Chapter Text
Mike Wheeler hated airports.
It wasn’t because they were crowded. Crowds came with the job. Movie premieres, award shows, conventions, interviews—he’d learned years ago that people rarely respected personal space when they recognized someone from a screen. Crowds weren’t the problem.
The problem was that airports were one of the few places where he couldn’t control who saw him.
At a premiere, there were security guards.
At a film set, there were closed gates.
At hotels, there were private entrances.
An airport was different.
Everyone had a phone.
Everyone had time to stare.
And everyone seemed convinced that celebrities stopped being human the second they walked through automatic sliding doors.
Mike adjusted the brim of his black baseball cap as he stepped out of the SUV. The driver unloaded his suitcase onto the curb before giving him a polite nod.
“Safe flight.”
“Thanks.”
The SUV pulled away almost immediately, disappearing into the stream of traffic outside JFK Airport.
Mike stood still for a second, taking in the familiar chaos around him.
Families trying to keep children together.
Business travelers speed-walking while talking into Bluetooth headsets.
Students carrying backpacks that looked far too heavy.
People hugging goodbye.
People crying.
People arguing over luggage carts.
Normal people.
He missed being one of them.
Pulling the strap of his backpack over one shoulder, Mike took a deep breath before walking through the sliding doors.
The noise hit him immediately.
Rolling suitcases.
Flight announcements.
Coffee machines.
Conversations in half a dozen different languages.
He lowered his head slightly.
Just another traveler.
That was the goal.
Just another guy catching a flight.
Nothing more.
The baseball cap stayed low enough to cast a shadow over his eyes. A loose gray hoodie hid the expensive black T-shirt underneath, and a pair of wireless headphones rested around his neck. He wouldn’t turn them on until he boarded, but wearing them already discouraged people from trying to talk to him.
It wasn’t foolproof.
Nothing ever was.
Still, every little bit helped.
He checked the departures board even though he already knew exactly where he needed to be.
Flight 217.
Auckland.
On time.
Good.
Twenty hours in the air sounded exhausting to most people.
To Mike, it sounded peaceful.
No interviews.
No cameras.
No studio executives asking if he’d be willing to stay another week for reshoots.
No reporters asking the exact same questions he’d answered a hundred times already.
What’s your favorite scene in the movie?
How do you stay so humble?
How does it feel to be one of Hollywood’s biggest stars?
He could probably answer them in his sleep by now.
He stopped at a coffee stand and ordered the simplest thing on the menu.
“Large black coffee.”
The barista smiled politely.
“Name?”
Mike hesitated.
Normally he’d use an alias.
Today he was too tired.
“Mike.”
She scribbled it onto the cup without looking up.
Good.
No recognition.
He stepped aside to wait.
The smell of fresh coffee filled the small corner of the terminal.
For a few peaceful seconds, nobody looked at him.
Nobody whispered.
Nobody reached for a phone.
Maybe today would actually—
“Excuse me…”
Mike’s shoulders tensed almost instinctively.
He slowly turned.
A teenage girl stood a few feet away, nervously holding her phone against her chest.
She couldn’t have been older than sixteen.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.
Mike knew that look.
Recognition.
He offered the practiced smile he’d perfected years ago.
Small.
Friendly.
Not encouraging enough to invite conversation, but not rude enough to end up on social media later.
“Hi.”
“I… I’m really sorry.”
She sounded genuinely apologetic.
“I just…”
Her eyes darted around the terminal before landing back on him.
“Are you Mike Wheeler?”
There it was.
Mike considered lying.
The cap.
The hoodie.
The sunglasses tucked into his sweatshirt pocket.
None of it mattered once someone recognized his face.
He gave a small nod.
“Yeah.”
Her entire face lit up.
“Oh my God.”
Mike chuckled softly.
He’d heard those three words thousands of times.
They still felt surreal.
“I loved Hollow Hearts.”
His latest movie.
Released six months ago.
It had somehow become one of the biggest films of the year.
“Thank you.”
“And Echoes.”
“Thanks.”
“And—”
The barista interrupted before she could continue.
“Large black coffee for Mike.”
Wonderful.
The girl looked from the coffee cup to him.
Then laughed nervously.
“I guess that confirms it.”
Mike laughed quietly too.
“I guess it does.”
“Could I maybe… get a picture? Really quickly?”
