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The basement smelled slightly different than it did two years ago. It still smelled of dust and old board games, with the warm undercurrent of Mike’s alpha scent that had started to mature as they got older. The coffee wasn’t as sweet anymore, and the chocolate had grown more bitter, but the faint trace of paper and ink still lingered underneath. It still smelled safe. Familiar.
But today the space felt too small.
The scent didn’t feel right, pressing in on him in a way it never had before, thick in his lungs like there wasn’t enough space to breathe around it. His omega instincts stirred uneasily beneath his skin, a low, restless hum that made him want to curl into a ball, to find a corner and build something around himself just to feel secure. Even so, he forced himself onward.
Will pressed play on the cassette player, the sudden swell of dramatic music filling the basement. Mike and Lucas jerked awake where they were sleeping, both of them groaning and covering their ears.
“What are you doing?” Lucas muttered.
“Yeah, Will, can you turn down the music?” Mike added, voice still thick with sleep.
Will turned to them, cloak settling around his shoulders. “That is not music. That is the sound of destiny. I have seen into the future, and I have seen that today is a new day. A day free of girls. A tribe of villagers are under threat from an evil force from the swamps of Kuzaton.”
Mike rubbed his eyes. “Will, it’s so early.”
“Is it?” Will asked, the words sharper than he meant them to be. “Is it early, Michael?”
Lucas yawned. “Can I at least take a shower first?”
—-------------------------------------
They were all at the table now, the game board spread out between them. Will stood at the head in his purple wizard outfit, dice warm and smooth in his palm as he rolled them once between his fingers, grounding himself in the familiar weight and the soft, repetitive click.
He’d spent weeks on this new campaign, so many late nights hunched over his desk mapping everything out, building a game everyone would love, something that would hold them all together, the way things used to be. Safe and stable.
He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot in his stomach as much as he could, and let the words of the game rise out of him, just like he practised.
“Do you guys hear that? It sounds like… thunder. But, no, wait. That’s not thunder. It’s… a horde of juju zombies! Sir Mike, your action.”
Mike glanced at Lucas. “What should I do?”
Lucas shrugged. “Attack?”
“Okay, I attack with my flail,” Mike said, rolling the die without much enthusiasm. It clattered across the table.
Will leaned forward, voice rising loud and theatrical, full of dramatic energy. “Whoosh! You miss,” he declared. “Your flail clanks the stone. The zombie horde lumbers toward you, and…” He rolled his own die with a flourish. “The juju bites your arm. Flesh tears! Aah! Seven points of damage.”
Mike clutched his arm with a half-hearted and sarcastic “Oh, no, my arm. Lucas, look, my arm.”
Lucas snickered.
Will felt the laugh chip away at the moment he was fighting so hard to keep alive. Swallowing the sting down as best he could, he refused to let his voice waver, refused to let the game slip away just yet. He turned to Lucas and forced the energy back into his voice.
“Sir Lucas,” he said, a little too quickly, “the horde roars. Do you fight, or run?”
Suddenly the phone on the wall rang, shrill and obnoxious.
The sound caused Will’s pulse to spike, panic surging through him. “No—it’s a distraction. A trap. Do not answer it.”
Both Mike and Lucas were already moving toward the phone on the wall.
“What… No!” Will called after them.
Mike grabbed the receiver. “El? No. Sorry, not interested.” He hung up. His scent spiking with annoyance. “Telemarketers.”
Lucas leaned against the wall. “Maybe we should just call them.”
“We can do that?” Mike asked. His nostrils flared, scenting the air.
“I think so.”
“Yeah, but what would we say?”
Will’s fingers tightened around the dice, the edges pressing into his palm. He tried to ground himself, desperately trying to remember what he was doing this for. But the moment was cracking no matter how much he wanted it to stay together.
His omega scent was shifting, the soft sweetness he usually carried becoming tainted at the edges, sharper and acidic—the distress bleeding out whether he wanted it to or not.
He could smell Mike’s alpha scent changing too, restless and unfocused. The usual coffee-and-chocolate warmth had turned slightly off, like it had been burnt. It made his instincts flare harder, a quiet, animal urge to retreat, to hide away from a potential threat. He pushed the feeling down. That would never be Mike. He never had to fear him.
“We’ll say nothing!” Will said, voice cracking just a little. “The Khuisar tribe still needs your help.”
