Chapter Text
The air in Hawkins had that strange stillness again.
Mike Wheeler noticed it first—not because anything looked wrong, but because everything felt too right. The sky was clear, the breeze soft, and yet something in his chest wouldn’t settle. He leaned his bike against the Byers’ fence and hesitated before knocking.
The door opened before his hand even reached it.
Will stood there.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
“Hey,” Mike said, trying for casual, but his voice came out quieter than he expected.
“Hey,” Will replied.
It had been weeks since everything—since the gates, the fear, the feeling that the world might split open again at any moment. Weeks since they’d all tried to return to normal.
But normal had never really fit them, had it?
“Come in,” Will said, stepping aside.
Mike walked in, glancing around. The Byers’ house always felt warmer than his own. Softer. Like it held onto something important even after everything it had been through.
“You wanna go up?” Will asked.
Mike nodded.
They climbed the stairs in silence, a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable exactly—but not easy either. Something unspoken hovered between them, growing heavier the longer they ignored it.
Will’s room hadn’t changed much. Same drawings. Same scattered pencils. Same faint smell of paper and paint.
Mike dropped onto the bed like he always did.
“Dustin and Lucas bailed,” he said. “Again.”
Will gave a small smile. “Figures.”
“They said something about Max and a movie night.”
Will nodded, but his eyes dropped slightly.
Mike noticed.
Something twisted in his chest.
“They suck,” Mike added quickly. “We’re better off without them.”
That earned a real smile.
“Yeah,” Will said softly. “We are.”
Another silence settled—but this one lingered longer.
Mike picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “So… what do you wanna do?”
Will hesitated.
“I was drawing earlier,” he said.
“Cool,” Mike replied immediately. “Can I see?”
Will froze.
It was subtle—but Mike saw it.
“…Or not,” Mike added quickly. “That’s fine too.”
“No, it’s just—” Will exhaled. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
Will looked up at him, something vulnerable flickering across his face.
“You don’t even know what it is.”
Mike shrugged. “It’s yours. That automatically makes it not stupid.”
Will stared at him for a second too long.
Then, slowly, he reached over to his desk and picked up a sketchbook.
He held it for a moment, like he was deciding whether to hand it over or throw it out the window.
Finally, he passed it to Mike.
Mike took it carefully.
“Okay,” he said lightly. “Prepare to be judged.”
Will huffed a quiet laugh, but his hands twisted together nervously.
Mike opened the sketchbook.
The first few pages were landscapes—trees, hills, familiar places around Hawkins. Then came monsters. Echoes of everything they’d faced.
And then—
Mike stopped.
A figure.
Standing in the middle of a field.
Holding a sword.
Mike blinked.
“That’s… me,” he said.
Will said nothing.
Mike turned the page.
Another drawing.
Them. All of them. But Mike was in the center again.
Then another.
And another.
Each one told a story—Mike leading, Mike fighting, Mike standing between everyone and the darkness.
Mike’s chest tightened.
“You kept drawing campaigns,” he said softly.
Will swallowed. “Yeah.”
“These are… really good.”
Will let out a shaky breath. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not just saying it,” Mike said, more firmly now. “They’re amazing.”
He turned another page.
This one was different.
It wasn’t a fantasy scene.
It was… real.
Two boys sitting close together. On a hill. One leaning slightly toward the other.
Mike stared at it.
His voice came out quieter. “Will…”
Will stepped forward quickly and shut the sketchbook.
“Okay, that’s enough,” he said, a little too fast.
Mike didn’t let go.
Their hands brushed.
Both of them froze.
The moment stretched.
Neither of them pulled away.
Mike felt his heart pounding—loud, insistent, impossible to ignore.
“Is that…” he started, but couldn’t finish.
Will shook his head, even though Mike hadn’t asked the full question.
“It’s nothing,” Will said.
But it wasn’t nothing.
They both knew it.
Mike searched Will’s face.
“You’ve been acting weird,” he said quietly.