He glanced toward the boarding gates. Still plenty of time.
“…Sure.”
Her smile widened instantly. She hurried over, opened her camera and held the phone up.
Click.
“Thank you so much.”
“No problem.”
“I hope you have a good flight.”
“You too.”
She walked away looking like she’d just won the lottery.
Mike picked up his coffee and headed toward security before anyone else noticed.
He’d gotten lucky.
One fan.
One picture.
That was manageable.
Hopefully it stayed that way.
✈️
Several miles away, Will Byers was having a very different morning.
His alarm hadn’t gone off.
Or maybe it had. He honestly couldn’t remember.
All he knew was that he’d opened his eyes, looked at the clock and immediately realized he was almost an hour behind schedule.
Everything after that had become one long blur. He’d brushed his teeth while trying to pull on yesterday’s jeans. Burned his tongue because his coffee was far too hot. Dropped his toast butter-side down.
Twice.
The second slice somehow landed exactly where the first one had.
“Seriously?”
He stared at the kitchen floor in disbelief.
“What did I do to deserve this?”
There was, unfortunately, no answer.
He grabbed a granola bar instead, shoved it into his backpack and practically ran out the front door.
The subway had been delayed.
Naturally.
Someone ahead of him at airport security had forgotten about an entire water bottle in their backpack, causing the line to stop moving for nearly ten minutes.
By the time Will finally reached the departures board, he was already sweating through his flannel.
Flight 217.
Gate B26.
Boarding.
His heart sank.
“No…”
He looked at the clock. Then back at the board. Then toward the signs pointing to Terminal B.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Without another thought, he started running.
His backpack bounced painfully against his shoulders.
The duffel bag hanging from his right arm slammed into his hip with every step.
People moved aside just enough to avoid being hit.
“Sorry!”
He sidestepped a family with three young kids.
“Excuse me!”
A businessman stepped into his path while reading an email. Will swerved at the last possible second. His duffel bag clipped the man’s rolling suitcase.
The sudden impact spun Will halfway around.
For one terrifying moment, he thought he was going to faceplant directly onto the polished airport floor.
Instead, he somehow caught himself.
Barely.
A little girl watching the whole thing giggled.
Will offered an awkward smile before continuing to run.
“This day hates me.”
An announcement echoed through the terminal.
“Final boarding call for Flight 217 to Auckland.”
Will’s stomach dropped.
“No no no…”
He pushed himself faster. His lungs burned. His legs begged him to stop. He ignored both.
When Gate B26 finally came into view, relief flooded through him. The line was gone. The doors were still open. One gate agent stood behind the counter, clearly waiting for exactly one person.
Him.
Will stumbled to a stop in front of the desk, breathing hard enough that speaking suddenly seemed impossible.
The woman looked up.
“Good morning.”
Will tried to answer. What came out sounded more like a dying whale than an actual greeting.
She blinked.
“…Morning.”
Will laughed awkwardly between breaths.
“Sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
She held out her hand.
“Boarding pass, please.”
Will immediately reached for his pocket.
Nothing.
Right pocket.
Nothing.
Back pocket.
Nothing.
“Oh no.”
His backpack.
He yanked the zipper open.
His headphones.
A book.
His wallet.
The granola bar.
A charger.
Where—
“There.”
He spotted the folded boarding pass tucked inside his passport.
“Oh, thank God.”
The gate agent accepted both. She scanned the boarding pass. A soft beep echoed from the scanner. Her eyes flicked toward the screen.
“Mr. Byers?”
Will finally managed to breathe normally again.
“Yeah?”
“You’re just in time.”
“I figured.”
She handed everything back with a small smile.
“Enjoy your flight.”
“I’ll try.”
He took the boarding pass, thanked her and hurried down the jet bridge before she had a chance to change her mind.
The plane was still there.
He’d made it.
Barely.
But he’d made it.
Will stepped through the aircraft door still trying to catch his breath.
A flight attendant greeted him with the kind of effortless smile that seemed to come naturally to people who somehow managed to stay calm while working thirty thousand feet in the air.
“Good morning.”
“Morning,” Will answered, offering an apologetic smile as he adjusted the duffel bag that had somehow slipped halfway down his arm again.
“Your seat is toward the back on your left.”
“Thanks.”
He stepped into the aisle, immediately feeling like he was in everyone’s way.