Mike barely glanced at him and let out a sigh. “All right, then. I’ll use my torch to set fire to the chambers, sacrificing ourselves, killing the jujus, and saving the Khuisar. We all live on as heroes in the memories of the Kalamar.”
Lucas grinned and they sarcastically high-fived. “Victory.”
With every word, Will seemed to deflate, the moment finally collapsing in on itself. He couldn’t hold it together anymore, couldn’t keep pretending this still meant the same thing to all of them.
It felt too much like before—like standing in the basement and realizing the nest wasn’t his anymore, that things had changed without him.
Only this time, it wasn’t just the place.
It was Mike.
“Okay,” he said, though the word came out wrong, like it wasn’t from him.
He could smell it before he fully registered it, his scent turning completely, the softness gone all at once, replaced by something panicked and wrong that flooded the space faster than he could contain it.
Mike’s scent faltered in response, the warmth breaking with a thread of guilt, but it came too late to fix anything.
“Fine.” His grip loosened on the dice, and they slipped from his hand, hitting the table with a dull clatter. “You guys win. Congratulations.”
Mike’s voice softened. “Will, I was just messing around.”
Will turned off the music, he reached up and removed the hat before his fingers fumbled with the velcro on his cloak. It slipped free and he dropped it onto the chair. He suddenly felt too exposed, like without it Mike and Lucas could see more of him than he wanted them to.
“Hey, let’s finish for real,” Mike tried, his tone soothing. “How much longer is the campaign?”
Will was already packing his stuff away into his bag, movements tight and mechanical. “Just forget it, Mike.”
“No, you want to keep playing, right?” Mike looked at Lucas, eyes begging him to help with the distressed omega.
“Y-Yeah, totally,” Lucas said quickly.
“We’ll just call the girls afterwards.”
The words hurt more than they should have, like he was an inconvenience they had to deal with before they could do what they actually wanted.
Will didn’t answer, because if he opened his mouth right now, he feared the worst might come out, and he wouldn’t be able to take it back. He could already feel it building, pressing uncomfortably against his ribs. He really needed to leave, to get away from this basement, away from them.
Away from Mike.
He turned, grabbing his bag, and headed for the stairs, the basement seeming smaller with every step. Mike’s presence—once something he leaned into without thinking—now felt suffocating, clinging to him in a way that made him feel trapped.
The sour edge of his own scent followed him. He cursed under his breath,he should’ve worn scent blockers. He’d never needed them before though. Not here.
“Will, wait—” Mike started desperately.
But Will was already shoving past Lucas to get to the stairs. “Move!”
He didn’t look back.
He pushed through the front door. Mike’s hand shot out behind him, catching it before it could swing shut.
Will kept walking, fingers fumbling with the zipper on his bag as he moved toward his bike. The carport was mostly dry and kept the worst of the rain off them, but he could see it coming down hard just beyond the entrance. The air out here felt heavier, more humid. He could hear the sound of the door click shut behind him and the distant sound of thunder.
Mike was right behind him.
“You can’t leave, it’s raining,” Mike said, the words coming fast, pleading. “Listen, I said I was sorry, all right? It’s a cool campaign. It’s really cool. We’re just not in the mood right now.”
Will let out an unsteady breath, still zipping his bag with shaky hands. He didn’t believe the apology Mike was giving him. It felt like he was being lied too, placated. The final hold he had on his control snapped.
“Yeah, Mike,” he said, louder now as he turned back toward him. “That’s the problem. You guys are never in the mood anymore.” His hands shook as he pulled his bag onto his shoulder. “You’re ruining our party.”
“That’s not true,” Mike shot back immediately, the defensiveness in his voice rising with his scent.
“Really?” Will’s voice rose before he could stop it, the words coming faster now. “Where’s Dustin right now?”
Mike hesitated, blinking at him like he didn’t quite know how to respond to that.
“See?” he yelled, throwing his hands out in a wide, frustrated gesture. “You don’t know. And you don’t even care. And obviously he doesn’t either, and I don’t blame him.”
The rain grew louder outside, a constant sound pressing in at the edges like it was trying to drown out the argument before it could go any further.
“You’re destroying everything,” Will said, the words coming faster now, harsher than he meant them to be, slipping out before he could pull them back. “And for what? So you can swap spit with some stupid girl?”
“El’s not stupid,” Mike snapped immediately, the reaction quick and defensive, his scent spiking with it, sharper now and flooding the space around them.