Will laughed, but it sounded wrong. “Yeah, well, everything’s been weird.”
“No, I mean—” Mike sat up straighter. “With me.”
Will didn’t answer.
“That day,” Mike continued, “in the van… when you were talking about El… about how she needs me…”
Will’s jaw tightened.
“You weren’t really talking about her, were you?”
Silence.
Heavy. Thick. Unavoidable.
Will looked like he might bolt.
“Will,” Mike said, softer now. “Just tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’ll ruin everything!”
The words came out sharper than Will intended.
Mike flinched.
That only made it worse.
Will dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I just—forget it, okay? Please.”
“No,” Mike said.
It surprised both of them.
“I’m not forgetting it.”
Will shook his head. “You should.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Mike—”
“Just tell me!”
Will looked at him—really looked at him.
And something broke.
“It’s you, okay?” he said.
The room went completely still.
“What?” Mike asked, barely above a whisper.
“It’s you,” Will repeated, his voice shaking now. “It’s always been you.”
Mike’s breath caught.
“I tried not to,” Will continued, words spilling out now. “I tried to make it go away, I tried to ignore it, I tried to just be normal, but I can’t—”
His voice cracked.
“I can’t, Mike.”
Silence.
Will looked like he was bracing for impact.
For rejection.
For everything to fall apart.
Mike felt like the ground had disappeared beneath him.
“You…” he started, but his thoughts tangled. “You mean…”
Will laughed weakly. “Yeah. I mean.”
Another silence.
But this one was different.
It wasn’t just heavy—it was fragile.
Like one wrong move would shatter everything.
Mike stood up slowly.
Will tensed.
“I’m sorry,” Will said quickly. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget it, okay? We can just—”
Mike stepped closer.
Will stopped talking.
“You should’ve told me,” Mike said.
Will blinked. “What?”
“I mean—not like… earlier, I guess. But… you shouldn’t have had to hide it.”
Will stared at him, confusion replacing fear.
“You’re not… mad?”
Mike shook his head immediately. “No. Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know,” Will said quietly. “People usually are.”
Mike’s chest tightened again.
“I’m not,” he said firmly.
Will searched his face, like he was trying to find the catch.
“There’s no catch,” Mike added softly.
That… almost made it worse.
Because now there was hope.
And hope was dangerous.
“But it doesn’t change anything,” Will said quickly, like he needed to protect himself. “I know that. I don’t expect—”
“Will.”
He stopped.
Mike hesitated.
This part was harder.
“I don’t know what it means,” he admitted.
Will nodded, even though it hurt.
“That’s okay.”
“I just…” Mike ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve never thought about it before. Like that.”
Will forced a small smile. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“But,” Mike added, stepping even closer, “I don’t want to lose you.”
Will’s expression cracked.
“You won’t,” he said quickly. “You won’t, I promise. I’ll just—figure it out.”
Mike shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Not like that.”
Will frowned. “What do you mean?”
Mike hesitated again.
Then—
“I mean I don’t want things to go back to how they were before you told me.”
Will’s heart skipped.
“Why?” he asked, barely breathing.
Mike looked at him—really looked at him.
“Because now I know,” he said.
“And?”
“And… I think it matters.”
Will’s voice was almost inaudible. “To you?”
Mike nodded.
A long pause.
Then, quietly:
“Can I try something?” Mike asked.
Will blinked. “What?”
Mike didn’t answer.
Instead, he reached out.
Slowly.
Gently.
And took Will’s hand.
Will froze.
Not because he wanted to pull away—but because he couldn’t believe it was happening.
Mike’s grip tightened slightly, like he was testing it. Like he was making sure it was real.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
Will nodded immediately. “Yeah.”
His voice shook.
Mike exhaled, something in him settling for the first time all day.
“Okay,” he said.
They stood there like that—hand in hand, neither of them quite understanding what came next, but both unwilling to let go.
Outside, the wind picked up slightly.
Not ominous.
Not dangerous.
Just… moving.
Like something had shifted.
Like something had begun.