Business Class came first.
Will had never actually seen it from the inside before. The seats looked less like airplane seats and more like something you’d find in a luxury living room. People were already settled in with newspapers, coffee and blankets, looking completely at home.
He quickly looked away.
Not his world.
He kept walking.
Premium Economy.
Then finally Economy.
The cabin became narrower, louder and far more familiar. People were still lifting suitcases into overhead bins, children were asking impossible questions, someone somewhere couldn’t seem to figure out where Row Thirty-Two was despite standing directly underneath the sign.
Will smiled to himself.
This felt normal.
He counted the rows as he walked.
Forty-three.
Forty-four.
Forty-five.
Forty-six.
“There you are.”
Row Forty-Seven.
Seat B.
Middle seat.
Of course.
He stopped beside the row and smiled politely at the woman sitting by the window.
“Sorry.”
She stood just enough for him to squeeze past.
“No worries.”
Will turned sideways, trying not to hit anyone with his backpack. Unfortunately, trying and succeeding were two very different things. The corner of his backpack lightly bumped the armrest.
“Oh, sorry.”
“It’s alright,” the woman replied with a small laugh.
Embarrassed, Will finally managed to lower himself into the seat.
The aisle passenger never looked up from the magazine he was reading.
Probably for the best.
Will slid his backpack underneath the seat in front of him and rested his duffel bag by his feet.
Okay.
He’d made it.
He wasn’t late anymore. Nothing else could go wrong. He reached for the seatbelt.
The metal tongue slid into the buckle.
Click—
Nothing.
Will frowned.
He pulled it back out.
Tried again.
Still nothing.
“…Really?”
He looked down, turning the buckle over in his hands. Maybe he wasn’t pushing hard enough. He tried again.
Nothing.
One more time.
Nothing.
The woman beside him noticed.
“Everything okay?”
“I think…” Will laughed awkwardly. “I think my seatbelt’s broken.”
She leaned over slightly.
“Huh.”
Will pushed harder. The buckle refused to lock.
“I swear I’m not doing this on purpose.”
She smiled sympathetically.
“I’m sure you’re not.”
A flight attendant walking down the aisle noticed the repeated clicking.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Will held up the seatbelt.
“It won’t… do seatbelt things.”
The attendant accepted the buckle.
“Let’s have a look.”
She tried once.
Twice.
Three times.
Her polite smile slowly disappeared.
“Hm.”
That didn’t sound encouraging. She examined the buckle more closely before pressing a button on the intercom attached to the wall.
A moment later another flight attendant arrived.
“Problem?”
“The buckle isn’t locking.”
The second attendant took over.
Will watched in silence while she tested it herself.
Nothing.
She frowned.
“Tried the backup latch?”
“Not yet.”
Backup latch?
Apparently airplane seatbelts had backup latches.
Who knew?
The attendants produced another buckle from somewhere beneath the seat.
Will hadn’t even realized that was possible.
The replacement didn’t work either. Now both attendants were crouching beside him.
Wonderful.
Exactly what every socially awkward person dreamed of. The people in the surrounding rows had started paying attention.
A businessman across the aisle lowered his newspaper.
A teenager discreetly removed one earbud.
The toddler two rows back openly stared.
Will could practically feel his face heating up.
“I’m really sorry,” he said quietly.
The first attendant immediately shook her head.
“This isn’t your fault.”
Sure didn’t feel that way.
A third crew member approached.
“What have we got?”
“Defective buckle.”
“The whole seat?”
“Looks like it.”
The third attendant sighed.
“Maintenance missed another one.”
Will blinked.
Another one? How often did this happen?
The attendants quietly discussed something between themselves.
Will caught only pieces.
“…can’t depart…”
“…FAA regulations…”
“…every passenger…”
“…full flight…”
Full flight.
That wasn’t good.
His stomach tightened. He raised a hesitant hand.
“Um…”
All three attendants looked at him.
“Am I… getting off the plane?”
The question sounded much smaller out loud than it had inside his head. One attendant smiled reassuringly.
“Oh, no.”
Will released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Okay.”
“We just need to find you another seat.”
“Oh.”
That sounded easy enough.
One attendant picked up a tablet and began scrolling. Her expression changed almost immediately.
“Hm.”
“What?”
She looked at the other two.
“There aren’t any empty seats in Economy.”