Will winced, the shift hitting him hard, he fought the urge to bare his neck on instinct. Mike had never yelled at him before and his inner omega was practically whining at the thought.
“It’s not my fault you’re an omega, okay?”
The words came out too loud, too fast, like Mike hadn’t meant to say them exactly like that but couldn’t stop once they started. “Alphas have to grow up. I have responsibilities now. I can’t just—” he dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated, searching for something that would make sense, “—we can’t just stay the same forever. You can’t just keep hiding in your nest like nothing’s changed.”
The moment the words left him, his expression softened. Because he did know better. He knew what nests were for. He knew what they meant, what they did, how they weren’t just some childish habit Will could outgrow. He’d helped build them, piece by piece, without ever being asked.
And yet he still said it.
Will didn’t move. For a second, it was like everything inside him just… stopped.
Then it registered.
He flinched, the reaction small but noticeable. His vision blurred for a second when he blinked, his eyes stinging despite himself. The scent in the air shifted, the sour scent of distress giving way to a softer smell. Sadness.
Mike froze. “Will—” he started, quieter now, uncertainty creeping in where the frustration had been, his scent calming with it.
Will shook his head quickly. If he let Mike keep talking, it would only make it worse. “You don’t get to say that,” he said, his voice shaky. “You don’t get to act like it’s just… something I can control.”
Mike lifted his arm, like he might reach out, then thought better of it and let it fall. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, but did you seriously think things were never gonna change? That we were all gonna hang out in my basement and play games for the rest of our lives?”
The question hit him harder than he wanted to admit, because yeah, that was exactly what he’d thought. He’d believed it so much that he hadn’t even realized how fragile the idea was, how much he’d been holding onto something that had already started to slip away. And now it felt like Mike was tearing it apart in front of him.
Will swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I guess I did. I really did.”
He turned away, grabbing his bike and pushing it out into the rain before he could say anything else. The freezing water hit him, soaking through his shirt in seconds, but he didn’t care.
“Will,” Mike called after him, his voice distant now, quickly swallowed up by the storm. “Will! Come on!”
But Will didn’t stop. He couldn’t. If he stayed here any longer, he was going to fall apart completely.
—-------------------------------------------
The bike skidded to a halt near the old tree line, tires sliding in the mud before catching. Will barely slowed before he was off it. He let it fall where it landed and stumbled forward, shoes slipping against wet earth, branches catching at his clothes as he pushed through the undergrowth.
He could see it through the trees.
Castle Byers.
His nest—the one place that was supposed to be safe for an omega, no matter what. It was still standing, just as he’d left it, the signs outside declaring it his, the sheet stretched over the entrance. He ducked beneath the low branches and stepped inside.
He still came back here sometimes, even after the demogorgon attack. Even after he’d realized the safety had never really been the nest itself, but Mike. Still, something in him kept bringing him back, reaching for what this place used to be.
It smelled the same as always, wood, damp earth and a mix of his and Mike’s scents, a combination that normally made him happy, made his inner omega want to roll around and soak up every part. But it didn’t feel the same. He stood there for a second, chest heaving, rain dripping off his clothes onto the floor.
He looked around, taking in the small space that had once been everything to him. The drawings he’d tacked up were still there, monsters and heroes and spaceships, all of them a little faded now. The bed he’d made from an old wooden pallet was pushed off to the side, thick wool army blanket on top. A small lamp next to it, the battery still working when he flicked it on.
And then there were the clothes Mike had given him.
Folded into the bed like they belonged there, like they were still trying to hold his nest together. The jacket. The hoodie. Will had never worn either of them. He’d just added them, piece by piece, like they could be enough.
They still smelled faintly of him, coffee and chocolate, paper and ink.
He reached out and touched one, fingers brushing over the worn fabric.
He hated it.
All of it.
The drawings. The bed. The blanket. Even the clothes. It was all so stupid now. A kid’s nest, a kid’s fort. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and none of this made sense to keep.
His hands shook as he reached for the photo he kept next to the lamp.
He stared down at it, the Party all pressed shoulder to shoulder, grinning like nothing could touch them. He remembered it so clearly it almost felt like stepping back into it, the day they’d found out he was an omega, the way everything had stopped for a second before they said anything.
Nothing would change. They’d promised him that.
Lucas had shrugged like it didn’t matter, Dustin had started asking questions, already trying to figure out how to make things easier, how to make it work, and Mike had stayed right there beside him, like there had never been another option.
