be away from you. Never again,” Mike says. “I want every birthday. And all the days in between.”

“You don’t have to be lonely anymore,” Will tells him, and Mike kisses him until they’re giddy, smiling too hard to keep at it.

“One more thing.” Mike turns around and rummages through his backpack. He drops a journal into Will’s lap, the cover forest-green.

Still dazed from the sensation of the kisses, Will flips the cover open and reads what Mike’s written: Wishes for Will.

“Write them all down,” Mike says. “Every last wish, even if it’s not your birthday.”

“And you’ll make them come true?” Will asks, half-teasing.

Mike shrugs and passes a forkful of cake to Will. “You’re the sorcerer. See what happens.”

Will takes it, tasting its sweetness, imagining his younger self seeing him now. The terrified boy who thought he’d never make it to nineteen. He wants to tell him all about the beautiful life that’s waiting. 

It’s scary to get older, because it means moving further away from that version of himself. Like flying off a swing and landing somewhere unfamiliar. But he knows that with all the strength he has, the fall will never break him.