Will felt his stomach sink again.
“What about… another row?”
She shook her head.
“Everything’s occupied.”
“What about Premium Economy?”
Another shake of her head.
“Also full.”
Will looked down at the broken seatbelt still resting uselessly across his lap.
Figures.
Of course this would happen to him. It had honestly been a miracle he’d made the flight in the first place. Maybe this was the universe balancing things out.
The attendant continued scrolling through the seating chart.
Then stopped.
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Oh.”
The other two looked over.
“What?”
“I think…”
She zoomed in.
“…we have exactly one seat.”
Will looked up hopefully.
“Really?”
The attendant smiled.
“Looks like you’ve gotten very lucky.”
Lucky.
Will almost laughed.
Today?
Really?
“Where is it?”
The attendant hesitated for just a second. Then smiled again.
“Business Class.”
Will stared at her.
“…I’m sorry?”
“Business Class.”
“I think you have the wrong passenger.”
A quiet laugh escaped one of the attendants.
“No, Mr. Byers.”
She held up the tablet so he could see the highlighted seat.
“It’s yours now.”
Will looked at the screen. Then back at her. Then back at the screen.
“I’m not being charged for this, am I?”
“No.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s an operational upgrade.”
He blinked.
“So…”
She nodded.
“You’ll be sitting in Business Class today.”
Will looked around the cabin as if someone was about to jump out and tell him this was all an elaborate joke.
Nobody did.
“…Huh.”
The attendants smiled.
“If you’d gather your belongings, we’ll show you to your new seat.”
“Oh.”
Right.
His things.
Will stood, immediately bumping his head against the open overhead bin.
“Ow.”
The businessman across the aisle winced sympathetically.
“You alright?”
“I’m great.”
He definitely wasn’t. Rubbing the back of his head, he reached down for his duffel bag. The strap slipped from his fingers. The bag landed directly on his foot.
“…Seriously?”
One of the attendants bit the inside of her cheek, clearly trying very hard not to laugh.
Will sighed.
“You can laugh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, really.”
She laughed softly.
“I promise I wasn’t.”
“I would’ve.”
Finally managing to collect all of his belongings without further injury, Will followed the lead flight attendant toward the front of the aircraft.
Behind them, boarding was complete.
The cabin slowly settled into that quiet pre-departure buzz.
Will tried not to stare as they walked back through Premium Economy.
Then Business Class came into view again. It somehow looked even fancier the second time. The flight attendant stopped beside Row Three.
“Here we are.”
Will looked down.
Seat 3B.
Someone already occupied the seat beside it.
Or… almost occupied it.
The man was turned almost completely toward the window, one arm resting against the armrest, headphones covering his ears beneath a black baseball cap. A gray hoodie hid most of his frame.
From where Will stood, he couldn’t even properly see the man’s face.
The attendant smiled.
“I’ll let you get settled.”
“Thanks.”
She disappeared before Will could ask another question.
Will looked down at his new seat. Then at the stranger beside it. He cleared his throat quietly.
No reaction.
The man didn’t even glance over.
Will figured he probably hadn’t heard him through the headphones.
Good.
Less awkward.
Carefully, Will lifted his backpack into the overhead compartment. He took extra care this time.
No bumping.
No dropping.
No accidentally hitting anyone.
Success.
One victory.
He could work with that.
He slid into the wide leather seat as carefully as humanly possible. The chair was unbelievably comfortable. It felt wrong somehow. Like he’d accidentally wandered into someone else’s hotel room.
He rested his hands awkwardly in his lap. The stranger beside him still hadn’t looked over.
Honestly…
Will appreciated that.
After the morning he’d had, the last thing he wanted was to explain why he’d suddenly appeared in Business Class.
He settled back into the seat and let out a slow breath. Maybe the rest of the flight would finally be uneventful.
Beside him, Mike Wheeler barely noticed that someone had taken the empty seat.
He’d caught the slightest bit of movement in his peripheral vision when the passenger sat down, but he didn’t turn. He assumed it was simply the person originally assigned to the seat.
Nothing more.
His attention stayed fixed outside the window.
Another aircraft taxied past.
Ground crew signaled to one another beneath the bright morning sun.
Within a few minutes, they’d be in the air.
Exactly what he wanted.
Silence.
No conversations.
No cameras.
Just twenty hours of peace.