They’d made it feel normal. Like it wasn’t something to hide, like he wasn’t something to be ashamed of. They’d helped him build his first nest in the basement, turning it into something warm, something safe. Something his. And then it had been taken away.
His grip tightened around the photo.
“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, voice thick with anger and something worse. He tore it in half.
The sound was loud, even with the rain still pounding down on the tarp. He didn’t stop there, ripping it again and again until the pieces were small enough that he couldn't see their faces anymore. “So stupid.”
He turned to the bed next, grabbing the jacket and tossing it aside without a second thought.
His fingers curled around the hoodie, pulling it free from where it had been folded into the blankets. For a second, he just stood there, holding it in both hands, staring down at it like it had personally betrayed him.
But it hadn’t.
Mike had.
And that hurt so much more than any stupid pile of blankets or old picture ever could.
He let out a choked sound, something between a sob and a growl, and threw the hoodie to the ground.
The pallet was next, he kicked at it until it splintered, wood cracking under his foot, leaves crunching and scattering across the ground. He grabbed the lamp and hurled it against one of the branches, it hit with a dull thud and dropped into the dirt, the light flickering but not going out.
It wasn’t enough. He grabbed the bat he kept in here for emergencies, something that was supposed to keep the place safe. Then he started swinging. The walls of Castle Byers splintered under the force, branches snapping again and again.
He didn’t stop until his arms ached and his chest hurt from breathing too hard. When he finally did, he sank to his knees in the middle of the wreckage, surrounded by broken wood and torn paper and the pieces of something that used to feel like safety.
But it wasn’t safe anymore.
Nothing was.
Because the one person who had always made him feel safe was the same person who had just taken that away. And Will didn’t know how to fix that. He didn’t even know if it could be fixed.
He buried his face in his hands and let the tears come, silent and hot, mixing with the rain that still dripped through the gaps in what was left of Castle Byers.
All that was left was a pile of blankets and broken pieces.
But it had been his.
And now it was gone.
And so was everything else.
The next day, the doorbell rang.
Will was in his room, rearranging the blankets in his nest for the third time that morning. The familiar, repetitive motion usually helped settle the restless ache inside him, but for the past few days, nothing had helped.
He heard his mom’s footsteps, her muffled voice, and then—familiar footsteps on the stairs. Too fast, too eager.
Mike’s scent drifted in under the door before he even knocked. Coffee and chocolate, paper and ink. But underneath, something else. Guilt. A sour note that made Will’s stomach clench.
The door opened without a knock.
Mike stood there, holding a bag of Reece’s Pieces like a peace offering. His hair was damp with sweat, and he wouldn’t meet Will’s eyes. “Hey. I, uh… I’m sorry. About yesterday. I was a jerk.”
Will didn’t answer. He just sat there, hands stilling on the edge of the nest.
Mike took that as an invitation. He always had.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and walked toward the bed. He moved like he always had—confident, comfortable, like this space was as much his as it was Will’s. He reached for the edge of the nest, ready to climb in, to settle into the blankets and wrap Will in that warm, safe alpha scent like he had a hundred times before.
Something inside Will snapped.
It wasn’t a thought. It was instinct. Pure, primal omega instinct.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, deep and guttural. His lips pulled back, baring teeth that felt too sharp, too animal. The sour scent of panic and territorial fury flooded the room, so thick it nearly choked him.
“Get out,” he snarled, the words barely recognizable as his own.
Mike froze, one hand hovering over the blankets. His face went pale, shock and hurt flashing in his eyes. The sweet coffee-and-chocolate in his scent withered, like the warmth had been stripped out of it.
“Will…?”
“I said get out,” Will repeated, the growl still vibrating in his throat. “You’re not welcome here.”
Mike stared at him, his expression full of confusion and pain. He looked from Will’s bared teeth to the nest that he was still half-reaching for, and back again. Like he was seeing a stranger.
Slowly, like he didn’t want to startle him, he pulled his hand back, the Reese’s Pieces still clutched in his fingers. He took a step back, then another, until he reached the door.
“Okay,” he said, his voice quiet, strained. “Okay. I’m… I’m sorry.”
He turned and left, pulling the door gently shut behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening. Will stayed frozen, the growl dying in his throat, leaving only the sour, panicked scent of a cornered animal. He stared at the empty doorway, his heart hammering in his chest.
He’d done it.
He’d pushed away the last safe thing he had left.
And now he knew what it was like to lose Mike.